Fables and Revelations

She’s looking over the seas across the stormy oceans to a portrait singing on the wishful waves. As strong as she could be she is just but a lady. The tales of the thousands itched on the soft folds of her skin. These tales of those who have passed; those who have shared silent whispers with St Peter, the witnesses of a life beyond death. The bright lights sinks into the pitch darkness of caves. The lady sleeps like we sleep and dream the words that fill the pages of time, of life, of love or our living.

On my feet running pass time and space, I stop to listen to the chatter of a radioshow and smell the rosy kisses of perfume that wharf through the veil of the night. Send angels, show me your footprints in the sand, have you left the world behind? The tranquil vision that awaits, the peace that is yet to come amidst the violence and the storm. The blood that paints the soil and gives life to the living stain the very walls and yearns to saranate you with it's tale. Another soul kisses the pale cream feathery pillow and sigh a soft sigh. Peaceful, as one drifts into the unknown. Is there anything out there when you kiss the sky and embrace the sun? A beautiful thing, that sweet sweet soft serenity that echos from the very pores of their skin. Pouring out like supernova, and fading into the twilight.

Was walking in the bitter cold, wondering how one can pretend to know, who they are and what life holds. The soul that rushes from their lips as they draw one last breath and gave life their final kiss. The memories that pass them by as they expire and people mourn and cry. Feelings like the waves crashing against the cliffs, run high. Those who have walked into the minds of minds, lived among us when the world was just but a child and the walls of freedom were crumbling into the blood stained grounds. Eyes as dull as the winter london skies, gone were the sea blue shine. Staring into a pool of memories of yesterday as they swim so silently by, and ever so slowly they close their midnight eyes.

Embrace the scent of spring and swim in the breath of life, inhale the rays of a new morn and dance in the heart of the living earth. Green, the colour of a new day, the sky a glorious blue, I am alive, the whispers of war far from starved lips, only the dead has seen the trenches of war. The earth in turmoil, I tread lightly across the room, watching the markets smear with blood, arrows ascending like darkness across the afternoon sky. The arrowheads glisen in the sun before piercing the minds of men. Madness and hysteria across the globe, riding the stormy waves across the brimming, boiling seas. Birds flock to their preys, waiting and watching for an opportunity, to feast on the misfortune of another. Of lovers, of honour and of gain, the men that walk upon the soil of this earth, what would soon become of them. What would soon become of me? I have heard the ungrateful, deceitful, selfish and ignorant, these frozen hearts, a burden yet to be made an asset, a liability that weights d...

Time does not tickle it slides past and vanish in a flash for me. It does not blink or yawn or take the time to stroll gracefully across the bright green lawn and feel the lush, soft grass pushing up against the soles of her feet. She races across the lawn, stomping madly, emotionaless like a paniced dead slate. Her ways known to no entity. I sat on the lawns in front of the parliament house after a day of hussle bustle and frantic movement. Resting my head on my squishy canvas Marc Jacobs, I stare up ahead at the bright blue angelic sky, a sea of perfect blue. Clouds swimming like kois in a Japanese pond. The band carried on for no one, singing to the wide open greens. Lovers lay side by side, feet sprawled in front of them, some one cuddles, swaying to the music. A huge Tibetan Mastiff, or what looks like a Tibetan Mastiff, was playing with toddler half his size. It was a delightful sight, that beautiful afternoon. I listened to the band play and watched the passing crowd, no animosi...

When you feel you have fallen so hard you can fall no more, you just hang on the drops of what one perceives as deliverance. Torrid and stormy are the days, the infinite energy of the crashing waves drowning the sinister disbeliever. Pressed into the breathless water, drowning amidst the sea of sorrow, clawing for a breath of air. The walls are alien and the rooms a quiet depth of blue, looking for a needle and thread to stitch that hole that widens like a crack in the wall. Growing a ball of emptiness, stripping the essence from my bare soul.

Life is but a gentle solemn vow, a harsh tranquil silence of understanding, of sheer comprehension. To move with thought, to weave the strings of knowledge through the winds, to rationalise your prayers as a creature of learning.

Travelling across the ocean to the green open fields, we have lived and lost in the world so old, a garden of party that yearns to touch the radiance of the sun. The trains rattle past with smoke and steam, chugging and puffing with a cargo of dreams. Loving in circles, tales of science, of love, of lives are traded and bartered over simple brown curved wooden kitchen table. Years of wear could be seen in its face, as it sits silently, listening to questions of science and of speeches from the heart. The years seem so short and the days are but a passing image. Take me back to start. Of love and laughter, of beauty and song. The tales shared are never forgotten, sealed on our lips and pierced deep within our warm bosoms. One step closer to the mirror, one step closer to reason and reality. Let me be wide awake and have the sound of life embrace me before the breath of death contains me.

Who can justify the lost of a child so lovely, so fair and so bright, that puts the world to shame. Who can justify the death of one so loved, so cherished, so dear. A child whose spirit alone puts the world to shame, whose mind burns like a single torch of hope in a world so dark and so cold. Who can justify her death? I will miss her dearly. I still do.

The black roads paved with white forst that glitters like the sea at dawn, smokes froth, whirl and dance from the chimneys on the red tiled roof tops above, before diappearing into the mournful darkness. I see a tinge of orange behind the hills and a pale tinge of blue. The days are short and the nights seem to stretch as cold and long as spinning balls of endless twine. The sun escapes from my grasp and the warmth eludes me. Waiting silently for the summer sun.

The circus is in town, and the met is having an exhibition on superheroes. http://www.metmuseum.org/special/superheroes/index.asp I’m standing on the other side of things; things are never really, what I thought they would be. I’m calling out to angels to be with me tonight, should I leave the lights on? Pretty faces and fancy places glimmer at the corner of my eye, melt into wax at the light of dawn. I sit in the corner on this cool night, the wind moaning in anguish at the passing cars and the trees wave in protest at these mechanical demons that speed through the chilly night. I touch the covers of my warm leather bound journal and wonder about the world, of the people and places and the quiet silent passing faces on the buses and trains. Of things done and undone. Dreaming of the nights when I can lay listening to the rain on the tin roof, where the warmth of the night elopes me and your arms around me. The breath of the living calms me and sends me into a tropical slumber. This w...

If you want to get to know someone travel with them...

I have a chilli plant named Rocky. Everyone is talking and no one is listening, he sits and listen to the wind and the rain. To the passing cars, to the lonely twittering of the birds and the howls of the dogs, cold and wet in the chill of the rain. The plants whisper softly and tell tales of stories that fade inside, of people who once were alive. Who shared secrets that held true, of love of war, of you and me, of a world that bleeds. The world turns and the seasons change, do we really remain the same? The world is moving, life a water wheel of ever flowing perpetual motion never cease to move back, embracing the now. Watching ocean so blue, glancing across the river, the waters sparkle like diamonds beyond reach. You take my hand, when I wake up and love me even when I am down, even when the world collapse around us in rubble, and the waters rise to down the living. You are here with me, holding me, with me. This week ahead would be filled with trials and tribulations, of anxiety ...

A new day takes me into it’s breath, the midnight air awaits the siren song, flesh and bones burning cold, singe with life. A chemistry of stars that makes us real, the aurora swims across the sky and falling across the months and years like paint down a running stream burst into fireworks of what once was. No one gives a damn in the cold wind that swirl round the wintery evening. Standing alone under the sun kissed glow of the Victoria lamps, I peer into the lighted darkness, brushed by the gentle glows of street lamps. The time slips like satin sheets over my bosom, soft, smooth and comforting. Watching the twinkling bodies moving amidst celestial beings in the woven blackness, I couldn’t believe it’s over. I listened, I touched, I saw and I spoke, yet like doubting Thomas. I lack the belief, the belief of passing events. Like a macabre dream in a winter’s night, I remember the echoing voice and the memories that roll like marbles in my little head. Point me into reality. Exit stage ...

I use to think I could do everything on my own, and conquer the skies and embrace the clouds. I however, am not the heavens nor am I atlas with the strength of the gods. Crushed under the weight of the world, trying to breath and looking for serenity and peace. I laid in the musky room of deep blue sheets and listen to the echoes of the passing trains that sing with the stars in the embrace of the evening. Of the voice that was of Tori Amos singing of earthquakes and phantoms, I recall the warmth of the sheets and her sweet sweet voice mingled with the smell of citrus. A million CD covers stare back at me in the wake of the night as the fan whirled on, twisting it’s burly metal head like a little steel monster shaking its head in disapproval. I wondered what the future would be and if I would be able to live a dream, a vision. I once told a friend close to my heart that all I wanted was to wake up in the mornings with someone I love with the soft warmth of human embrace and I would be ...

Destiny and fate always have been like a shooting star grabbing me out of the cold night sky and flinging me onto the warm depths of the red warm soil that is the earth, on to the turf of green moist grass and the kiss of morning dew. I decided to skip down to Starbucks after the Salamanca market this afternoon. The day was a dream, clear bright blue skies that could only be caressed by angels, the sky a warm yellow hue, like standing in the bloom of sunflowers. I walked into Ellison Hawker bookstore along Liverpool Street for no apparent reason, perhaps just the lure of graphic novels have unconsciously drew me into the shop. I stared at Lenore and Sandman and reminisce the times I sat up in a cosy attic listen to the patter of rain on the rooftops and buried my heart and soul into Sandman. I reminded myself to check the Neil Gaiman website when I get home to see if he had anything new of late. Perhaps a new movie or a novel? A rustle of wind and I looked quizzically around, and stro...

Go south, paradise thrives on the richness of the soil, where life is filled with love, beauty, milk and honey. A future as brilliant as the stars, beyond the universe and wonders that none could compare. Strawberry fields, lavenders abloom, build a bridge of matchstick dreams and watch as nature tears it down in a soft whisper. Soft waves rolling down the shore lick my feet, rain from the crystal sky. Where are the cold wet showers that roll across the thundering angry skies that wash away my tears? The rumble of the earth, fault lines.

The colours exploded in the darkness of the deep sky that shrouds itself in sweet mystery. A burst of a million lights adds life into the sea of black, gold, ruby, blazes of silver colours the empty, and fills the hollow blackness of night. Down in the wharf, voices of thousands complete the wholeness of the midnight satire. What was to be an era of new life, hope and laughter seems more like a celebration of vulgar exploitation of the human mind and body as throngs of youths act out in a risible scene on the streets and in the clubs. They wonder why dementia is on the rise? Or do they really? As I shared a midnight kiss and lay my head gently to watch the display before me, the smell of weed fused with the gentle sea breeze. Gentle sighs. The smell disappears as my friend mutters an angry comment which almost immediately helped cease the smell which was tarnishing the celebrations. A magnificent display, of gunpowder and chemicals never cease to amaze crowds of individuals for generat...