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/