Wednesday, 12 January 2011


A disturbance of the Devil’s sleep.
A shock of spirit in its flicker.
A new panic for the New Year.
Breathe and catch art’s pulse,
Her slick stride into the wings
Of the sun.
Beauty’s candle is always shifting colour
Its cinders last through night’s seasons.
Breathe in the this rush of warmth,
This heroic voice, this healing touch
- white fingers
Stroking the feathers of your heart.

Life Stops For Art

Wielding the moment like a pistol,
Gently, you guide life’s lines into
Clearness. Urging
Sunlight and brick into focus.

Kneeling, or drapping yourself
Impossible like a Rodin model,
Your crooked bones
And your damaged muscles
Suddenly become
Flammable and supple.

You make life take flight
With each prophesy