pebblesfromtheshore
Pebbles from the shore
Go tell the artist who's shadows come to dance upon his heart,
Go tell the poet who's words will cut her to be free,
Go tell the child, their pain from those they loved is just chance,
It is my faults, my pain, my questions , my answers
that makes me..........
Me.
DB@D.
Writer, artist, photographer. . Male 1963 . Lived life for others, now learning who I am.
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Last Seen Blogs
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Se c'è qualcuno interessato al cielo Blu ho un invito!?
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Erica Hawkes (Canadian Artist)
"WHISPER COAST".
Acrylic on Canvas, 36" x 48".
Private Collection.
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Perfect Shoulders
Saw a perfect man today, in a perfect shirt, on a perfect street. On his way purposeful but hesitant, too early for a date, maybe a colleague, coffee, an early morning meet.
Perfect shoulders, lean, triangular a sculpted look, in his hands a book and jacket, well read and cautious, sensible, like his shoes. A cultured look.
Hair, trim, like his waist, the man was an adonis, followed by admiring stare from sagged paunched, greyed men no less and women wondering where the hell they were when these genes were handed out and this young lad was simply blessed.
And he knew, I know he knew as window shopping glances were too long, in empty windows he paused, walked slow, his looks seeking a reflection in whose loving glance he lingered just a fraction long.
Every window, bus window, cars with darkened polished passing panes became his reassurance or his adoration that he was as beautiful as he was seven steps ago, every hair in place, no bagging shirt, the perfection was intact, the windows were flawed not him, they were ultimately to blame.
DB@D
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Photo
Devil’s throat | Iguazu Falls, Brazil
Photograph: Victor Lima
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Archaean Figure (bronze - 1958) by Jocelyn Barbara Hepworth (UK 1903- 1975)
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Jose Basso
Luna y Estrellas, 2021
Oil on canvas
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Hate
Does hate ever die?
Can you box it up as a pile of ashes
dig a hole and bury it deep, strap it to a chair and watch it fry?
Why doesn’t hate die?
You can fight it, punch it scream and chase it as a teenage betrayal,
You can talk to it as it twists with cancer and you walk together to say one last goodbye.
But hate never dies.
Its in your genes, in its in your psyche, you grew up with hate, it kept you alive.
When all was missing and you were alone it kept you company, gave you a home, sustained each day, lived off your pain and you lived off mistrust of all around.
Thats why hate never dies, because it’s buried here behind my eyes, next to mistrust and my fathers lies.
It will go long years without a mention till you find a new dimension, but you always doubt you’ve left it behind, always question a motivation, always there in your imagination, carried it with you as a parasite in your mind. Staining your view of what is true, its still there in there with you.
You are both one of kind.
To distrust all, even those who do not deserve distrust, just to survive. recollection of a reopened hell, a familiar smell of burnt out dreams charred beyond recognition in a unwitting self immolation,
My hate will go,
it will die,
I will keep it in and it will cease,
but so will I
DB@D
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Words
So many words have I given to others,to hold when their hopes grow dim.
So many phrases belong to others, keeping them warm within.
Metaphors spill, as metaphors will from my page to another’s heart.
Smoothing a brow, as only poets know how, as we painfully play our part.
But now is the time to reclaim what’s mine, the impossible must be free.
Together with care, long flowing, The alchemist strives to be free.
Librarian, book, take one last look.
My words have come home to me.
DB@D
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