MORE THAN A WHIMPER

THE RAIN WILL COME BEFORE THE SUN FALLS I am in a wheat field, alone; the husks are tall and abundant, I break them in my hand, bringing them to my face I smell the grains, it is a good crop. I walk through the field, knowing not one other human life, stirs, not one hundred miles within a three hundred and sixty degree radius of me. There are screams, the voices of millions; I want to close my ears, instead I listen. A drop of dew rolls off and splatters like an ocean on the earth at my feet. Was it the plants or was it me? Who cries, a planet lost? I no longer know when I am thinking or speaking, I have no awareness of bodily functions I have stopped counting time, stopped keeping time I no longer know how long I have been here. The rain will come before the sun falls. It will be good for the crop. The plants are thirsty. I walk to the farm house. A red tiled, clay roof. A bricked chimney. The walls are bright white. A fresh coat reflects a blinding light. I am glad all the same. The only sound is from below as my feet crush The foliage that covers the ground. I listen to every crunch. Noise! I smile. I like hearing. I like sounds. I have not oiled hinges, since long ago. I like the squeak it makes; it seems to get louder everyday. Noise! I enter my humble abode. I laugh. I say it again. My humble abode. I like the sound. I say it several times, more. I laugh. I love my laugh. What a great laugh. What a pleasure it is to laugh. It is warm out but I light a small log in the fire place, I sit in front staring, listening. After a while it sings to me, Jimmy crack corn and I don't care, buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack. I love the sound wood makes, the several different colors of fire. I am silent motionless. I love the show. I watch, listen. Until it’s over and only the ashes remain. There are screams, the voices of millions; I want to close my ears, instead I listen. A drop of dew rolls off and splatters like an ocean on the earth at my feet. Was it the house or was it me? Who cries, a planet lost? I am hungry. I eat bread with tomato, cucumber and sprouts. I eat. Slowly. Savor every bite. Fresh. I do not taste acid. That is good. The water is clean. The tomatoes burst in my mouth. The seeds riddle the back of my throat. The cucumbers crunch and quench my thirst. The sprouts tickle the back of my throat. But the bread is the best of all fresh from the wood oven still warm. My compliments to the chef I think and once again I laugh. A belly laugh. It is a good joke. I am the chef. I laugh some more. I must have closed my eyes when it got dark. I always do. Then visions and stories fill my sensibilities. I love it. I have made my way outside and I am sitting looking up. The Sun is at the bottom making its way back up. It is a light show against the sky. I wish I could add logs to it and hear it crackle. I am amazed by this gift and I thank Mother. I am flying inside myself. My face wants to burst at the lips. I do not budge; I swallow it all through my eyes. Taste it carefully never biting once. I revel in the silent music the golden heat plays. I touch it inside out. I inhale the scents of the yellow globes slow walk back to the top. My house absorbs it all. The whole drama plays perfectly on its large perfect colorless wall. I still have colorless liquid in the barn. There is so much of it. All the tools to use it, there are many brushes and trays and poles and ladders. I will spend the light painting the house today. I love the glow, and the funny smell leaves quickly enough. Today will be a busy day for me. The world is quiet, it is empty and still I breathe. I wonder if I am the only creature left. How will I replicate. Mother is beautiful. She will always be here, perhaps it is better it ends with me, perhaps it is. to be continued... armandhamouth

ALLERGIC SATIRE

CALM AND AT PEACE It is ironic how allergic one can be without even realizing it. I made a clean break from all the irritants in my life. I was allergic to certain pollens in the air. I also stopped consuming nuts and foods with even traces of nuts. I needed a breath of fresh air. Certain irritants can cause you to cough and grasp for air. Secondly I needed to clear my plate of all the nuts and other produce who may have come in contact with them. For the first time in months I am healthy and happy. I am calm and at peace. The secret to happiness was simple. I found out what gave me allergic reactions and I stayed away from these toxic relationships. I have replaced my love for nuts with a new appreciation for the simple uncomplicated lot. Did you know that chocolate is an aphrodisiac. A nice side effect of my new love. Look at your life closely, find out what you’re allergic to and make a clean break. No use owning a pet if you're allergic to animal dander. You may love them but in the end it comes to no good. The irritants you can’t avoid use the best medicine I could find for my allergies. It’s an organic product called “living well is the best revenge.” It is amazing how well it works to know you are happy and irritant free. It is in the category of mind over matter. If you don’t mind them they don’t matter. Guaranteed, the secret to happiness is to get rid of all the irritants in your life. I didn't even know I was allergic. armandhamouth

ON MY FAILURE

MY HEART TO YOURS We had been married thirteen years. We had two daughters aged four and one year old. I had no idea what she wanted to talk about that day. We went into our bedroom and closed the door. There were no traces of any hatchets, but by God one was about to fall. I only heard the first few sentences before the room went silent. Her lips were moving but the words made no sound. The echo of my heart was beating in my empty skull. I started counting the beats, as a cold invisible sweat rolled down my brow. My body was drowning in an unforgiving ditch of sinking mud. The atmosphere was a sandpaper grating against the grain of my senses. I know my lips were moving too. I gather we were speaking. Even the chair I was sitting on betrayed me as it plugged itself into the wall. There was no call from the governor. The sentence was death by a lethal injection of ‘it is over, I want a divorce.’ My wife of thirteen years ended our relationship that day. It would be the last time our skin would even brush against one another. If love is bliss, if it is the light then unrequited love is the switch that extinguishes the Sun. Everything we had built in over a decade was finished in just minutes. “I am not in love with you,” repeated itself in the annals of the entire universe. Surely, the planets were no longer aligned; the stars must have lost their brilliance that day. At least the traffic must have stopped and the economy crumbled worldwide. Was Earth still on its axis? Did gravity not fail us? Not as much as a mosquito bite was affected that day. All was as it should be. Life was as fine as rain, the day my world stopped spinning and fell off its axis. The day gravity released my body and the free fall that ensued. I was stripped of flesh, raw, completely exposed to the ravages of the elements and no one cared. I cried that day, I cried until I could cry no more and then I cried again. I cried everyday for the next five years. Everyday I would mop up the puddle of blood I stood in. It would stick to my shoes and glue me motionless to the floor. I was incapacitated by the bleeding the daring of all my yesterdays. That was my today and there was no tomorrow. There is no pain like the rejection of the love of your life. I was monogamous then and I am monogamous now. One life, one love. It took me another two years to stop crying completely and another three to grow a new spine. Finally, a person I was ready to love again. I was ready to meet my one. It was, it is a brand new day and I am searching for my one love. I think I have found her, time only time will answer that question again. It feels good to be alive. It feels good to smell the flowers in the rain. armandhamouth

YEAH !

SHE'S A PEACH A REAL PEACH I have babysat a roomful of six year olds, my heart beating louder than a pack of screaming hyenas. I walked out with them quiet and safe in their parents arms, I improvised a speech I never wrote to an audience of millionaire entrepreneurs that ended in a standing O, Often I danced with titanic sharks, and even French kissed Killer Whales. I have slept deep in the grip of ink black jungles on mid summer nights, no dream. Once I Hung on with two broken arms five hundred feet above my demise, without a whimper. I skated through fields of dead bodies in not just one but two very nasty wars. Played tag with the devil and in the end hung his left horn above my fireplace, yeah my fire place I owed him that. I swam naked on the crest of a waterfall from the top of its peak to the concrete sheet at its bottom. Many times, I partied with death, her bones drenched in the fluids of our perverse acts of sex, but not once did she leave the party with me on her arm. But please. p p p please, don't make me talk to MY EX-WIFE again! armandhamouth

STOP FOR DIRECTIONS

LIFE'S WATERWAYS FOLLOW THE FLOW Life is a journey of the unknown. Some of us are rowing down a waterway that narrows and some of us up one that widens. Opportunity grows or shrinks according to our attitude. Life is challenging but it is a matter of perspective. The truth however regardless of whether our view is positive or negative is that were all navigating the same water way. Narrow or wide opportunity is always abound. If one stops rowing against the tide and starts riding the crest, it is amazing how quickly your life will take a turn for the better. Find your flow and follow it with peace and love in your heart. Like the lady said attitude is everything. With all my love my brothers and sisters and may your oceans always be calm. armandhamouth

THE FILTHY NIGHT AIR

DA BOY He had painted a poem earlier on. He read it over and over again. He tried to make each word worth a thousand pictures. Satisfied he signs it. It's one a.m., he's been watching porn for about an hour. He's bored and restless and decides he will go to the club. He is wearing a pair of tight jeans and a white T-shirt tattooed to his torso. Have you ever felt like the leftovers from the butchers table? All ground up and ready to be made into patties. Have you ever felt like meat boy? A lit cigarette in mouth seems glued to the top of his lip. It hangs there barely touching his flesh. The minute he steps out the door, he imagines they're all there as if they were waiting for him. Ready to roast him over an open spit. . It is almost 2 a.m now and all the pop tarts are on the street, fresh out of the toaster. He walks alone to his own brush. Every muscle flexed he owns it. It's distinctly his walk. Chantal walks toward him she's staring. He tries to peer into her soul. She won't look him in the eyes. As she passes Babette grabs him. He doesn't flinch. Looking at her he takes his cigarette and he flicks it a mile and a half . "Hey Babette!” he whisper, like he was shaking a man's hand. He doesn't say another word. He keeps walking, pass the street lights and into the dark alone. The Earth is void of another breathing creature. He travels in the safety of his own thoughts. He takes in a deep breath. He can taste all the desire in the filthy night air. Hear the screams of months past. As he gets closer to the club, he even hears the friction of dancing flesh. He has reached the Black Hole that is his Universe. Even before he makes it to the door of the club. Lynette shoves him against a brick wall. Hard! She puts her tongue down his throat and licks his lungs. She grabs him with her tiny little hand. He smells her a scent subtle but distinct stirs up feelings in him. They don't advertise the entrance. It's very dark just outside the club. Yet he still knows now. He doesn't stop. She owns him. It is Lynette, it's not Lynette. He imagines he doesn't know her. She Pulls him into the alley. He lets her take him. He does nothing to stop her. He spends the next while swimming in a pool of pornographic imagery. She takes control and takes him on the adult ride at the fairway. Lucky! He is just tall enough to get on. He leaves to float above and watch himself with her. Raw flesh! He stares, as he feels her pulling in and out. They are both there but he only sees her. Everything she is races through his mind. He looks at himself. His face is blank. She treats him to uncharted territory as she massages deep inside of him. He floats back to be whole, to hold her, and ride her. Driving hard, fast and mean working the ride to its climax. The brakes screech and they go catatonic in perfect sync. Neither one of them makes a sound. They stand there motionless, grasping for air. Holding the moment. For a second, a minute, for a lifetime. He slowly walks out. They kiss. For a second... She holds him gently. They look at one another. for...,a minute... Their eyes are adjusted to the dark now. She maps every inch of his face with one finger. Tongues touch lips lock and they just hold ...for a lifetime. And even before she leaves. He knows she's gone. Calmly he lights a cigarette, walks to the door of the club and he walks down the stairs. He looks around as his body vibrates to the movement of the music. There she is waiting for him on the floor. His hips are loose and his legs start to lead as he takes her in his arms and dances It's Lynette and him ...for a second for minute for a lifetime. armandhamouth

DARE TO BE YOU

JANIS THE RAG DOLL Hello, my name is Janis I’m a rag doll. They say I’m not but I know I am. Red braided wool hair. Button eyes. Sewn red lips, curled up. All stuffed inside with warmth and smiles. Cheeks red. They locked me here in this hospital they say I am crazy. I make stuffed animals. I would sell them to the toy store near where I use to live. Not factory toys they seem so dead. They're all the same, toxic and not at all pretty. If you want a child to understand beauty you have to expose them to beauty. Why give them a factory made toy. It would be better to give them a stick at least it has life. Sometimes when I find toys thrown out, broken, I bring them home, I fix them and I breathe life into them. They let me bring my favorites with me to this hospital. I hate the smell, here at the hospital it is toxic. My toys their like my family, here they are on the shelf I made them all. I must brush them please. Hello, Bibs he’s the youngest so I brush him first! He has a bushy squirrel tail. I used seventeen different colors in his tail just barely different each one. There you go Bibs all done. (Whispering) I have to do Wendy next she’s a Fox but she gets very jealous that she’s not first. Shhhh, it’s adorable she is so finicky.(Janis lets out a loving laugh) Everyday I brush them all and we talk and play. I know their toys but they live within my heart. These are the ones I could not sell. Never! I don’t know why they locked me here. It’s as if they knocked the stuffing from within me. I try not to get angry but I am angry. Why would they do this to me? I know I’m different but that’s alright because I’m me. I think they’re afraid of me. People are always afraid of what they don’t understand. I’m just Janis. I’m a rag doll, long red hair button eyes rosy cheeks a sewn own smile. I make handmade toys; I breathe life into each and everyone. Please why am I here? Why won’t they let me be free? armandhamouth

TAN LINES

JAMAICAN SUNTAN It is a sun splashed day; the air is silent with the sound of waves from an ocean moving to the rhythm of crying gulls. The sand underneath my feet is warm and soothing. The crashing waters from a wind sculpted waterfall swims into the arms of its mother sea. It is a private beach at a spot in the world were the Caribbean Sea and The Atlantic Ocean hug. It is a strange sensation of hot then cold, that tease the senses. The young woman with me is my lover of four years. The golden rays of light from the bright morning star lives in the flow of her platinum blond hair. In her eyes I can see the bright clear blue ocean, warm, but with a piercing love glare that sends shivers up my spine. We are young, in love and safe inside a perfect glossy postcard background. Her red lips and light drenched skin glows with the beauty of this perfect Jamaican day. Without a thought I grab the back of her head, jerking my lover’s whole body towards me locking her in the strength of my grasp inviting her to quench my desire. I bite her lips before engaging in a deep passionate kiss and removing a barely there bikini from her statuesque figure. She embraces me as I lift her in my arms naked for all the Gods to observe. I set her down under the refreshing flow of the rushing waterfall. She attempts to pull at me, but I deny her. I hold back both her arms and use my mouth to suckle her all the time absorbing the beating waters that kneads my flesh, like so much dough. Suddenly I set my angel free. She pounces on me, like a lioness in heat famished for the taste of flesh. The world disappears and I find myself willingly trapped in a void. Nature’s voice conducts an orchestra of emotion. We writhe in the ecstasy of touch. With the strokes of a divinity fingers paint a portrait of rapture. We dance now to the precise notes of an escape into the arms of serenity. In one fluid movement, our bodies become one.There is no end to the divine flavors we share. Cooling waters flame our sins. We explode like a building imploding gracefully to the roar of infinite sound. Until eventually we pass out naked locked in each others arms. We find ourselves lying on the warmth of the fine white sand beach when we awaken, tattooed in the telling shades of a Jamaican suntan. armandhamouth

PETALS ON A DAISY

PREFACE I have no business writing. I have no formal training. It does not come naturally to me. English is not even my first language. I copy from the emotions that I wear on my sleeves. I barely ever edit. I don't believe I have ever spent more than fifteen minutes on any single piece. I am sorry, that is what I do and how I do it. If I have wasted one precious moment of your time, please accept my sincere apologies. Having said that, here I go again. Just a short piece of prose that fell out of my hands. Presented here in the same way it flowed off my finger tips. JUST ANOTHER SILLY LOVE DISCOURSE Love is vital. If you find it fight for it. Never cheat your lover you cheat yourself. We give up to quickly. We need to be in touch with our hearts. We feel too little and think too much. Would you fault a rose because it has thorns? Their fragrance alone forgives them the little blood they might draw. Their velvet touch like the comfort of a one and only. Their vibrant colors like that special smile. The images sculpted by the formation of their petals are the masterpiece that resides within you. Cherish one on one love. With out the love you share with your life partner there is no reason there is no purpose. Union is essential it is the serum that protects us and our loved ones. It is easy to give up on someone. It is easy to turn your back and shoot up the drug infatuation. New love comes with a substantial boost of adrenalin. That too will be fleeting. If you gave up once before you will again. If you cheat once you will justify it for ever more. True love does not happen by accident. It is not pages safely bound in a leather cover with its beginning its middle and its happy ending. Love is commitment. It is an awakening! It is a belief that you are going to have one partner and one partner only. A garden needs tending. Water and food and fresh soil. Nurture your love and let it grow. Be joyous when it blooms and never leave your garden unattended. Love is vital. All on its own it contains our purpose our joy our success our fulfillment. Treat your love as if it will be the last you will ever have. All else is fleeting. If the question is why, why am I here, why me, why this why that? The answer is simple and singular. There is only one answer to all of life’s questions. Love! Love one partner with all that you have. Love is the answer. Love and be a family. Love is vital if you find it never let it go; don’t wait until you lose it to see the writing on the wall. If you have found love grab on and never let go. It just may be the last rose in the garden. armandhamouth

THE THREE 'L's'

LOVE, LAUGH, LIVE My parents told me the three most important subjects I needed to learn were the three R's. I should have been suspicious when they told me the subjects were 'riting, reading and 'ritmetic. Turns out the three R's had one ‘A’ one ‘W’ and one ‘R’. Writing, Reading, and Arithmetic. Right off the bat reading and writing goes out the window. No matter how hard I tried, it just did not add up. That took care of Arithmetic. I was left with one ‘W’, a ‘the’, a curse word and the mother of all questions. ‘What the fuck?’ I think we can do better. Some legacy my parents wanted to leave me. I want to talk to my children not preach to them. There is an old joke that says, "a dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love yourself." Maybe but I dream of a world with no borders, where the people of all countries, all races and all religions break bread together everyday three times a day. There is that three again. I know of a world were the three most important subjects are the three L's, love, laughter and living. Leave your worries at the door and love, laugh and live. However if you prefer take the day as it is comes, or choose your own favorites. After all who am I to dictate! armandhamouth

A BRIEF

A FEAST TO FEAST TALK She cracked me open like a walnut to partake of the meaty flesh inside my bountiful shell. I shucked my lover like an oyster. First licking my treasure found, a perfect pearl. Now ready to swallow the lady and her juices whole. Positioned head to feet we neatly nestled one into the other. The last words I remember where “let's eat” as we slipped into an unforgettable measure of sublime unconsciousness. armandhamouth

THE LOVE OF WOMEN

THE SOUL OF A WOMAN I am blessed! I don’t have to try not to look at a woman’s cleavage, I love looking into their eyes. Of course I can appreciate a woman’s breasts just like any other man. The point is I love looking at a woman’s eyes and I love listening to her talk. I will notice her lips and how her tongue hits the back of her teeth. I will listen intently, because I love to listen to a woman’s point of view. It enlightens me. It gives me views of the world that I would otherwise miss. I love their nurturing nature. I love how soft they feel. Hold a woman’s hand? That is sure to send shivers up my spine. Lock lips? If that is not what heaven feels like send me to hell I’ll take my chances there. There is nothing in life like that first kiss. I have been known to walk all day with a woman as if it were a minute in time. I am sure I float on air. I love women. I love the way they walk the way they smell I love the way they talk I love everything about women. Yes I am a romantic. That doesn’t mean I would not do anything and everything with a woman I love. A romantic evening is wonderful, but getting nasty is bliss as well. Chatting after sex? I love it! Hugging or spooning it’s all good. Look again men the opposite sex is very special. It is time we listened more and appreciated more. Women can lead you to The Garden Of Eden right here on Earth! I was thinking if I could change anything about myself, I would ask for the soul of a woman. How special that would be. armandhamouth

JUST

"to be !" Here’s what I remember. One day I started climbing; I climbed until I reached the peak of Mt. Everest. I wanted to beat my breastbone and yell like Tarzan King of the Apes. Then, I saw a tree. It had grown higher than the peak of Mt. Everest. Using my rope, I climbed to the very top of the tree. “Ta da!” I thought in a kind of false glory. However, when I looked I could see an escarpment, a large piece of land that went higher. I thought “what the hell, lets go for it?” I jumped just wide enough to reach it. It slanted upwards so without a thought I continued to climb until I came to a dead end. My chest swelled I was higher than anyone had ever been, or so I thought. That’s when I noticed them. Stairs, there were actual stairs at the end of this piece of land. Imagine that, stairs, so I climbed them, one by one. As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw a huge bird that looked like an Eagle. “I can go higher” I told myself. I reached up with my arms and stood as if I owned this vast mass, of whatever it was. Miraculously the bird accepted my hands. I was excited as I wondered where my first class flight would take me. We reached the space beyond Earth's pull; there my magical friend released me. To my surprise, I kept floating up. To my surprise I had evolved, I no longer needed oxygen. I passed planet after planet until I reached a sort of tunnel in space. Like a black hole on an incline that led up, and as I had done before I did again. Without question I climbed! I must have kept climbing for an eternity, maybe longer. It was strange, as high as I had climbed and the higher I got nothing changed. Just an enormous amount of nothing. It started to feel as if I was just climbing for the sake of climbing. I was going nowhere and I was doing it in record time. I stopped. I mean I hit the brakes as if there were no tomorrow and I began to think. I began to consider where I had been and where I was going. I reflected on my journey. How many people had died or suffered injury trying to climb a mountain. What about all the wildlife I had to scare off to climb the tree. How many branches did I destroy? What about the escarpment, I never stopped to look. What was the vegetation, were there flowers? I can’t remember! I never looked. I should of gone barefoot felt the land under my feet; smelled the fragrance in the air. Then I thought were those stairs I climbed or was it friends and associates I was stepping on. I felt so confused. I saw there was eternities more to climb all leading to more vast “I don’t know what” but definitely up. “No!” I said aloud... “So what!” I whispered. What I did next I will never forget. I slid down the best slide you ever saw I felt like a child again, I could see and smell and feel and hear, I could taste the sweetness of freedom in the air. Back to Earth, to land to where I planted myself firmly. I started a new journey, one that drew me in to a mysterious place, with a warm feeling. I was inside myself and what a delight it was. I was one with all, a Giant Redwood surrounded by other Redwoods. What a thrill It was just to be. I was at peace. Here, rooted at the bottom of everything I found the highest point for me. Others who were just like me surrounded me. I basked in the heat of the sun. I fed from the richness of the land. I drank the cold water gifted to me by the skies above. What a joy it was just to be. What an incredible sense of strength I felt comfortable in my own bark. Finally happy! Just happy to be rooted. For now I am the smallest tree in the forest but actually growing. Committed and ecstatic, to be here. Fulfilled and at peace. Satisfied just “to be!” armandhamouth

HELL BOUND

A PLAY WITHIN A PLAY Paul: You want to talk. Is that it? I don’t talk enough? I don’t express my feelings? Joanne, I'm quiet. What was it ten one hundred one thousand years ago? I didn’t break, I didn't lean on crutches, what I did is I got up every morning and I went to work. On Sundays, I went to church for appearances. I never prayed. That son of a bastard took everything from me and left me here to rot. I won’t. I won't give him the satisfaction. I'd rather burn then rot. Why are you here, Joanne? Hard. (pounding his left chest) You're looking for something that doesn’t exist. I don't feel. It pumps blood that's it. No tears, no regrets. I think you better leave now. Nothing. I’m sorry! written by armandhamouth

AAHH, YOUTH!

YOUNG AND SHADED SELF LOVE Thinking back to my teenage years my early twenties, falling in love was so easy. She could be walking streets but to me she was the space beyond the clouds. Truth was a tightrope of winks and smiles, of the promise of tomorrow and today was just fine. Youth in its ignorance sees art where bottles of paints on a cloth of filth had spilt. Drugs, Sex and Rock and Roll. Poetry with a guitar and the weed that drove you to the depths of revalations, dreams that lived in an endless stream of contradictions. No one smokes their weed in circles anymore. Then it was a native ritual and orgy's were rampant. The BeeGees asked "How do you mend a broken heart?" Music ruled the day and God we loved to cry. The disco era, breaking up is hard to do and I will survive and Billy Vera. Love was eternal, or at least seven days. Oh the broken hearts I survived and all its drama. The letters I would write. Dear Susan “Hearts heal, but your walk loses a step or two, it loses its flare. I miss you so much I just want to die! What happened to us? It boggles my mind how easily you let go of US! Tears flow as I write. I guess I will survive but as so much less than I was! I love you with every beat that is me, with every drop of blood that I have. I am only half. Without you there is no I. Say Goodbye to who we were for me. Say it one last time. Say Goodbye to every part of you that I will never touch again. I let you fly and you never came back. You were never mine.” Armand Of course I would never send it. Within days I would be dipping the little redhead’s pigtail in ink. Oh my, oh my how did I survive my youth, in love every other day, riding the flame of a wickless mass of wax. Those were the days my friend we thought they would never end. Remember Peter Frampton his famous magic act, one day at the top of the heap the next day gone. That was love way back then. You would climb a mountain with your bare hands change your mind and ride the crest of a wave you caught. Oh how I suffered in my youth, so in love for a day or two, switching horses in the middle of the race. You were young you were in love and damn the torpedoes full speed ahead. Who knew way back then in the throws of my anguish, in the pain of my lost loves, who knew than how grand it was to be young and in love. Oh the tears I cried, how wonderful they were those days when love was free and lived in every other apartment of the high rise you called home. Can you taste Black Cat Gum in the air it is the perfume of your youth, God Bless and please do tell! love armandhamouth

PASSION FRUIT

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In The Rapture Of The Moment Yes I can still see her... through rose colored glasses, imagined! in fact, She is gorgeous. I remember saying... or at least thinking out loud ...You take my breath away, She was a perfect site to behold; I am sure men literally fell like pins at the alley, as she entered a room ...and yet she was gentle, unaffected by her physical beauty, she had so much love in her heart. Naked our needs locked. I can't remember ever having felt anything or anyone so soft.Her skin against mine I was at the foot of the horizon. Her blue eyes true cleansed my sins. Her hair flowed like a sheet of fine black sand, like a tapestry made from a beach ebony in color . Trapped in love I pulled her to me by her thick dark mane, blanketed her pear shaped breasts. Her lips seared mine as we shared a small Scape of air. She punished me over and over again with her lingering touch. Does Ecstasy ever end if you play it over and over in the annals of your memories like a looped tape. Her lips were my lips my tongue was her tongue, no space separated us. I have touched the first day of spring, tasted the first snowflake of winter. heard the leaves change color on an autumn day, I have even witnessed summer remove her golden robe, watched it fall to her feet and stared as she stood in all her glory. I have done all of that but when she spread her wings this goddess when she held me, my life stopped beating, and for just an infinitesimal moment of time I knew what my heaven would be. I was free. Free in the rapture of the moment. We sunk into one another and danced a tango of infinite sex. Nothing mattered anymore, she had tore out my heart, fed it to me and it tasted like the ambrosia of kings. The gates had opened, the angels had fled, and I wandered through a mass of sexual satisfaction. My mind was in a tailspin of romantic imagery. Her voice swept me back to consciousness as a single tear rolled down her cheek and fell on to her smile. We were both silky wet and sported the scent of fresh dew in the morning. We whispered, as our words tip toed through the air like a majestic overture. We were drenched in one another, strangers, young and in lust. I have no memory of when she finally left. It must of been days or was it hours, the freedom of unconscious love knows no time. I had explored every crevice of her body, we had feasted on one another, no parts left untouched. I thought it would never end I'm not sure it ever did. I used every part of my body on every part of hers. She was an unframed masterpiece; it was I who had carved her wooden surround that know embellished her God given glow of natural visual perfection. I repeat I have no memory of when she finally left. I do know I thanked the Angel of Fire out loud. I'm sure as I did even though she was no longer physically there she returned the compliment. She had left, me unbound from the packaging that had enslaved me. It was her gift to me. A gift, I store safely ...in the deepest regions of my passion. armandhamouth

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THE LOVE OF TWO

ROMANCE AND LOVE I see women differently than hardcore males. A woman's face is her singular most important feature as far as I am concerned. So as you are reading this look me straight in the eyes and I will look right back...yes straight into your eyes. I also want to watch your lips move, as you speak, your tongue curl against your teeth. I want to feel what’s behind the sparkle as your looking at me. And I will want to talk,...talk and listen. I'll want to know what you like what you dislike, what are your hopes and dreams what are you proud of. What do wish you could undo? I want us to laugh as one, some deep belly laughs. Still our eyes peering into one another. Suddenly we are walking and suddenly your hand touches mine and we play with the simple touch of each others hands and my whole body shivers. Our hands are playing and we laugh and we talk, and an hour has passed, and I don't tell you but it feels like a second. I point out the clouds and their round like pillow shape but I only see you and you are soft and you are kind and my body shivers. Your face is now etched into my thoughts. Your touch is gentle. You are in my mind. I feel sand under my feet and I hear waves against rocks as I float above us to watch you watch me watching you. When we first meet we never leave the steps in front of your house. Day turns into night and it is time to part. As we say good night you lean an inch towards me, I lean two and our lips touch. Just a brush! We move just a bit closer and slowly, ever so slowly, slightly, ever so slightly, our mouths open and our tongues touch, and we part. Just a kiss a harmless little kiss ever so small. My body shivers and I don't tell you but even my feet are smiling. I see women differently than hardcore males. And I ask you dear lady are you still staring at my eyes, I am and straight to your heart! ...and that kiss I also don't tell you. ...just a kiss. A tiny kiss, PERFECT! written by armandhamouth

FRAMED

YOU BE THE JUDGE BRUSH ON CANVAS Ignore those who would paint you with a broad stroke of their brush. It is difficult enough to know people when you see them everyday or even live with them. People who would judge you from inference or one poorly worded comment are in fact painting nothing more than a self-portrait. love, armandhamouth

A CRITIQUE, A REVIEW

James Watson Art, Fantasy and Commerce As I watch, I envision an emerald green ocean. Pixies dance, to and fro, their diamond wings reflecting the afternoon rays. Suddenly the silence is broken, as a blazing black and white image cuts through the jewel-encrusted stillness. I am not in the Caribbean or any outdoor location for that matter, quite the opposite. I am inside staring at a wall, a wall graced with the art of James Watson James Watson's ability to create with paper and pencil showed itself at an early age. At the age of nine, his vision of a lunar landing, long before the reality, was one of the few pieces that toured schools as part of an art display. When I experience his art, I wonder what it is in life that steers us clear of our talents. Like many artists, James Watson found himself with the common dilemma; fending for his family or pursuing his dream. Like many artists, he made the practical choice. In the early 80s he impressed his employer as a photo retouch artist. It was at this time that he discovered and mastered the airbrush. His dream to create art might have ended here. He was after all a wizard in his new career and the bills where being paid. But as we know his dream was fulfilled. You can take the artist away from his art but you can't take the art from the artist. Mr. James Watson attacked his commercial projects with the zeal and soul of his God given gift. His efforts, his talents, did not go unnoticed. Soon James Watson was elevated to the large-format pictorial industry. Now, James was painting what I could only describe as really big pictures. He was paying the bills. His work, his magic was now being seen all over the city of Toronto in the form of billboards. One of his pieces that I found most ironic was for Benson and Hedges. It is the image of a paintbrush whose trail of paint is a Benson and Hedges cigarette package. I see it as a symbol of art versus commercial. Either way, James Watson is a master of both. Now after 30 years of commercial application, it is a treat and privilege to watch him fulfill his dream. With "Myorcas", his signature theme, James Watson brings to life a fantasy. Blending the free nature of humans with the flowing motion of Orcas he morphs the two mammals into one. He paints his mystical life forms with attention to detail and artistic expertise that produce totally believable creatures, leaving some wondering if his works are that of a photographer. The camera could never capture the magic James brings to his work. I marvel at the hauntingly beautiful movements, the emotions and the unspoken thoughts inherent in all his pieces. I am amazed at the myriad of colors he finds in his black and white paintings. It is this ability; the ability to make a piece speak, that separates the artist from those who can merely draw. armandhamouth

SO YOU WRITE

My Last Rag Of Dignity A HARSH REALITY Alone, leaving the hospital in the early light he could feel his blood pulsing, as he dove deep into his conscious thought. It was like him to wallow, self pity was his paid companion. She would smother him, as if he owned her, and he did! This sunup he would have her strip him, his last rag of dignity. Soaking wet in his own shame, she neatly took him. He would gaze into the abyss of his own ineptness, his shaking hands hanging on unsuccessfully. With her in sight, he grabbed her head. Like his life he moved it, in and out, in and out. She would stroke him, until he finally released into the mouth of his own hatred all over the face, of his lack of self respect. Now he lifted her, all of her with one arm, and like an agent of hell, forcefully tore the clothes off her non existence. He embedded his face in her mink like fur. Lapped up her milk. Inserted his extension in her crevice. Then like a lion in heat, he pumped her raw, as the slut, self pity, took it all, with out a word, with out a sound. Alone and chaotic he ran her through a series of perverse acts. She urinated on him, and cleansed his flesh and bone of all evidence of human sanity. He reveled in the burn; it was so hot he could feel it melt and bond his intricate and complex network of exposed capillaries and veins. Then she defecated on his naked carcass, enrobing him in the stench of his own pathetic existence. All along he fed on the salt that flowed down his cheeks and found there way to his tongue. His head lowered. His shoulders slightly bent. His pelvis indented. His legs unsteady. What was once meant to be a man, now plodded, to the beating, to the tune, to the cadence, to the progression, of a silent drummer. Reaching his car. Turning his keys. The hum of his engine...ready for the safety of home. He hears a voice. His name. Ignores it. Once, twice, again, and again…! A nurse, a bed, trapped between here and there. Still in God's waiting room. A cruel joke, the hum of his engine. Pen to paper...at least that pen to paper. Armand Hamouth