SELECTED POEMS 1:
MIXED MEDIA PRINTING
Completed mixed-media prints
Poetry + Digital Print + Linoleum Block Printing
Font: Courier
Printing: 250gsm cream paper
Digital files before block printing
Astral Naught
Is it everything
Or is it nothing?
I stretch my hand towards the scintillating stars, my
Twinkling tormentors, they teeter tantalizingly
On the brink of forever, I see them saturate the space surrounding me
Yet I can never touch them.
It looks like they are everything,
But feels like they are nothing.
Do the stars exist? If so they are bullies standing in an infinite circle about me,
Pointing, laughing their glimmering laugh at this fleck with his
Goldfish bowl for a head.
It is cold. The coldness is a blanket that seethes under my suit, a
Cobra, carnal curling coils constricting
Fragmenting filaments of my flesh, holding me lovingly,
Yet coldness is just the absence of hotness.
So it looks like nothing
But it feels like everything.
Does my nose exist? If so it is itching. But I cannot see it hear it taste it or do
Anything about it because of this
Goldfish bowl for a head.
My face is fire my eyes water my expression
Scrunches up skin squirming screaming
My misshapen hands grab at my goldfish bowl for a head
And scratch and screech and squeak against the glass
I feel it peeling away my sanity in thin sheets
It feels like
Every
Thing
But
Then again, it might just be
Nothing.
Man-of-War
Man-of-war, hold your rein,
Gaze upon your grey domain.
In the sky a tempest brews,
Down beneath, a kraken coos.
Sleep, sleep, sleep, it sings,
Rocking the cradle of death as it grins.
Sink, sink, sink, into dreams,
Waves rise and fall to submerge frozen screams.
Serene, the man-of-war maintains his gaze
That shatters, with a gentle piercing grace
The reaper’s scythe into a million rays,
That shimmer tamely upon the ocean face.
A knight whose brilliant sapphire visor claimed
The beauteous shades of sky and sea in days
Of peace, he stays astride however maimed
In war, and strikes with aim that never strays.
He roams the peaks aloft and valleys low,
A monk in restless waters, guided by
Celestial pull, an endless ebb and flow,
And worldly sin his thousand arms defy.
Although his gait is slack, his grit is pure;
That Fate will steer him through the storm he is sure.
