Reality check!

... to all the men i saw today, gathered in clumps, festering with joy at the death of a dictator... Won't a nubile woman like Libya feel vacant when she accidentally brushes her fingers across the scar on her chest where the cancerous breast was removed?

The Vorticist Manifesto

The manifesto is primarily a long list of things to be 'Blessed' or 'Blasted'. It starts:

1. Beyond Action and Reaction we would establish ourselves.
2. We start from opposite statements of a chosen world. Set up violent structure of adolescent clearness between two extremes.
3. We discharge ourselves on both sides.
4. We fight first on one side, then on the other, but always for the SAME cause, which is neither side or both sides and ours.
5. Mercenaries were always the best troops.
6. We are primitive Mercenaries in the Modern World.
7. Our Cause is NO-MAN'S.
8. We set Humour at Humour's throat. Stir up Civil War among peaceful apes.
9. We only want Humour if it has fought like Tragedy.
10. We only want Tragedy if it can clench its side-muscles like hands on its belly, and bring to the surface a laugh like a bomb.

I wake with a lump and the news confirms it!

We're prisoners of war... a war that captures dreams and re-dreams them. Our dreams have been doctored. We belong nowhere. We sail unanchored on troubled seas. We may never be allowed ashore. Our sorrows will never be sad enough. Our joys never happy enough. Our dreams never big enough. Our lives never important enough to matter!




The God of small things
Arundhati Roy

Always Brenda of the township

Swinging

‎...who danced shamelessly,

dressed like an animal, rolled like water... 

Who we all applauded and joined, making faces at joy!

Sunday Night

They stood like church spires, signalling the hour in fan fare

Shot glass vision

They squatted into the dome of her dresses; hems ran like terracotta geometry lacing all the loose ends. 

Threw the neck

Uncrossed her legs and eyes 

Surrendered

Raised her hands like minarets and belted calls of prayer 

But one after the other they quivered and dismounted

Resuming the gagging bite of palm over begging lips

Her gaze glazed

They kept coming, stretched sick thoughts like cord bridges over what was once remote and then the traffic came, 

Five lanes,

One way,

Flowed like magma, 

Smelt like sulphur,

Stiff

Determined

They gather on certain Monday mornings,

Some times Tuesdays 

I can’t remember the faces

Just when you think there is no more left!

If only...

The Line up

While HOPE is far sighted,
JOY is ripe and firm, may you catch it when it is thrown to you.

Promise you won't lose it!

THE HOW'S

Sweet connections with clay

To placate bitter realities

Moulding tear drops

To deal

You wonder why am always happy?

EARTH

They filled my fingers like sin

It bittered my mouth

And dried it

 See their long necks

 I knew when to stop.

http://www.ancestralclayvoices.com/

And there is a saxaphone

It was to be.

"The Moving Finger writes: and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it."


Omar Khayam.

Walk

Mercy, melts like sugar drops in between places warm from strife. We savour the sweet aches and pains friction brings, all our moaning is fictitious. Our hunger for the process is ravenous; we are too busy lusting after the melting mirages to sample the journeys delicacies. Delectable titbits do sneak past our defences and make their ways to dairies, journey logs, cartography immortalised as odes to THE POWER OF TRAVEL.

I wish i was a butterfly.

I saw them Play.

Balancing on the sharp of its pin drop foot, its strings quaking symphony, his head following...Treme tunes Wait for air.

Breath... finger...

Breath... finger... 

Drown the drum...lift the veil, 

Out monster's best foot forward...

All vanity scratched,

Repeated ... Whipping sets, 

Cloud nines, 

Ninja fingers, 

Karate chop lips... Eager ears,

Hand gestures...

Loops, eddies..

All good things must pass but be remembered.

Tears of a clown

Our blessings a long drink of water

To douse your thirst

Ensure your strength

And

Guide your flow

Lest spring is late!

http://www.ancestralclayvoices.com 

peace, posperity and splashing

After the kiln

Never let the sun

Catch you looking

Eyes, ears and lips too big!

My shine,

Might blacken your sight.

http://www.ancestralclayvoices.com/

Trod in the face.

I trod in the face of proofreaders

Leaving fist prints of false truths

Confessing,

Spilling faith,

The earth my witness

Brass embraces

Release...

Come in!

Having had the honour this week to have met by chance an incredible artist and sculptor (Kevin Dalton) who with his powerful work has inspired me to write a series responses; this is the first of more to come Enjoy.

 http://www.ancestralclayvoices.com/