I am an interdisciplinary artist, poet, educator and folk musician. This page is for my poetry. There are some strong themes, some funny stuff, some sad motifs. Just letting you know dear reader.
Niagara in the 90’s; After James Richards, Raking Light 2014, Digital Video with stereo sound. Safely seated in a small darkened space In the 1990’s rooms of the Tate Here to see Inventory’s DaDa reflection on social housing. London trains and busses have exhausted me. Onscreen a series of obscure and abstract images Until Niagara appears. And now two films are running, the one on screen and the one in my memory. Niagara Falls in December, the nineties have just begun like a new love affair. Niagara Falls in deep love Of crashing foam. A woman in a yellow trench coat that her mother bought from a shop that doesn’t exist anymore, Headscarf and red lipstick. She waits at the top for her photo to be taken. Pose like Marilyn. But there are no colours Everything is blank faced, locked up Frozen solid, danger zone. The petrified falls and thickly Iced, icey, walk-ways are A hazard Impassable. Like this fake marriage...
Victim and victimiser When the whole world is at peace When night has fallen there is God’s face In the stars of the sky In the silhouetted land In my minds eye On the one I love On the one I ignore On the one I give On the one I give not On the one of my children On the two of my children On all of the children Is it my lot to wander gardens Walking barefoot asking pardon? I’m given a choice. Look inside Don’t be blind And Listen. Very. Quiet. Very. Hard. Concentrate, attend, be present. The victim and the victimiser Are just words and split factions States of being irrelevant to God So forget victimhood, being a victimiser God’s love dissolves, he is the great atomiser Exploder of the false self and selves Clear the decks, throw books from the shelves. God is all in all I am who am Yahweh.
https://www.haus-a-rest.com/new-page-72 Fantastic to have two poem selected for the Haus-A-Rest zine issue 39. Artschool and what it did or did not tell you. The Ontological Art School and What I Learned There In a game of solitaire, I am dealt a number of random cards – these are my social locators. Where and when I was born and my parents, these things are out of my control. Just like the cards I have been dealt. Knowing and understanding my locators is like playing a game strategy. Making the best use of the cards I have. This is my ontology of the art school. My parents met at post-war art school in the 1940s. Their evenings were filled with philosophical and art theory discussions at the jazz clubs. The ontological context of the art school for me was in the wider community too. My sister and I grew in a network of artists, musicians, poets and designers. I thought everyone lived like this. We I spent our chodhood in the corridors and classrooms o...
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