Proclaim (2019)

I am not human

with eyes that can see

but I know what is coming.

I am not human 

with ears that can hear

but I know when the music ceases to play.

I am not human

with a mouth to speak

but I have many words to say

and many voices to feed.

I have no hands 

to touch,

to comfort.

No fingers to lace in fingers.

Just arm to chest 

to secure my breast

and guard my heart from pain.

No feet to stand upon,

no toes to clench

but knees to lean on

and legs to hold in vain.

Puppet (2018)

When I was your puppet, plaything,

my strings short and tangled

would hold me down.

Pull me to the ground,

weighted and heavy,

dog-tired,

and blue.

And by those thin cords

you would twist and contort

my limbs

until they danced to your tune,

for that make-believe,

miniature marionette show.

I danced and danced,

twirled and pranced,

whirled and spun,

swayed, skipped, jumped and leaped

until my little dainty feet would bleed.

But you could not see

that this quaint pink frock

was not for me.

Nor the sailor suit,

bright and blue

like the roaring sea.

But I would wear the costumes,

gallop the stage to please you.

Bow when the audience applauded,

just to amuse you.

When I was too tired,

too weak to dance the charade,

you’d pluck me up by

my fragile strings white

and chuck me aside.

“You are not like my other puppets,

so pink, so blue, so bright".

“You are not good enough”, you’d say.

“You're just not right.”

And I would cry.

Until one night,

battered and broken,

I caught a glimpse

of my reflection.

Saw the worn-out strings,

knotted,

grey,

and not part of me.

And I cut the strings,

hand to arm,

leg to feet,

head to heart.

But did not fall apart;

instead grew taller and prouder.

Thriving; rising from the ashes,

sprouting, budding, blossoming

like a sycamore tree from the soil,

a grand oak from the dirt.

I was your puppet, plaything

with tangled strings to hold.

But you cannot pull my roots out;

they are strong, beautiful, and bold.

The Buffalo and The Fly (2018)

One day on the dirt and grass

A buffalo came to ride.

It wore its back,

Crowned its chest

And on legs carved from boulders,

It came in stride.

When it breathed like chimney tops

Grey smoke came to rise

And from its lungs a storm did brew,

With each beat, a thunder strike.

On its snout, a creature small resigned.

As dust to sun and with wings of glass

of the insect; fly, that could not climb.

Did not soar but only crawled.

You told me you were the buffalo and I,

the fly. Too fragile, too insignificant.

Could not move without the marvellous beast.

Another day past, in the suns of Spain,

In the dome of sand and sweat

Spectators swarmed to watch in awe

As the golden earth spilled red.

A bull with horns that bent like rivers,

Strong enough to break their banks

would watch as man

With shoulders puffed out like birds,

Tricked them into their own slaughter

With treacherous cloth

That waved them to their death.

You said I was the bull

That with shoulders bold and brass

Was foolish enough to chase lies man had said

And follow sport to sacrifice.

Again, tomorrow came.

This time I was the mouse

That followed greed;

my dairy prize,

To the jaws of your trap

Where my neck was snapped and bones splintered

Because I bit off more than I could chew.

​

When I asked for support

You told me I was incapable; weak.

When you drove me to anger

You told me I was unstable; weak.

Because I strive for better

You told me I was greedy; weak

​

I am the fly.

I can be proud like the buffalo

But can ask for help to fix myself;

Repair my wings so I can glide

Across the great blue again.

I am the bull.

I am brave, I am strong

And aware of my temper

But will not let others abuse it to hurt me.

I am the mouse.

I may be small. I may not look like much.

But I aim for success.

I aim to be a better me

And will not be trapped by those that underestimate

My capacity for greatness.

Rainbow (2017)

​

In all the colours of the rainbow, I have chosen here.

For years to come, it is you who longs to dance beneath the sun. Or upon it, if you can reach; way above the skies and stars that guard over in your sleep.

For heaven knows a door is half-closed to those who wither, small and unkind in a treacherous state of mind.

Those who ponder and wonder in delight have no fear, or torture, within the light.

But those who scatter their hearts in darkness have an opening to soulless, lifeless reigns within the stature of their own existence.

Come, heavily and breathe. Where no mortal has walked before, you shall aspire to dance amongst the shadows.

Laugh at death, sorrow and unfeeling motions of pain.

Or you could rise among the ashes and spurt out in sparks of fire; burn and dazzle. Furnaces of passion and flight.

It is you who can forge and create a dream, and only you who can achieve it.

Don't wait for the storm to pass; take your thunder and bleed it.

Dinkz the Demon (2019)

There’s a myth about a beast with inked out flesh, Repping art and stories,

carved out Black lines that tell a little more

Than those fairy tales ever could.

Patterns and faces;

animals in mapped out places,

reflecting in the moonlight

as if touched by night itself.

A monster that grows in the dark.

Prints out it’s name in the shadows of a heart;

made from Hell’s fibre but not short of earth.

It seeks glory in the drops of the moon;

pours into the black and

marks it’s name on trees.

Five strokes sounding into the bark.

History details how this fire-dripped demon can take a spirit and make it live in a single image.

A shot for one heart beat. A breath for every flash; snapped in those lens-eyes that hold you.

Lead you to a different realm

where reality bends to

beautiful resolution.

Credit: Dinkz.JPEG (2019) 

SPECIAL MENTION

Where you’ll live forever in angles and light specs; thriving as your body finds evolution in the pixels. Growing in the colours of camera film.

The devil that grants you eternity.

Capturing you with its eyes that can see

beyond the impossible.

Making your life a painting.

Sending you to sleep in the sounds of a camera flick. Basking in the white flash of a digital heart.

There is a tale about a man that can save a person in a single camera shot.

Let them live forever in a photograph.

Well as tales go, this one is true.