Open Mic, Let the Artist speak his Mind:POETRY

THE CACTUS PLANT In the feilds of the cactus plant, we are watering the faith with rain. All travelers suited for life in the other side all agree, we look forward to a remarkable year of harvest. "We must move on foward if we are to make it anywhere". Strangers stare with no dispare crawling up against our thoughts. "Find comfort my son we are almost anywhere". The black crows follow us like angels as they fly above in the summer sky. The next morning we rise to the attention of hope and hunger. The city is bright and modern, but the people don't seem to care. Its easy to lose your mind with hope, let us rest one more day against the cold brick. ............................................................................................................................................... ............................................................................................................................................... CAREER SUICIDE "Career suicide", my wife tells me. What do you do for a living ? Live and paint. I also work in the automotive industry. I serve one of the big three. Can you truly explain what your paintings mean ? Yes and no, maybe. When I am hungry I eat, when I feel I paint. An artist is always working. He must be stragetic in what he does, everything must be meaningfull. He is on the clock, soon to get old. In the end he must turn in a great life. Great enough so that people never forget. Sometimes I feel like a musician with no music, a poet with no words. So I paint sounds with strokes and express my thoughts with my artwork. I sit now and ponder. There are art shows to come. Here is to the sake of infinite madness and to the unveiling of masterpieces in modern art. Will to create history. Will to create art.