Syndicate: [[[The Sting]]]

[furtherfield <info@furtherfield.org>]

[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[The Sting]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]
Creativity finding its sense of place in a world of glitter-foolery


As I kissed my love, I trembled twice.

Once for the realization that I had found my reference, my link to another's
(what some call soul) sense of wonder and essence.

Twice for the acceptance of our perpetual journey, what we were about to
embark upon. 

She could see me for what I wanted to be and could be, and not what other's
tried to make me be.
 
I knew that I could give this gift back in return, we both knew instictively
what we were about to share.

An adventure so big, so scary and unattainable, how could our shared dreams
ever become real?

For we were vagabonds, upstarts genetically designed, creative gypsies who
have no rights to share the stage.

And we were not actors or actresses pretending, we knew that we were the
real thing but was that allowed?

We dared to share our love, our doubt and all those muddy things, declaring
our cutz for real.

But the stage wanted pastiche, not grit or the rhythm of life and all its
valid and dirty turmoils.

So we are now sharing our dreams with whoever dares to be real - loving the
moment and what out of life we can steal.

For pastiche has its own romance and it is supported by another's dream and
set in monolithic plastic.

Don't get me wrong, pastiche is not what we are seeing, but built on top of
what many dare not to see.

For that is the noize of free imagination trapped by circumstance, like an
animal caged - like you and me.

Denied a part in the play, on that stage, not by decision but by default,
for this has a more powerful sting.

May be we have found our place, no matter how playful, explorative and wild
we are, what does it matter?

When the wall seems so high, and at the door ahead of you some people do
pass, but we have one not.

Some say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but us vagabonds ask for
you to look far yonder.

To a place that at present can only be a dream, but in time if you wish, it
could be much much more.

Go on, I dare you - open those doors, for we are waiting and eager to be
allowed to re-invent what has been seen.

We will drink your wine and spit on that ever so polished floor, and really
explore what we are here for
and what we were meant to be...


(a kind of playful and ironic dysfunctional poem - or is it ;-)

marc garrett

http://www.furtherfield.org


 









   
 
 

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