Hole in the Wall: The Tide Formed My Pool

The Tide Formed My Pool

When the tide wash in from billions of kilometers away.
I found myself tossed within the mirth.
And within this stirred up sentiment.
In the rubbish and the forgotten.
I became my new reality.
The one of prosperity and real economic growth.
As best described by the social commentators of the day.

Despite the widening gap that separates the haves and have nots.
And the separatists and the terrorists.
And the defenders of old orders and wants of youth.
And the arguments that form the threats of war
My new found contentment places me.
Within the data of acceptable trends.
Within what is normal for my age.
My gender.
My genetical heritage.

Then as forecasted, the tide seeped out.
And so began the new realities and our new stories that had to be acquired.
Just look at me, as I shine under the cyclical moonlight.
As now in true fullness, I bloom and reflect calm beauty.
In stillness and patience, I make little comment.

I shingle and sparkle in my owned bubbly pond.
The rocks, concrete, coral, shells, and plants decorate my boundaries.
I splash, wallow and dart in the confines of my fortress.
Under the canopy of stars.
Of the milky way.
Of the cosmos.
Of this wondrous existence.
Make no mistake, I will defend any threats that question my existence.

And as though in sickness I still continue to want and consumption.
I am insular and demanding.
I am forever hungry.
I have been nurtured to this right.
It is deep in my soul that I act out my exterior avatar.
I know that my reality is translucent and fragile.
No matter what reinforcement I shape.

It has been through hard work and determination that this pleasure became mine.

It is not in my sense of being to reach deeper into myself.
I refuse to self-doubt, my time.
I have other who do that.
Those who charge themselves to represent me.
They take the opportunity to discover my part of their within.
They are paid well.
As a pack of interconnected zealots, they quarrel to influence my approval.
But I refuse to approve as I am too busy tendering to myself.
It's just that I want to experience the moments of conscious existence.
As would a stone, a twig, or leaf touched by night light.
Make the noise to seek my attention.
But I am not listening when I'm feeling rewarded.

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This image can be commissioned as an acrylic painting on canvas.

Hole in the Wall: Pool Time

Hole in the Wall: Pool Time
I wanted to fly to another planet, but I first built this swimming pool.
My dreams just started getting away from me, and then I let them go.

In the heat of the day, I plunge into my pool.
My refreshing water.
I own it. I work for it.
When I'm tired of my thoughts I submerge into it.
When I'm confused and in panic, I fall gently into it.
I emerge feeling invigorated and comforted.
Continuation seems so easy once and only after submerging in my cool clear water.

My dreams to transform my life never eventuated.
I knew it once, when  I was promised myself to achieve.
I could aspire.
You never fail when you attempt to chase.

Somewhere I needed to reconcile between the obtainable haves and impossible wants.
Have I succumbed to failed by fabricating my mediocrity prison of pleasure?
Am I floating in falsehood
Am I wallowing in water of hindrance?
I built and tender to this my own 3-meter submersion of comfort.

In my moment before death, will my pool be there in easy memory?
Will it be replaced by morphine?
Will regrets of attainment hound me?.
Will I feel satisfied?
Will I discover what I was born for?

Whilst under water nothing eventuates.
I feel released.
Whilst under water the world passes me by.
I can just watch.
I feel contented.
I am no longer the wonder.
I am just here wanting to feel good.
In happiness for the now and in happiness for the tomorrow.

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This image can be commissioned as an acrylic painting on canvas

Moon over Desert

Hole in the Wall: Moon over Desert

Within solitude, there is self-beauty to be discovered.
Engage silence and dismiss the want to share.
And dismiss the necessity to be liked.
And love the abstract of your abyss.
Be satisfied by the soiling and scratching of time.
Whilst crawling and scampering throughout.
The same mistakes.
The same divisions.
The same crisis.

When secrets have long passed their importance.
And the desert sea shimmers under full moon.
Recognise that glorious intent is cyclical.
Without thought and without hoopla grasp this intent.
Without the need.
Without the seeing.

What is fully understood is quickly dismissed.
Your story has the greater impact.
Your synthesis of fact diminishes being.

Nothing will hurt you in your solitude.
Within cyclic patterns enable the time to feel your situation.
What is in determinism.

As an insect in forrige.
And thankful for the ambient light.
The casting your domain is difficult to define.
Let in the universe.
The stars, the planets, the reflected matter.
Shimmer and reflect your unspoken meaning.
Rejoice your memories, your shadows, loss and sense of being.
Move in cycles rather than from left to right, and back and forward.
Rather than in linear action.

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This image can be commissioned as an acrylic painting on canvas

Godin Chat

Godin Chat
Make your story live and cherrish every single scene.
Connect to the grid and revolutionize yourself.

You can shout from the tallest building.
Shop in the deepest arcade.
Eat within the most crowded cafe.

This is your time,  be heard and seen.
Within the scope, we all live within a shadow of revision.
Find the noisy space between the shadows.
Don't remain silent.

Rejoice and celebrate your life amongst others.
As the sun rises.
And as the sun sets.

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Godin Refractive Reflection

Across the scrub and though the winter's cold.
Through the wind tunnels of our cities  we go.
Foraging forward to the promises of warm embrace.

Then when it appears safe to count.
The whispers from our night mind contorts order of  event.
Of what was never to be considered or to be questioned.

What is termed as to be expected.
Is not present in refraction, glimmer  and enticement.
Until the realization when all should be questioned and disorientated.

What turns our attention is not what we seem.
As we are desperately  unhinged from the stories of heritage.
And so it continues this paradox of acceptance and distraction.

We do not want to be seen through distraction.
However as the light  changes  and the whispers entice our attention.
The management of knowing seeps through our figures.

Go to sleep and pass through pulsating dreams.
Wake afresh with new realizations.
It is in unconsciousness we make sense.

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This image can be commissioned as an acrylic painting on canvas