Celebrating romantic poetry, “Thomas Kent” captures with its sincerity and is an exciting experience for those who admire traditional poetry forms. The combination of poetry, fine art and theater forms is the core of this art-book, which is dedicated to the great artist, the late Freddie Mercury.
From the book:
Before I Called You Thomas Kent
The autumn day did sadly smile.
The swing was lonely in the yard,
And you, my dreamer, for awhile,
Stopped your battle, long and hard!
You took a look at days that passed:
There was nothing you could catch.
No memory recalled, no warmth,
No face, no place and no regret.
Chances missed, too scarce - the time,
And never, ever comfort found.
I saw the tears in your eyes,
They slowly fell upon the ground.
The yellow leaves, and then the snow,
Then spring, which we all take for granted…
Will you see the flowers grow,
These flowers that your tears have planted?
When The Phoenix Would Sing
The rotation captured me,
And from its snare I hurt.
Youth and laughter and belief,
The ambitions of daring worth.
They from the innocence drink,
When the phoenix would sing.
The boy, who would step into manhood.
The present of an unborn child.
The energy boiled in his blood,
And the life in his veins was so wild,
When making love wasn’t a sin,
When the phoenix would sing.
The muse would embrace him with care.
The fibers of the cosmos he caught.
They would dance with the light in his hair.
And I - I wasn’t a thought.
The ark with the talent would gleam,
When the phoenix would sing.
His soul had the key for this ark,
And his lips could perform the touch.
And I - I exist as a warmth,
And I long for belonging so much.
To be, to vanish, to dream,
When the phoenix would sing.
A piece of luck, perhaps, or a burden.
My birth - so different ways.
The years pass by like a thunder.
Corridors of the time - a maze,
In which I have lost the link.
I’ve never heard phoenixes sing.
The eyes were mirrors of myself.
They never saw me though they weren’t blind.
Hope for a crossroad, but then
He closed them for the very last time.
He never knew. Away sighs to blink.
The phoenix no more would sing.
Now I am breathing, alive.
Or at least one part of me.
Shivers at night would arrive
For the other part refuses to be.
I still keep calling the phoenix:
and “I Can Hear Music”... and lyrics.
