Artistry

Writing animated poetry, thinking they’re real life.

Drinking Malibu is believing you are there in Ibizia.

Sleeping in New York City is dreaming you are with her in the stars.

Wishful thinking is doing God’s work spiritually.

Contemporary theatre is magical play, when the phantom of the opera reveals its other half.

Painting is contemporary photography that captures them in landscape.

Pencils we draw is contemporary expression.

Love for artistry is the Albert Bridge I sit next to her intimacy.

The beloved River Thames flowing letter waves, my inspiration is urban falls.

Civilians analyse the way I paint her vision dearly, boats still as life water.

Drawings I conjure up in acrylics, that mix in with time and leisure sports.

You see London is my thoughts of pathway pavements. Battersea is my little map of inspirational walk.

My all around who is drawing roses that squirm harmony hippies.

Painting the River Thames, slower and sharper.

Seeing reflections ripple of visionary sonnets that spell Chelsea homes, house make Victorians cringe for their teas and their cupcakes.

The telescopes see art expressionism open up e-mail boxes. Pop ups like pop art on the charts.

The kind of musical colours that go BLAW, the kind of colours that go WHOA, and it’s heavenly sent to Kandinsky.

I’m only painting Mona Lisa like Leonardo Da Vinci, romanticise red valentine lovers in Romeo and Juliet tragic love affair.

Love is passionate, and passion is rainbow fluid. What wonders photography has in correct lens, SLR rearrange snap shots like it was high definition on Sky Plus.

Lucky views have excellent sightseeing architects, from Tate Modern views.

It’s St Paul’s Cathedral, on Millennium Bridge with tourists walking, camera snapping, architects lifted high in raise your flags internationists. Raise your hands if you wanna fly, sky dive Origami. European romances on Spain grounds, Magaluf gave me the best sex of my life.

Real Madrid improved Spanish worlds of Spanish arts, Italy has the God given boot internationally known. I’ve flown sketchbooks over the horizons, to conclude Mountain Everest in its peak time.

So give me the paints, give me the acrylics, give me the spray cans of delinquency.

Hold onto my canvas tight.

Don’t hurt the oil pastels that reach oil paintings to fossil fuel.

Don’t hurt the creative instruments that strung, pick, bang, pluck, pound noises that ring stages to a theatre near you.

Don’t let the noise down to worthless silence that kills the joys of energetic fields.

Don’t lose the creative streak that invents large Russia into multiple talents.

It’s a gift, blessed with the mic. A brush for ambition so let’s paint.

A pencil for scribbles, so let’s draw.

A pen for mistakes that Manga couldn’t handle, but I doodle leprechauns that eat Lucky Charms for breakfast.

I doodle buildings, that talk London Bridge tears of liberty.

I doodle African art that hieroglyphics which has a spoken heritage to my heart.

So let your world be free, seek and explore tropical arts that shine.

Museums that display artefacts with a story to tell.

History is everlasting, artistry is never forgotten.

So don’t forget the artist that painted your face to celebrate dates of Feburary’s lover’s land, July school ends, August summer begins.

Don’t forget the artist that inspired you, don’t forget the name of the artist.

Cos I am he that keeps on breathing.