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Art

    Some as precious and spectacular as rubies some as ominous and treacherous as fools gold whether dark or light each sticks to our bones and falsifies our essence. Some sparkle in fantastic splendour memories of stolen moments of joy, passion, mischief. Afraid to let them escape from our depths in case the feeling

    I saw a man talk to death today. I didn’t know if they parted company, or became stead fast friends. I saw a woman from her bike pass something to the medic, not overtly concerned at her rock still companion, his chest compressed, his temple bloodied. Perhaps her friends shock and awe, were

  And we walk in shadows, always asking for something, always hoping to be seen, heard, loved… Yet trees grow tall, so old, unconcerned with this and that or who they might be today, or tomorrow… Eventually we too will be relieved of this duty to be… and simply exist unaided by the silly idea

Thank you God for Guiding Me, My pen and My Thoughts. As I waver at the brink of darkness it threatens me with control. I remember to pray, the darkness recedes and bright God consciousness settles in its place. Many prayers have gone into this lovely shifting. Being sick and tired of revisiting that nightmare

My body is ravaged My soul is torn I have smothered my spirit My mind is clouded My heart full of shame And I shake with fear Can I keep trying to start over & begin again & again What must it take for me to get off this ride Will I even be able

Some of you know I’ve been writing for the past three years or so about my recovery experience. I’ve opened myself up to the entire world and what fell out from the deepest parts of myself sometimes surprised even me. I’ve found no surer way to expose every part of yourself than to be creative.

Rising Like a Phoenix ~~~ Pushing, poking, pulling up old memories- Rising from tombs Cutting, clearing, catching bits & piece Time stuck like- a broken clock ~~~ Dreams-squeezing past layers & layers of Denial, despair, can’t do it -regret Pushing, poking, pulling me up Cutting away roadblocks, clearing paths ~~~ Contractions- pain, umbilical cord cut

I composed this in April-May 2004. I awoke at 4am and recorded the dawn chorus and built on top of that with various acoustic and electronic instruments to hand at the time. https://soundcloud.com/davidrosecomposer/english-tropical-journey

  THE CREATION OF A POET My turbulent childhood molded me into a poet.   Black shadows hiding beneath gray clouds of confusion.   Sculpturing, steaming, forming words throwing them on paper   Living now Putting my past behind unless pulling up or helping others   Avoiding pitfalls, pot holes, poisoning emotions  I’m writing, dreaming,

Gabriel and I had a very brief Facebook conversation about a piece he wrote for us a year ago in collaboration with Aaron Perry, who provided the art. From that conversation came his inspiration to creat the above piece of micropoetry with photography by Nick Harris.

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