That morning stillness just woken from sleep coffee in hand gaze through the window a light winnowing breeze moves through the trees birds tuning up for their morning chorus a glorious day ahead blue skies and sunshine
and hope in leaps and bounds what passes is not love whatever passes let it go : whoever passes through your life let them go too love never ever passes love remains
today I will mix paints and apply them to canvas today I will mix words and apply them to paper today I will make music with a mixture of notes love never passes love remains
We are aftermath recycled residue afterburn of creation our bodies built from cluster upon cluster of wayward particles and we are eternal return how many aeons to shape a rose the petals of thought the palpitating heart the desire to kiss to hold and to caress to love
what emerged from the dross the debris of creation in a structured universe in which no amount of matter or energy is ever wasted part of that immense single unending event words formed from clusters of sound and so to the surge of the poetic line the mindful word travelling across space or across the page deluge of the imagination and how life unleashed feeds upon life the unconscious cannibalism of carbon fanned by the flames of oxidation and all the time I long to run my fingers through her hair wake to her dawn all dust to dust rose to rose
The rose has its imprint petal softness of velvet brushed against her lips threads of life entwined gold and silver and amethyst honour in her silence honour in her words honour in her breath though the rose requires no tongue
Love literally made in the stars and in the black nights we gaze at our past the foundry in which we were first formed before thought
That such intense heat could give rise to tears whether of joy or pain to wisdom too and sadly ignorance : does there always have to be a thorn in the side ?
We say that paradise is a place of grace and love and all that stems from light – speech is in our nature and silence too the rose imprinted needs no tongue
Look to your mirror song will heal your heart happiness is there for the taking syllables shaped in the sound of light the mirror says love you too
Under a blue sky I lay out my colours this is the shape of them their texture as revealed by the light
There is a pattern a gathering within a certain geometry but there is spontaneity too and ragged edges
you could say this canvas has my fingers all over it the brush marks are all mine the choice of colours too and some might say it’s not art but who are they to judge can art ever be truly defined can love ?
The idea of beauty shaped in the mind’s eye because beauty is a shape so too is love in all its dimensions proclivity to action with a sense of purpose it achieves where other emotions fail boundless too though it shares the shape of infinity the sometime symbol twisted into gold or silver that never ends worn around the neck set into equations a quick calculation beyond value
the sultry idea of her of her watered eyes of her hesitant hands of her puffed lips as they play with words the cat and mouse of her wilfully oblivious to consequence no facts but in ideas what the eyes apprehend : by their deeds you shall know them ain’t that a fact !