Pleasure and Lust In Painting My Passions

Without passion there is no air for the artist to breath.I slaughter the ruins you so easily left weeping. I ended their misery... and later on today I will paint it all.

Pleasure and Lust In Painting My Passions, I Am A Raptor, A Dove, A Witches Brew

PASSION
an enemy at times
and yet
my best friend.

TALENT IS PASSION
and DESIRE...
the rest is practice.
Without passion
there is no air
for the artist to breath.

Fantasy lovers
believers in fairies
even witches brew
whimsical angel
art lovers
lovers of poetry
and legends of mermaids
believers of the impossible
being possible...
come my way.
Let me inhale your motivations.

The Stage...
Music fills the air
rattles the walls
coats the moisture of my breath.
Bring it to me
open my road
let me drink the paint
and sleep on my lovers floor.
Let me feel the chaos.
Music lifts me into space
light and energy
I feel just like a raptor.
I circle my prey.

Inside of me
begins
like a circle
adventure
I must pursue it.
I will not falter.

Intentions
I become covered
salt licks my wounds
yet
I survive.

Breathing
I feel like a vulture
I embrace it in the dark
My wings
burn.

I glean from graceful doves
I hold my own contempt
find its faults
turn my back on evil
then post them on my shadow
once again.

I blast past condemnation
I real and set my mark.
You will not bring me sorrow
I reject all letters and calls.
I employ doves of recovery
they smile
toast the stains
weapons I deliver
my eyes see.

You
do not set my stage.
You never understood.
Funny now
if I want it to be.
Those memories
see?

Everything culminates in a puddle now
I bath in it.
I welcome its painful pleasure.

Who I'd like to meet?
Me without all those plastic petals.

I set free
I open my arms
I fill the air with music
my muse
my comfort
my prey.
I seize all possibility
bind it so it cannot run
despite what you say.

I slaughter the ruins
you so easily left weeping
I ended their misery.
I cut their ties.
I melted their moans
in a big black pot
I set up in my back yard.

Pleasure
such a frail fellow
but in the hallway
pressing forward
he becomes the wings
I hastily forget
at times
to measure.

This storm
this cloudy day
this temptress past my control
at times
mine none the less.
So I will shelter her
watch her moan
tie up her shadow
rip her gown to shreds
reject all pitiful circumstances
take them back
and pin them to the wall.

and later on today
I will paint it all.

The Art of Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
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