Friday, January 25, 2013

I used to be alien. Scorned of barrels, saddened drops of moths, I cut my hands than, Both hands dance, On a sheet of squared tabrle cloth. Accident. Hands vividly place fingertips into nails, Scorned of barrels, saddened drops of moths.

Poems from the Sea Salt..

-- In toss of writing, Kernel night, came placid handshakes, virtual night, sense of poetry lumping. -- Earthen mermaid flows above the land, Still night burden, Flows by the sea, quiet end of earthen mermaid. Death of Demitia, freedom to pain. Rise the sea foils around his neck, Bumble bee was a slave of the earthen mermaid touch. -- Snake with wisdom in fingertips, Pain in water of charisma, a square is smooth realm, forwarded pain. Silhouetted at.
http://www.amazon.com/Already-Smythered-ebook/dp/B0084XL61M http://www.amazon.com/Sea-Salt-ebook/dp/B00A67TXUU/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_t_2_2J52
http://www.xlibris.com.au/bookstore/bookdisplay.aspx?bookid=501661
http://www.xlibris.com.au/bookstore/bookdisplay.aspx?bookid=502361

Couple of words on my art..

I write about torture of mental wounds. In inability to articulate language since developing mental illness (psychosis with depression)I went to where I always was.. to words. My poetry is a reflection of this pain i gained during my adolescence, young adult life and now in my early 30's. You will find joy and serenity in my works (paintings and poetry). These are what I am aiming for to broaden my ability to 'create'.

Some of my artworks..

Poems from the Already Smythered


Her breath upon her thighs, twining unknown,
Elucidating rain brings desire
Of what is diminutive space up towards face
Who’s sold the freedom!?
Yelling like an owl forced to look at the sun at noon,
What was her dress slicking down the feet,
Moving around feet,
Robbing themselves around her feet
So her nails whisper,
Who’s sold the freedom!?
Thighs and ankles towards feet.
Nobody’s free yet!

--

Pain is my aim
No time for plain
Fill their trees
With milk and soil
For aim that is in time
Isn’t a pain frame,
It is solely pain of aim.

--

Like a stunt of notorious presence of stains she’s grasped confusion pocket of possessed Oedipus that rid into veins of selfdom. Promiscuous and blunt; freedom of necessary lies to follow the myth. She’s him, him is mine, mine is vain.
Procrastinated, nonsensical game of bored sum of equal, coloured, eyes; marbles. ‘Shine vain!’, scrupulously invited pain. Oedipus.