I purposely dropped my fridge-poetry in a bucket filled with different colours!
So welcome to my live exhibition.
Watch me paint masterpieces with my words,
connect sentences to prove that an artist’s work isn’t always hidden beneath a canvas,.
I paint for those who can’t see.
For we’re living in an era where people won’t take their time to learn to admire aesthetics but love to draw attention…Correction.
If you didn’t know than i’m telling you that my core purpose is directed
…like Spike behind the camera or like Bruce in front of it.
Either way i’ll lean.
Tell Edward I met a new ‘munch’,
The persistence of memory caught me thinking about how I spend my time with my self.
Of course I can draw…crowds.
To listen to my voice as if it were their own consciousness,
speaking in words written in bold, shivery is dead but the icecream in my hand that taste’s so good…is still cold.
Paint brush’s are filled with pain, brushed and dusted off…
Imagine if I was a man who stuttered – REALLY bad,
not a single word would have been recognized let alone having anyone ever know how I really am inside…Lonely.
Lonely as the mockingbird’s child when mother had to fly away to find food,
Giggle as I walk between them as If the life of Moses had inspired their lives and they were seen as baby pharaoh’s just waiting to be given power.
I’m thankful that I can draw, for I don’t know what I would have done if my voice had been done.
…I’ve heard too many poems and musical pieces about guns.
But guns don’t kill people? Structural racism does!
At least it could… for some,
Others get mad, at least it seems like it gets to them – really bad.
There is no time for you to let your painting dry,
Exhibitions are my playground.
So don’t look so surprised when I inform you that this is my first time.
Angry photographers – snap… a lot of pictures.
And when I’m sad, I cut myself… another piece of cake. 😀
Tell me, Is it really that wrong?
So ‘truth’ searchers ‘write’ a lot.
On scrolls measured in milli, centi, and even kilometers,
…so Criti-size what you wish, and be mesmerized by my wits, but I still can’t stand how their minds won’t sit. Down next to me on the train, here’s a thought:
If responding to someone who says ‘hello’ with a smile suddenly was to become a law.
Would you take the fine? Go straight to jail and not collect 200 potential paintings that may have a worthiness that even may interest the blind?
The type that not even the bank -would -see?
My street art is ‘live in concert’ on every pavement I’ve ever walked on,
… ask me, to show you my art.
For I have adjusted my boundaries.
You tell me to draw the way that you draw and I tell you that I am capable of drawing,
just not the way that you draw.
I mean sure, I can find ways to present a piece, but I bet that someone would rather spend more time looking at yours than mine, so I speak.
Reach into these kids minds as they all think that they are all so free.
What amazes a child a grown man takes for granted…fact.
And what problems you an old neighbouring granny spends the few awaken hours of hers to laugh… at.
I can’t touch poetry but poetry can touch me, it’s an expression.
That’s why my secrets aren’t really explained, but need to be observed as a craft that must contain, more secrets.
Try to understand and give value to that which is right in front of you…it’s an art.
…For you who seem to speak very well, it’s an art.
…For you who can cook the bitter sweet, its an art.
…For you who see other peoples shoes and know how to walk in them despite the size of your own feet, it’s an art.
…it’s beautiful. That’s why it isn’t a coincidence that they named having a ‘skill’ an art.
Think about it.
For everything else I rationalise but this comes right from my heart…
my art’s from the heart so my heart – will always write – for the art.