About Breed

Isn’t art useless

if it only mirrors man

but never changes him?

 

Yet it consumes me –

at the same time giving life to my very sensibility.

And even though there might be no value in it,

without it I couldn’t estimate my own….

 

So this never-ending  affair goes on –

even though it may never bear seed.

And the word is born

even if it never gets read.

 

But art, my old lover –

until the grave

I’ll be forever trying to penetrate you…

hoping to make you loyal

to me as I am to you

so that we can breed.

                                         Otherwise what else if that isn’t our destiny?

 

© Heath Muchena, 2014

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Sunrise Muse

… a sunset

set us off

on a special kind of experience

and I assumed

day would see the light…

but now it’s as if I never knew you

a bitter sweet estrangement

one I don’t enjoy

but must admit I rather prefer

and so we can never be

it just wouldn’t be right…

but from somewhere

words to a song spring:

bloom little flower

you don’t need me

you have the power

and besides,

how lovely is this summer?

the beauty of mountain and ocean

and you  –

still inspire

and I

forever muse….

 

© Heath Muchena, 2014


 

 


Sundew Sins

Sucked in
at first sight
by your colourful hair,
the Rothko red dress
and that sweet scent

that gave me breath
then took it out of me.

We tucked in
on the first night,
without a care –
a Caravaggio like affair
which at sunrise would haunt…

but that gave me faith
when I needed to believe.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2014


red rush

this Valentine’s
let’s do it in your imagination –
let me take a most suitable form…

it will be the most exquisite of good times
but no need to rush ejaculation –
first enjoy this poem….

 

© Heath Muchena, 2014


For What It’s Worth

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3.2

All there is to know about the creation of art is that it’s all in the artists’ action and so can never be in the explanation.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2014


In my indie II

Half moon bright around the edges –

the incandescence piercing through the thin cloud;

around it a cluster of stars –

each demanding close inspection

but not comparison.

 

A sheet of cloud drifts by –

headed north to join the blanket over the mountain.

A potent but mild wind blows from the south east,

as if to say: all that is missing is her.

 

So that got me thinking:

as much as my senses are relishing

this rare indulgence of contemporary living —

the soundtrack to this night

is not one of nature —

neither the sound of the wind blowing,

nor the Egyptian geese quacking

in the little park across the garden —

but instead the music coming out of the mp3 player….

 

Instantly I realise that

even though I can’t have it all

it is all for me.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2014