Creative process

Creatives under thirty need compliment stroking.
From a back biting bench who merely are all joking.

Creatives over forty start to care less.
From the flagrant song of critic ridiculers.

Age belies a tough thickened scarred skin.
Rips & tears from the spite fueled din.

A hued out thought a tangible sketch.
A creative spark to release the raw itch.

A voice born from troubled thoughts.
A life forged from this day is wrought.

Unwavering resolve a creatives quest.

Duty bound to put all new concepts to rest.

Raw human experience is not AI driven.

Life lived, shared isnt an algorithms given.

Creativity is not ego stroking design acclaim.
Its simply to ward off ones own mind thats insane.

A mind filled with noise & much confused hustle.

A space to unpack & rebuild an ordered aligned puzzle.

A challenged journey from birth to our death.

Unravel spiritual puzzles a life long behest quest. 

Coupled with deep thought & artistic creativity.

Inspires a productive life & much sane longevity. 

Dont get overwhelmed by external critic voices.

Be strong with your convictions & your lifes tough choices.

A solid helping hand to keep your step steady.

A friend has a kind word always at the ready.

Cloud out all that back bench negative ridicule.

Their influence on your journey is really miniscule. 

Rather develope an artistic resilient ceative attitude. 

Unpack your thoughts creative mindset in quiet solitude. 

  

QJD

War creatures align (Physalia physalis)

(Physalia physalis) 

Warmongering people, storm clouds gather,
War creatures Eire now rises, innocence scatters.

Blood snakes of war, hissing at reasons gate.
Tearing asunder mankind's fragile fickle fate.

War machine sheds its insincere tear,
femininity tramped as the tanks shift gear.

Maraud, rape, rip once lush virgin ground,
skeletal trees, rotting corpses, deep turned sod only found.

Honorable mans root heartfelt driven quest,
is to tame this war beast and put it dead to rest.

For man this is a nightmare beyond his understanding.
As the warlike believe innocence is ripe for the taking.

Fervently seek mercy from deep within,
we are all simply one organism beneath one skin.

An arm going to war with its one good eye,
will surely cause the host to wither & it will die.

Humanity hinges on this one enormous reaction,
will we continue to rise to our greedy imperfection?

Reptiles of war, as the storm clouds collect,
innocence retreats as reptiles rip flesh.

Starve all the hate perpetuate only deep love,
Honorable men must now demand, "enough now, is bloody ENOUGH!!

QJD - 2013

Man’s maligned mortality

Life lived , lessons learn,
Empty ego, emotions earn.

Mortal man microscopic,
Delusional dunce, despotic.

Warfare wicked, woefully wrong,
Sinister serpents slanderous song.

idiot idol, ideas insane,
Boastful brigand, bloated brain.

Revolting rulers, right raines
Fragile flicker from flames

Seduced seed seditions slated,
Victorious victims vindicated.

Sanity suffering, share strife,
Learn lessons, love life.

2009

The way of an artist - Wildetecture style

Creative realities pathway, the journey of an artist. Slaying wild dragons on the windswept plains of a far off Megido plein. All the while sitting quietly at ones drawing board, striking imagined foes within our limited minds eye.

The rough pencil sketch or written word outlet,  a small fragment of the real imaginings. The thoughts through the mist and ether of perceived reality. The real expression stays trapped & entombed in the confines of ones head space. Lacking as always the ability to be interpreted by the conduit artists current skill levels. The next expression will be the one that captures what is being thought. The next artistic endeavor is the golden ticket one. Always the next expression will be that which i search. Always very restless, never ever content with the status quo. Then we die unforefilled in our artistic minds eye quest. Our artistic work a husk of the flesh and blood racing inside our tiny little minds. 

Halene - a thought frowned moment in time

Many years ago now,  I stopped in at a pub on my way back from Hermanus. it was a very stormy, rain sodden late Wednesday afternoon. and my car took a turn ive never taken before or since. the proprietor of the pub and 2 patrons where several glasses of something very powerful ahead and the mood was extremely somber. joining an existing volatile conversation between an established trio can be challenging. especially when 1 is a very drunk off duty policeman, the other is a provocateur poet and the third a lawyer. in South Africa communication between locals is a mixture of languages, which makes the brain much sharper not to offend. so between arriving and then reading the proprietors dark Afrikaans poetry out loud to the other 3 gentlemen all spilled around the rough bar counter, was a very slow 2 beer conversation. i still needed to drive a considerable distance home - over a pass that has claimed many a wrong turn life.

my mother is from an Afrikaans background and my dad is second generation South African Dutch with a good measure of local woven between. we speak only English at home. so upon reading these very powerful dark Afrikaans poems i was struck by the immense imagery the Afrikaans language can conjure up in ones mind, much more descriptive to my mind than English. especially i find haunting emotional feelings. for an unknown, not especially looking to complement reason, i mentioned to the proprietor that Afrikaans is by far the most intense and powerful  language to create poems in. he asked me why i had not given it a try yet - i mentioned , i felt it would be phony for me to dabble in this not my home language medium. a language i was considered a "soutpeel" in. his quick decisive response of - "absolute RUBBISH, Afrikaans poets write in English!" led me on the long drive home to a split second moment at another pub, deep in the Karroo, many, many years previous. when the glimpse of a look in the eye and the reaching for another glass, gives you a split second insight into a life being lived. from the perspective that a frowned thruppel of beers can conjure up.

waar kry jy hierdie man Halene?
Jy is getroud , maar nogsteeds alleen.
Jy soek vir iets wat is nie daar,
Jou lewe is mooilik , jou hart is swaar.
onder stil water jy sal hier bly.
met hierdie man, jy het gekry.

QJD - wordsmid swaardvegter - 2011

the veil of mystery and emotion over this short afrikaans poem is for me, far more powerful  than the poem i wrote in english of the maidens stare 2009 - which was a far more haunting subject. this poem is what it is and its just a simple sketch, its not meant to be anything other than the outlet of a brief wild crazy conversation on a dark and stormy night.

lesson for a daughter - 2011

To fall in love my sweet with words,
your love will be the tweets of birds.

To fall in love my dear daughter with deeds,
your course is strong and you will succeed.

Nov 2011

Beware the friend

beware the friend!

Whose happiness lies in your demise?
Whose tear filled eyes, coincide with your life highs?
Whose lone sighs are heard when your ship flies,
Who is content when your dream skies, light dies?

Rather

Seek a friend who's intimate care, is a future vision and a dream shared.
To a road less travelled yet to be opened gates, this will determine a true friendships fate.
A friend must be happy when you emit a smile and concerned when tears fill time awhile.
To find these friends is a lifelong quest, it’s of duty born and its your lifes behest.

QJD 2011.