To a Fellow Artist

It’s often asked: wherein does beauty lie,

In mystery bound, proportions magical,

Deciphered only by the observer’s eye,

Or in some poet’s words deemed lyrical?

I know that beauty’s not in sparkling dross,

Perfection is for fools; an empty frame,

In masterpieces, lines are found and lost,

And here, in life’s chiaroscuro lives a flame,

A caring smi...

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Why are we offended by other people's truths?

Our ego shooketh to it's core

Feelings Bruised? like we'e been battered by an ore

Raw, words come spilling out like a kid in a candy store begging for more!

Why does their truth feel like someone telling us to imitate a dog standing on all fours...panting and all!

Or is it that we don't know who we truly are at our core

Pretending to ...

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Man of my dreams

I wish it could be as it seems

Perfect in every way

each day

better than the last

But I know from the past

who you are 

and who I am

I am country

and you are city

I am 

campfires, picnics

and drivin-in movies

You are 

opera's, symphonies 

and trips to Europe

Each time you are near

I am engul...

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Point of View

Nothing is beautiful

Not any sunrise

Not any dawn

I don’t believe in beauty

-I don’t believe at all

Like me be sceptical

Of everything you’ve been told

If anyone tells me it’s warm outside

-I tend to think it’s cold.

Don’t believe the TV news

Don’t believe the people when they tell you things they saw

And if the politicians say it’s ...

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Life can recognise
Caste, religion and colour-
A disease of three symptoms:
Caste is engaged with skirmish,
Religion flares up with sudden
Intensity of furiousness, and
Colour creates dissociation.

None but DEATH is constant:
He never plays the role of an actor,
He never does judge on caste, religion And colour:
He believes that there is no gap
Between the palace and the hut.

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I tried beautiful,

I tried pristine,

I was no good at it

I’m not neat within

I’m not “clean”

Even externally, I cannot master

Clearing every bit of clutter

I’m raw, like an egg

It’s not pretty to have a cracked head

But if I don’t

I’m practically dead

As inanimate and detached as my wooden bed

To be raw is

Painful,

Ugly,

Messy,

But it’s rich with fee...

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For a long time
I was living without living
Hiding within myself
In the world I was dreaming

But I can't dream forever
That's something I forgot
Something I dismissed
While I was deep in my thoughts

And then I woke up
For first time in a while
I got free from the dreams
Where I was in exile

And I cannot describe
The feeling of awakening
The feeling of life
Is breathtaking

A...

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During the American Civil War, which ended in 1866, Walt Whitman worked as a clerk in Washington, DC. For a period of three years, he cared for soldiers, dressing their wounds, and comforting the injured.

His 1865 publication of poetry, Drum-Taps, which drew from his experiences in the civil war, includes, “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d,” Whitman’s elegy for President Lincoln.

I ...

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My love of Beauty, nurtured through the years,     

Of form and fair proportion’s served me well.    

Yet often I ask: where does my true love dwell?   

Within my soul; this heart; these eyes; or ears? 

Does she conduct the music of the spheres? 

Or, sit in silence sweet on Lakeland fell? 

Are roses’ heavenly scent bound by her spell?    

Her spirit surely lives in all...

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I’m sorry to disappoint you

That I can be too sweet and so weak

And yet I can be cold and cruel too

That I can completely snap to my core

And morph into a creature of different sorts

I’m sorry that I’m not white or black

Or immaculate

Or of any matter 

For that fact

I’m not anything 

At all

Not wholly whole

You see,

Incompleteness 

Has been my superpower 

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Mis-Match of the Day,

Tories; Truth and Compassion.

Wife-beaters; Knighthoods.

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We don’t trust them.
Those giants who rule the Earth;
those fallen ones who stole our dominion.

We don’t trust them.
Those royal descendants of “gods”;
those of the divine blood line.

Why should we trust them?
They live in castles even today,
while we still cower in caves.

Why should we trust them?
From days of old,
we die in their wars,
we beg to consume what they own.

Why sh...

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I remember in poverty,
eating ramen noodles,
daily.

Beans and Weenies.
Meatless sauce
spaghetti.

Rice, Rice, Rice,
without any real
spice.

Bologna Sandwiches.
Hamburger Helper
mixes.

Fried Spam,
and all kinds of meat,
canned.

Hot Dogs on a stick,
burnt to a
crisp.

Catfish from the creek,
yellow belly
meat.

Milwaukee’s Best.
Another broken
promise.

The cheape...

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