I’d like to paint with words grand vistas of vowels drawing consonants with canvases rough drafts depicting sketchy underworlds sheltering fractured souls still life’s surreal for those trapped below the acrylics of society high from huffing an oil economy auctioned off to the richest bidder Christ eases and art pops expressionistic narratives for the impressionable propagandised with daily print and wondering how to abstract what’s real
TF
You bask in the sun but can you bathe in the rain? eternal moments This summer’s glory can you find it in winter? same observer’s dance This woe, that frames joy can you taste honey at its depth? there’s shimmer in soot Rough sorrow chisels this form polished by wonder look again all love TF
There’s a bluebird in my heart That wants to get out, but I’m too busy I say: “stay in there I haven’t got time for you” There’s a bluebird in my heart That wants to get out but I bury him With tasks and ‘duty’ With responsibility and ‘work’ The other worker bees Never know that he’s in there There’s a bluebird in my heart That wants to get out but I’m too busy I say: “Be quiet Do you want to mess everything up? I can’t provide with your song” There’s a bluebird in my heart That wants to get out but I’m too clever In quiet moments I let him out When nobody’s looking I say: “I know that you’re there So don’t be so sad.” Then I put him back And don’t let him out for a month or so But he’s singing in there I haven’t quite let him die And we sleep together like that With our secret pact It’s nice enough to make a little man weep But I don’t weep I haven’t got time - Charles Bukowski (With some modifications for therapeutic, poetic, mischievious and unknown reasons)
If I could catch it in a jar maybe I could watch it for a while try to make sense of it. But it’s too fast keeps moving never lasts gone before I’ve realised you can’t catch the past. If I could press pause take some time out maybe I’d see beyond the doors but would I have the courage to press play again? Maybe it moves because I need it to and without being dragged into the next second I’d lie stagnant But I was born to sprout wings and learn to cruise these currents that carry me. TF
we breathe so shallowly barely touching the edges of the lungs and we hardly exhale failing to clear ourselves of the unnecessary material that clogs us up holds us back isn't that the purpose of the lungs? to expand fully explore our edges and to retract completely finding emptiness peace left only with what was there before this breathing started maybe read it all again replace 'breathe' with 'live' replace 'the lungs' with 'life' fractal patterns... TF
Can we live beneath the superficialities of society? Talking deep, wandering perpetually. Or shall we just ignore ourselves, pretend everything is going to be ok TF
Met a man the other day, told me he lost two friends. They took their lives away, Covid: Billionaires cashed cheques, poor guys wrapped their necks... A society in decline. TF
Sat on the edge of the moon she gazed at the stars how much she missed flowers and trees their bark that surrounds their roots that support the leaves that dance on their edges in the wind This dusty grey landscape was an escape at first but quickly became a prison all she ran away from felt worthy of leaving once now it seemed like home left behind
TF
When did you last look at the clouds? They dance, don’t you see? For all that I know, They dance just for me. When did you last listen to the wind? It sings, don’t you hear? As far as I’m aware, It sings just for my ears. When did you last watch the sea? It plays, can you tell? If I pay close attention, It asks I play as well. When did you last talk with the trees? They converse, all the time. Sometimes when I’m with them, We speak purely in rhyme.
TF
Some Words Left Behind 