Beginnings THE WANTING CHILD
Time is pain -
And I am damned to it
Damned for what?
For all time passes so vindictively.
What crime did I commit?
To see my dragons torch and slay me?
In the bowels of lamp-lit Hades I preside.
O flame consume the rage within,
But not me, not me;
O time be my friend.
Dark of night,
Shine your light,
High above my head;
If need be bring peace to the dawn of this Age,
And aching hearts, sacrifice no more -
The small, the helpless;
The wanting weeping child in all of Us.
TOUCHING
Touching the very rim of my cup,Is this passion lit anger;
That ART has been my lover.
So again will it be one who comforts and fulfills me in my solitude
It is this justification for my isolation that I flee,
That I should embrace the un-embraceable,
Promises only pain and hell fury;
I see the touching and I am enveloped in the sensuality it arouses;
As the fire burns - it is all warm and yielding flesh.
The Door (1975)
The SKETCH
A sketch is a stream of endless thoughts connected with lines on paper
The perpetuated motion of these thoughts are ever present in a hinged elbow,
And the moving fingers joined at the wrist of a hand,
With once considerably limited expression.
Creativity is the ability - It seems to stop and intensify
the moments moving thru the mind a mile a second;
The vision of seeing things we are not allowed to touch comes between the seconds,
and eventually there is a pace, at which the mind moves with us,
And allows touch to take hold of the body;
Where motion can become emotion,
And movement can become the vehicle of creation;
Where we may then be allowed to capture our ever illusive ART.
The Door (1975)
