Poetic Writing

I now have one of the five artists books that I made in The Tate Gallery special archive of artists books along with all the other artists books that artists have made and The Tate Gallery have acquired and thought worthy to add through their history.

It is suppose to be a permanent link supplied by the Tate but seems to sometimes say expired... Not so permanent then... That is The Tate not me...

Never Think We Are Anything Except Fragile Beings

Never think we are anything except fragile beings,
no matter the illusions we create
The slightest resonance can cause a rupture,
to shatter ourselves through time and space,
to scatter to the darkest places, to fall into despair,
sometimes never to return.

2007 © ® Russell Hand

The Angel Of History

The angel of history flies backwards...
from the future to the past,
always facing the future,
and has seen all the devastation of the world,
but is silent mute unable to speak.
Silent forgotten speeding through time,
with the tears of Eros running down it's cheeks,
Thrashing in it's and the worlds pain,
trying to blind itself but unable,
and has neither the solace of love or sleep,
for sweet love and sweet sleep cannot touch it,
As time cannot... the only sustenance it receives,
are those few moments of mankind's creations,
of art, love, beauty, thought and dreams,
for even dreams it is not allowed,
just an eternity of seeing.
Forever sailing through the winds and storms of time...

11th March 2011 © ® Russell Hand

The Beauty Of Light As It Outlines You With A Golden Halo

The beauty of light as it outlines you with a golden halo,
sun-kissed golden skin,
waking and opening eyes just as the sun shines,
and glows on your breast, nipple and cheek,
your warmth and heat against me,
drowsy hot and salty, a nest of sheets, duvet and limbs,
I can feel the slow throb of your pulse,
your smell in my nostrils and taste on my tongue.
Your eyes open dappled with light and sleep,
so open with your heart and soul in them,
like a sacrifice to me,
you hold back the void and loneliness,
breath moist on my skin, rubbing your face into me,
as you snuggle down wrapped round me,
I can hear your breath rasp in your nose as you smell then kiss me,
I know the shape, feel, texture of your body awake or asleep,
did you hear me as I whisper I love you,
as you mumble with your mouth against me the same.
What a beautiful dream we dream each of the other,
our love, bodies, thoughts and passion make our meaning,
for don´t we remake each other as we couple.
O to dream of you…

29th March 2011 © ® Russell Hand

Palm Leaf Fires In The Sinai Peninsula

Palm leaf fires in the Sinai Peninsula...
laying in the desert sands listening to the surf roll in...
in the middle of nowhere... staring into the night sky...
until you fall into the stars... disoriented and whirled away...
an infinitesimal, insignificant dust mote...
laying on a rock hurtling through space...
of absolutely no consequence...
what a beautiful feeling... what a beautiful memory...

The above video you can watch at Vimeo is me reading another one of my poems.

A few exampls of my poetic writing

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