Spare Change

Spare Change

Eyes appraise me
Behind coke bottle lenses.
Cocooned in sleeping bag
Against a bitter winter breeze.
A tale of pain transmitted wordlessly,
“How did it come to this,
Trapped here, unseen by most
Ignored by the rest”.
A hand gnarled with age appears,
Cup shaking with the cold.
Loose coppers the colour of rust
Spare some change?

© Alucyart2019

The Human Condition

The Human Condition

We are the human condition
In its entirety.
Together in sadness,
Together in hope.

We are the forces of focus
Our brush, needle, lights capture
An armoury of ideas
To stimulate your senses.

We are the vanguard
Sounding the horn of change
Leading the charge
For reclamation of mind, body, soul

We are the light
The beacon of truth and hope
Offering up honesty
In a world of lies

We are the human condition,
We are the human,
We are human,
We are.

© Alucyart2019

Written and performed specifically for The Human Condition exhibition at Dundas Street Gallery, Edinburgh October 2019.

The Fox

The Fox

The Fox

I knew you from a cub
Brown eyed and shaggy of mane
Your cunning a protective shield
Against a world intent to snare you.

You played me songs and melodies
Smoky lyrics of trascendence
Of hope and love a better life
Pains ballad amongst the detritus.

You brought me life
In words and sounds
A brothers love, deep in bond
Stretched across the ocean.

I heard today that you were gone
Caught by trap, Life’s essence flowed
No more to fight for place or hope
My fox will forever roam free.

Written in October 2019 on the news of the tragic murder of my good friend Noel in Los Angeles.

Griefs Embrace

Griefs Embrace

How do you break free from it?
When chains do nout but hold you
Shackled arms and legs
Unable to run or raise fist

These ropes restrain my spirit
Earth bound, a comfort for the worm
and beetle.
How do you sore into skies of azure,
When imprisoned by griefs embrace?

All In This Together

All In This Together

A Lord in a castle
His throne upon high
Proclaims to his subject’s
For the greater good,
They must die.
For their grain he must sell
To replenish his chests.
To pay for poor choices
and service his debts.
“We’re all in this together!”
His subjects they start to cry.
As he sits on golden throne,
the Lord up in the sky.

©Alucyart 28-11-2019

Dear Frida

Dear Frida

You have long left this world
to its troubles and strife,
and while injustice runs wild
as through much of your life.
A letter I felt,
I must write to you.
Through your work and your strength,
you’ve inspired me to.
Stand and face my demons
and the pains of the past.
Take brush and paint my truth
as the hurt it will not last.
Exposing the internal,
creating light from deepest dark.
Shining rays on all my secrets,
tell my story in paints mark.

Dearest Frida,
I have never met you,
but I feel that I do know,
that place of sorrow,
from whence you came,
And the tears that helped you grow.
For lifes designs were plenty,
yet all were not of gold.
You’ve inspired me to bare my soul,
to be vunerable yet bold.

So thank you my dear Frida,
for your short life full of beauty.
I will raise you standard high and proud,
for I feel this is my duty.

By Adam Lucy
2018

Written and Performed at the ‘All Can Be Frida’ exhibition at Espacio Gallery, Shoreditch on 23/08/2018

The Note

The Note

Where was the note?
That crumpled paper
A faintly scrawled good bye
Tangible evidence of your pain
Of a conscious choice to leave.

Where is it?

Through each memory I have rummaged
Overturning boxes, emptying bags
Desperate for your final word.
Where you said you loved me,
Were proud of me,
Would forever be beside me,
Before you sank beneath the waters.

Where is the letter?
Your Pen on paper,
A testament of intent
To take away your light
To rid us of such joy.

There was no note,
No goodbye,
No explanation given,
The parchment blank
Forever white as snow.

The Crazy Ones

The Crazy Ones

They say it’s the crazy ones
Who make you feel crazy
Planted seeds of doubt
Watered with shame and tears of pain
Dense thorny thickets grow
Delivering bloody cuts and snagged clothing.

It’s the crazy ones that make you feel.
Unanswered calls
from a plea to communicate
Unrequited love
from a heart near breaking.

It IS the crazy ones
That make you feel crazy
Unravelled reality
Tripping down the rabbit hole.

Up is down
Right becomes wrong.
They say!

The crazy ones.

When Did You Last See Your Father?

When Did You Last See Your Father?

When did you last see your father?
The question delivered,
A mental blow.
Crisp starched linen ruffled
Surrounding, enveloping him.
Morphine induced halluncinations
Of clouds and peace.
My words of love,
of premature goodbyes,
Tears cascading down hot cheeks,
Noses wrinkled at antiseptic vapours.
Back turned and slow stepped
Retreat turns to route
Fleeing footsteps slapping
As if to escape my own
death.

When did you last see your father?
He asked.
When he said goodbye
I replied.

Road Map

Road Map

This is a face of violence,
Accidental and deliberate.
A face of such sorrow
And boundless communal joy.

Love has blessed this face
Bringing laughter and caress
Heartbreak has scared it
And lingers in its windows.

A road map to the present,
Of beginings and conclusions.
Valleys that will deepen,
Mountains that will rise.

This worn imperfect cover
Of a life and works to be,
This is the face of I alone,
My unfolding history.

©Adam Lucy 2017