Slaves

As we fall slave to the Illuminati, how dare I say thee, so they chain me, slave me, but I still write in spite of what they might say, or if they may take my freedom away, I write for the youth, for the lost, for the damned, the sickened, the scammed, cos he is raising an army, but I stand before thee with my pen and my pad, quiver while my right hand shivers while writing vigorously, and spontaneously coming up with thoughts and actions that can help separate me from the beast, they feast on the weak, corporate giants stealing the passion from the soul, keeping us half so we will never discover we are whole, soul trapped and locked, invisible box, mental locks, like marx said; slavery is not dead, it just grew another head, named itself a JOB, instead of following our passion, they kill Christ while we gradually develop vices to spice up our life, we close our eyes, fall into a trance at night, the following day is just another replay, another week, another month, every second our life is gone, dwindles while spending on little things that mean little to nothing, sending subliminal minimal messages through TV ads, they should go to jail for their criminal acts, but they pay the heads of state, forget the tax.

Inspired by: http://www.everypoet.net/poetry/blogs/kathy_paysen/seeds_of_nightmares#comment-63616

Fallen women

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=166671077124&set=a.132163232124.127815.132157057124&theater

she is trapped, her body is presently a present, but an ominous curse, she flirts with her little skirts, winks at cute guys, she is trapped, body as old as time, shaped like an hour glass, no where else can you find, magnificent how she struts in public, a wink and a kiss at her male puppets, name anything she wants and she's got it, amazing sight when she bends over for it, now who is the puppet, it is the consumer, the producer or the abuser, they say we attract our kind well, she is a magnet for fools, thats why she was abused, and she will be always the victim of being used, she is trapped, even beautiful people pay tax, you think beauty is a gift, thick and sweet like black strap molasses, even beautiful people pay taxes, long legs like giraffes, and many says, you deserve what you gets, is your money maker between your legs, long orange hair, wild in the bedroom, screaming top of her lungs with no care, legs in the air, lust in her breath, marshmallow breasts, caramel for skin, reverse cowgirl, up and down like carousel, climaxing, squeezing her skin like braille, unsavory smell, taste of regret after she breaks a sweat, nothing else

Recent Work

In Motion
pen on Somerset
11.25x9.5 inch diptych
2009.

...

By:STACY STRANZL. fine artist.

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Pink Butterfly

pink is the colour of my eyes, viewing this pink butterfly, pink is the colour of my hair,short hair don't care, a phoenix soaring in the free air, free from the shackles that society keeps, reaps, painting blindfold not thinking how the portrait is going to hold, so unfold the sheets, release the curtains and breathe life in this portrait, forfeit every emotion let the mind take over, locomotion, spiritual escape, fingers move at a steady pace, slowly choosing colour, blending and mixing, mashing and creating, the creative process is a mystery, like god we can't see but we are at its mercy, so I continue to gaze this portrait with amazement, they say the artists paints the picture, but could it be the portrait painting the artist, the hand brush holding the hand, the colours being chosen, we live to paint or do we paint to live, so we escape, our body a shell, the butterfly is where our soul dwells.