Sunday, 31 January 2016

Fine Art Tattooing

[Image description: upper arms, torso, neck and head of a bearded & moustachioed {mustachioed} man. Across his upper torso is an open-winged barn-owl in flight; a thin, aqua ribbon streaming from its beak; in its claws, a heart with a key-hole centred above the chap's actual organ. His right upper arm has a lobster-red fish or sea-beast in stylised waves.

I have no idea who the © copyright-holder is, despite an image-search; the photograph appears to have been originally posted in the tumblr-blog of carlokali.]

I dis-/like tattoos: so many are æsthetically &/or artistically unexceptional if not downright mediocre (which is not to disparage their personal significance to the bearer; I comment only as an observer). These tattoos above are examples of why tattooing is de facto a branch of the Fine Arts: composition, texture, colour, style, beauty… Stupendous! I should love to see the subject's full arm too. WoW! %O

My personal favourite tattooing styles are those of the Japanese Irezumi artists. A search for the word will bring the interested reader a panoply of wondrous, delightful and stimulating imagery.

One of the pleasures of tattoos, for me, is that - at least where the bearer permits - one can actually touch the artwork. Personally, I find the addition of touch sensation adds to my appreciation of the piece.

Do I have any tattoos myself? Alas, no. My health is too precarious to risk having one. I remain, however, ever hopeful that one day…! %DDD

Monday, 11 January 2016


Whether due to serendipity or subconscious plan, it appears that my first blog-post of each new year is a poem. This year's offering is overtly sexual, so if the reader might be offended, read no further. Whilst I may occasionally toy with Machiavellian machinations, I should never manipulate anyone into a sexual liaison. This is merely me daydreaming a fantasy.



big feet
hmm, nice
solid columnar legs
well-proportioned torso
sandy locks cede to reddy curls
bushy blond eyebrows
arc over penetrating orbs
gems set in an alabaster vessel
cracked as dimpled cheeks
break from a hearty resonant laugh
your tongue like an oyster
squirming in its shell
but discomfort of homosexuality
before your deep
almost husky, estuarine voice
broaches the void
your discomfiture most appealing
cute like a little boy
downcast eyes
time-lagged movements
as if in slow motion
brick-red lips soften to a broad smile
we embrace
I feel you
a back of solid muscle
no fat excess at all
speech slowed to the stop
just before stuttering
hesitancy at overt sexual overtones
but you ease into the passive rôle
and I hope you have a large hole
to fill

with an eat-as-much-as-you-want
your eyes widen
to a familiar smile
comfort zone
a fabulously wide mouth
with thick labia
elastane I hope
and the pinky
draws me back
to your velveteen
the white of talcum'd skin
after a steamy bath
and I’d sponge you there
is that the trick
to accentuate the ‘caracol’
to transmute it into
a hardy, oaken stick
long and broad
as of old
a knight’s favourite sword
and also that of Col
currently sheathed in denim

but I’m certain given the right circumstances
I could get it out of him!