The ocean in marble

The ocean in marble

I am playing the marbles with the world.
Against an evil opponent.
Whose stacks are black,
oil and coal fired
earth-raping excavators.

As the tunnel closes over me
Sand plumes from the lake bed
and my ascent begins.
Towards this marble
of which my ocean is made.

The light floods back
like white sheets drawn away
I pierce the isotherm and,
reveal the surface temperature.
Behold my playing field.

It’s not that I can’t lose the round.
My ocean’s safe inside.
Although the rest of these
so-called spheres are gone.
There will be another day soon.


The wall (Red Dragon III)

003324The point in the world where it is no longer straight forward but straight up. The wall of mountains. Crushed surface scattered with the Earth’s sleepy dust. Not to move for a million more years. And even then a movement that defies observation. Earth’s reticence, Gaia’s timidity.

The heaven’s rain on the old enemy of dry rock. The golden sun’s trace. The ill effect dry-frozen in its moments of strength. A lost friend that will return one day.

Four days remembering four years. Living memories. Revisiting dreams. Different and similar people. Mountain’s change. Various colours’ and descriptions’ flashes imprinted on his mind. Difficult to recall response.

Radiant reds well fed by warm sun. Bruised purple by oppressive forces. Mediocre yellows by elders. Sparse greens by push and shove and provoking envy. White of chalk and lye, broken like dirty ice cubes. Brown all around, muddy canvas washing.

Colours equal to the environment, faces indigenous to the colours. Not reflective of a people, but a people reflective of a vicious god, dropping fist, not drooping faith. The geological seismic ripple of live red Richter. Unfelt. Bruised purples still radiate pain. The dragon still sleeps.

The artist and the slave

A verbal photograph. A picture in words. The black on white postcard. Linguistic description. A sketch. A typewriter. Pages. Pages of a sketch pinned. Pinned behind a typewriter. Loosely sitting at its climax. The final strokes.

The first words of truth. The companion for life. A soul met before. A point in life. Usually a reckless point or point of recklessness. Behaviour and attitude. Saying goodbye, saying see you soon, saying never again.

The feelings to force words into a picture. Impelling circumstances. Reunited with a lost soul manifested de nuevo on the page, in words.

A fabricated story. Designed before two characters separate. This is what they tell people happened. This is contrived. Take a boat and sit the passengers to a banquet. Stand up and orate a picture. Put them in the middle of the ocean and tell them principally there is nowhere to go. The boat is not going further north and the captain doesn’t know where Buenos Aires is, less have desire to find out.

Truth as a bond. This story is for two people, the other people are not to be bonded. They are not to know the truth. The fine print didn’t exist. The bond was oral. A picture prediction in words. A promise postcard.

The page ripped from the typewriter. The corner set alight. The black stain creeping across the soul. The black flaky ashes testament to a combination of words that only once will ever exist. Self justification for having written.

The second half of the orange is far away. She comes in segments. A couple separated by the white pithy ether. The bond stands. The collective intelligence of the universe bangs entry. There is a secret it needs to know.

Truth’s chances of survival in the long run? Shouldn’t be put on paper or set for the record. Who stands to lose or benefit from this outcome. The secret known to two people. Two famous characters from history. Lovers or warring enemies. How many secrets lie in how many graves?

A man alone on an island exercises his personal boundaries. A border patrol and summit. Futility proven. A man on an island alone, writing. There is no telephone, there is no means of communication. He writes a portrait in words. The etymological drawing.

A feeling shared, guarded by several sentries. The journey fits on the paper. The outline of everything that isn’t secret approaches from the infinite. The outline. Everything that isn’t what is not to be told. The white border of the page. Circumstances and related characters. Never does the other half of the secret appear on the page.

New artwork

It’s been a busy month! Three new book covers are the result. You can check them out here, or better still, surf over to your favourite online book store and see what they look like in situ:

bookcover, artwork
Elevated: an anthology of short stories

Buy ‘Elevated’ at Amazon, Smashwords, iTunes

artwork, poetry
Buenos Aires and the Origins of Sausse

Buy ‘Buenos Aires and the Origins of Sausse’ at Amazon, Smashwords, [coming soong to] iTunes

artwork, edm
Buenos Aliens: a novel

Buy ‘Buenos Aliens’ at Amazon, Smashwords, iTunes