I am a poet who has both been published and self published. All work on this blog is all copyright Alex Ness. While I make very little money from my work I am technically a professional. Measuring by the hours I've written I am professional. My goal is to share my work with as many people that can read it, as far as the internet may reach with it. I hope if you are moved you will share this blog with others, and perhaps buy my books.

Whatever the result, thank you for viewing this blog. I cannot express how greatly I appreciate the many people, from many places upon the earth, who have visited.

I bid you peace.

Je ne regrette pas la douleur, car il m'a fait plus forte

Friday, October 23, 2015

Our Beloved Chains

We stand nude before our accusors
Ashamed for our many flaws
Our wrists chained with iron
So that we might not flee
But we never would
Should we have no chains
Nor if we could
We love our chains
We love the excuses
For our illusive reasoning
We lay claim to individualism
But fall in with the herd
We are foolish
To ever suggest
That we should be heard
What we think
Is the same
As everyone else
We break these chains
Abandon the herd
Change our ways
And abandon forever
The comforts
Of conformity

Monday, October 12, 2015

End not end

I closed my eyes
And saw it all
Closed my lips
And screamed
Every breath inside
Brings closer the fall
To the living necropolis
Killing the things
That are weak
And have no defender
So now
From the nightmare
The dreams await
Sings the choir, it sings
Sleep the dreamers
Awaken it is time
Sleep does our king
He who is immortal
Above us all
He is sleeping
His silver cord intact
In slumber
In his December
In Avalon
Where the Fates still measure
And cut
The life cord
For the mortals
In life
But his
Goes on forever
And he will awaken
And it will be spring
And soon thereafter
The isle of apples
Will shine golden
And beautiful

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Escape Artist

I am an artist
Of the grand escape
I have never been captured
And never will be
Go ahead try me
Open the coffin
Look deeper inside
Take in the view
There is nothing there
What were you expecting to find?
I told you I was going to do it
This life enslaved me
It became the chains
Around my flesh
Wounding me
Bleeding me
This existence was the thorn
In my side
But I have listened
To the silent voice
I have waited
For the answers
Others are
Asleep to the power
However I've been listening
I have made my soul quiet
I have been praying for my time
I've been awake
I laid claim to my blood promise
My legacy
And I've escaped

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Remember him not as a Slave, but as a Free man

At birth my parents were happy
But we were all hungry
Close to starved
No one rejoiced
When I was young
My body grew
And I was gifted
By fate to be healthy
And I grew large
As another mouth to be fed
At the earliest of ages
I was sent to the fields
So that I might help
I might be dead
If we didn't all try
As I learned to work
My arms grew powerful
My back grew strong
Even if at the setting of the sun
My body tired
We all hungered
But loved too
When Thrace was taken
By the power that was Rome
I jumped at the chance
To serve in the Empire's forces
When I was captured I was sold
I was saved however
Because my owner fed me
My job was to kill
But I was a slave
They taught me to fight
To kill in their death arena
I was not a warrior
I was a beast with a voice
But I had not humanity
Nor choice
I was only fed
And clothed
For my owner's invested value
In my flesh
Every breath I took
Meant I was continuing
To add to his total
Every nick or bruise to my flesh
Meant a possible lower value
In my world
I knew
Free men weren't free
Only rich men were
Money makes you free
When you can buy another man
And make him fight
And I did fight many times
I took lives many lives
Far more than I
Am comfortable
Or listing
Or remembering
Their faces linger
In my dreams
Their cries echo 
When I visit them in Elysium
I will apologize
For sending them there
Instead of freeing them
I plan to be free
I plan to free others
I have to be silent about it
And be like water
Through the cracks
Of a cobblestone court

Make a path without being seen
And do so over time
Without force
And the owner of my flesh
Will not notice
That his slaves who fight
Are gathering together
And making plans
To join hands
With others
The world will remember
Not as slaves
Or as gladiators
But that Spartacus fought
As a free man
And he died
Fighting alive as a free man
And died for a cause
Not for entertainment
Of another
His death meant something
Not nothing
Death before slavery
Freedom before all

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Locusts and Crows

Running for our lives
Does not matter
We will never reach
The safety of our homes
They are blazing with fire
And the bombs keep dropping
While the vultures are watching
Waiting for our deaths
And our family
All of us
Missed the signs
And now we've noticed
But the tragedy of our ignorance
Is not just that it is too late
But that it is far too late
There are locusts
Who burst from the earth
They arrive in swarms
Within massive black storms
They sting
They might be destroyers
Of life
But truly
It was us
We poisoned our land
We never had a chance
Because of our overconfidence
Because of pride
Because we hid our eyes
From truth
and inequity
The crows circled
Above the city
And now
They don't even watch
Because of our betrayal
Because of our schemes
Because of our cheating
Our fates were sealed
By our own ignorance
And deceit

Monday, October 5, 2015

We aren't dancing

The many walk
Following blindly
Living unthinking
About their world
And their destiny
Sleeping in their flesh
Asleep to their existence

They live in a trance
And tell those who live
To obey
Those who rule
People who only
Love riches
Treasures and gold
they tell us
and tell us
We are told
Just how
To fucking dance
Their kind of dance

And sooner
Than later
That light
Behind her eyes
Disappeared and
I lost the chance
To ever hold her
She died
For society's lies
At the end of a road
That never led to anywhere
But to a town
That hated us
For being alive
And that we cared

So to those in a trance
Dance if you like
But I am alone
At can't
Without her
I can't and won't
So don't ask

Sunday, October 4, 2015

The Rush

I stared at the sun
Wasn't blinded
But then I saw your eyes
And I gazed transfixed
Then the feedback hit
And I was blindsided
How I remember
The first time
I kissed
Your lips
Touched you
Held you
By the hips
Your heart
In my hands
My own went into eclipse
And when separated from you
Couldn't do anything
But miss
Oh I remember
Every moment
I remember
Days of torment
When you were gone
It felt so wrong
And then you
And my thirst
was quenched

Saturday, October 3, 2015

The Master of the Dark Poetry

“Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night.”

 “Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.”

"Beneath the pressure of torments such as these, the feeble remnant of the good within me succumbed. Evil thoughts became my sole intimates — the darkest and most evil of thoughts. The moodiness of my usual temper increased to hatred of all things and of all mankind; while, from the sudden, frequent, and ungovernable outbursts of a fury to which I now blindly abandoned myself, my uncomplaining wife, alas! was the most usual and the most patient of sufferers."  "The Black Cat"

  “Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.”

  “A million candles have burned themselves out. Still I read on. (Montresor)” The Cask of Amontillado

"During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country, and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher."   "The Fall of the House of Usher"

Friday, October 2, 2015

The Accidental Saint

In a room filled with thugs
I stand out as the worst
I am immoral
A fool
Not a hero
I am less than human
Not a man
Not a god
I am made of flesh
Mortal I am made
Of simple things
Less than a man
More than an ant
I am a criminal
With the world
With its rules
I should be at the end
Of a rope, twisting
Twisting to the wind
Dancing to the twist
Because I am bad
And yet
Although I am
Flawed and pointless
Bleeding and hopeless
My world screams
And I die inside
With all of my plans
Failed and unvoiced
I've nowhere to hide
Now in the end
I am unable to exist
Without my dreams
So I am lost
Somehow here
Within paradise
Martyrdom denied
I don't belong here
I deserve to pay
For all of my crimes
I am here without a reason
But it feels
As if I've been given mercy
For things I've done
And given credit
For the small things
Others never noticed
All my life
I've simply been me
Following my instincts
Rather than being
One of the herd
And now
The world is better
For my absence
How do I deserve
Being in this place
In the presence
Of the most holy

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Delivery & Birth Person

I never forget
And never regret
The scars that come
From good things
That I've done
I've loved
I've been loved
But never by you
Because while you
Gave me life
Gave birth
Never searched
For me since
And like a knife
In my back
I recognize
The scent
Of rejection
And the aroma
Of abandonment
Today I celebrate
Being alive
Being awake
Because you carried me
But I am sorry
Because you did not want
To ever know
Who I am
Thank you
Because of you
I have had this thing
People call it

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

From a distance

Your eyes are swollen
And dark from crying
But I can't change your world
Because you've made choices
Only you can make
While I feel like dying
You follow your voices
And stay with a person
Who will never love you
He'll even hurt you
And hit you
Which wounds me too
But there is
Nothing I can do
Nothing I can do
Except love you
Like a man is supposed to
I love you
Like a lover who is true
I can't change your world
And you can't see
He won't stop
Until you are in his control
Fully in his grip
Listen to a different voice
He won't stop
Hurting you
I won't stop
Loving you
The choices is yours
And I can't force you
To choose

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

My Beloved King Arthur : The legends & myth that move me

Since childhood I've been a romantic of thought, and belief.  I have an emotional personality, and a mind that is entertained by notions of heroic defense of the codes of right and wrong.  Among my favorite childhood toys were the Silver Knight by Marx Toys, and the Castle and knights, a fold out vinyl castle and knights to fight endless battles. The tales of King Arthur and his Round Table of great knights were my super heroes.

And for me, I was moved by the vision of living for the code of honor that a life filled with the Chivalry code offered.  I was bullied often, my parents had forbidden me to fight, so I was not a bully, and to bullies my brother and I were easy meat.  But I read books to escape, as well, of course, comics, and movies.  I was able to survive the life I lived, mentally, despite certain pains, and sorrows, due to the beliefs I had.  And so, for me, the legends and myths of King Arthur and his day, were fulfilling, and enriching of my life.  They also allowed me to hold tightly my religious faith, without having to bend either to fit.

My first book of Arthurian lore that I wrote or was a part of was Lancelot.  I've described the genesis of the project elsewhere, but roughly, we chose to retell the story of Lancelot through our own eyes, telling a new version, with new art. It was done as a work with two teams, one from France and one from the US, and it is a beautiful, even stunning work.  The work of art that it is was in my mind flawless.  The words and images are beautiful and moving.  The business end of the work was poorly done.  It didn't make enough money for anyone, and so, it could be a work that was an orphan, having no other works similar or related to it.  But, since the original agreement was for a color work, and the publisher changed that without consultation, I held her to the agreement.  So a color version with enriched page color, color images, and fine lettering was done to offer a limited edition.  Few people who got this work realize how rare it is, but they truly can see how special it is.  Both books are out of print, but are truly beautiful.  Poet G.F. Evrard is my sword brother, and my comrade poet on this work, and I will never forget him.

The next chapter began following directly after Lancelot was published when I was told to write 80 poems about King Arthur.  This was a considerably bigger commitment and one that I was told would be mine alone to bear.  I would miss working with and communicating with my French allies, as the glory of a group project like Lancelot was the daily encouragement, the brother/sister friends, and more.  But this project was seen to try to narrow the focus, narrow the amount of communication needed, and try to make the artistic vision continue.   I had no problem writing about Arthur.  I'd seen myself as his knight for decades.  I was not him in spirit or in desire, and at least, not worthy to be him.  I wrote of the court life, the betrayal of him by his two best friends, battle, honor, and of the special honor he was owed by so many, for being the true king.  The world often sees the leaders it elects as being disposable, but the true leaders are so important we cannot afford to ignore them, to dispose of them.  They are once in a lifetime figures usually.  My work was complimented by the art of Trent Westbrook who had done some of the illustrations in Lancelot, as well as in my work A Life of Ravens.  When I presented the work to the publisher she held onto the work for over a year, and I realized she was not going to publish it, and a short while later she ended business operations.  So my friend Josh Brown offered to format it and help me self publish it, but, I knew he could write, and I requested that he also write a tale of Arthur, so there is a Josh Brown Arthur tale in the book as well. The resulting book Arthur Rex Eternus  in Latin means, Arthur, King Eternal, and I am very proud of it.

The Quest of Arthur: The Holy Chalice was my book of love poems and metaphor, and the Holy Chalice was the metaphor of perfect love that people seek.  I realize that people reading it might not see the book as such, and there might not be 100% of the poems in that book directed towards that theme, but overall, that was the purpose.  Initially I wanted, rather deeply, Josh Brown to write a short story again, but he was crushed by life events so, that didn't occur, but he did format the book and edit my words, so he acted as my publisher, for which I am very grateful.  The work is fully illustrated by Pre-Raphaelite artists on the inside and the outside cover is by my lovely pal Jason Moser.  Having him do that cover was a blessing and one half!  This work was not entirely about a single knight or story, but about the themes mentioned.

Lastly for now, KING OF AGES is the title of a fine book compiled by JOSH BROWN, yes you've heard his name before.  He is now the head guru of a small publishing house called UFFDA. The concept of the book is that King Arthur and Merlyn are timeless, and have appeared in the timeline of humanity, when the need arises many times.  The writers of the project were called to write individual stories explaining and portraying one of those times.  I remain grateful to Josh for all he has done for me, and my work in this book is another that I am grateful for the chance to have appear.  It was great fun.

A friend of mine who has produced art for three books or more has had some health issues.  He is feeling well enough that he asked if we could do another book. The news is so good considering the sickness being fought, of course I said yes.  While I won't go into fine details and who knows what the future holds, I will say, if the book happens, it would be welcome on this page regarding the subject.

Thank you for your support.


My Amazon page
Lancelot color
Arthur Rex Eternus
The Quest of Arthur
King of Ages