tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81286960390205950032024-02-20T00:26:44.282-08:00PoetryA poetry inspired blog with pieces written while studying Poetry at University.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128696039020595003.post-71933034018700397132009-10-12T12:21:00.000-07:002009-10-12T12:21:14.010-07:00Unfinished poem<i>This is influenced from an experience i had which caused me to visualise disturbing images.</i><br />
<p><P><br />
Silence.<br />
Echoes from the wooden lane filter,<br />
into muffled screams,<br />
suffocating my senses untill i stop.<br />
Breathing.<br />
<br />
Pain.<br />
So excruicating you fall,<br />
Fall into a well of disbelief,<br />
motionless in the water,<br />
floating into your dreams.<br />
<br />
Love.<br />
Hands craddling your body,<br />
wrapping you into a ball.<br />
Racing heart. Everytime you breathe.<br />
Your alive, you want that pain,<br />
The pain that made you cry inside.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128696039020595003.post-44583514279795633852009-10-10T06:23:00.000-07:002009-10-12T12:11:32.345-07:001989.<strong>Her Birthday</strong><br />
<em>A piece i completed while using influence from 'phobia's'. This is my second draft which still needs to be edited.</em><p><p><br />
As she lays looking up at the ceiling,<br />
dust collected in her mouth,<br />
parted like an envelope, one side sticky and the other soft,<br />
posted to Japan.<br />
<br />
Bloody eyes and dirty nails,<br />
he kissed her skin, surface crawling.<br />
Under the pink bedsheets that smelt of violet drops<br />
and candy floss.<br />
<br />
She lies in her death bed alone and confused.<br />
The white lilly's collected around her neck,<br />
a party for the bumblebee's that stung her to death,<br />
under the blossom tree in the summer of 89.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128696039020595003.post-25196489231916942942009-10-10T06:16:00.000-07:002009-10-12T11:53:23.473-07:00Poetry from my degree. (unedited)Dust of Dissappointment.<br />
<em>This poem which was written in 2007 is an angry piece which i created from a memory of a past relationship. Its got a lot of metaphors within the poem and is quite abstract. I was influenced by the writer and poet Sylvia Plath.</em><br />
<br />
<em></em><br />
Speckles of doubt overshadow truth,<br />
quiet heartbeats that hurt,<br />
are heard by millions that are dared to be silenced.<br />
<br />
Honest and pain free, like the wind that follows you.<br />
Through the dirty path of your deciet and lies.<br />
With cold and icy downfalls,<br />
like your winter fingers in her hair.<br />
<br />
Your body and soul falls into a pile of dissapointment.<br />
Dust from a thousand books, cover your tracks.<br />
Contents pages that decieve collect under a shadow,<br />
of a black burning candle.<br />
<br />
A small voice that whimpers by your side,<br />
turns into eyes that reflect puddles of melting tarmac,<br />
melting into chocolate, but not as sweet.<br />
The dark kind, the bitter, sour, bite sitting on your tounge.<br />
<br />
Your stuck, and i am blind.<br />
For your eyes are only opened by the lies i told,<br />
the lies that you made were forgiven and folded,<br />
folded into little white triangles,<br />
and placed within your wooden box.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128696039020595003.post-74407031405246739972009-10-10T06:00:00.000-07:002009-10-12T11:55:48.116-07:00Pieces from my portofolio.<div align="left"><span style="font-size: 130%;">Untitled.</span><br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
In my sidelines you always stay,<br />
a book filled with dust, left upon a shelf.<br />
Cold.<br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
Never have my knots been untied,<br />
a layer of glass between us,<br />
a window, a table, a coffin.<br />
I stop. Beating, in your presence,<br />
Tiny speckles of coal dilate in your gaze,<br />
Montionless when your body touches mine.<br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
lips on fingertips, smooth, sweet.<br />
To taste you again, your breath on my neck,<br />
needing is an urge i try to hide.<br />
But you smile, your coals holding my gaze,<br />
stay.<br />
Deep inside frustration, anger, pain.<br />
My dear 'friend' of mine. <br />
<br />
<br />
</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><strong>The Model (2007)</strong><br />
</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><em><span style="font-size: 85%;">This poem is influenced by the artwork by Henri Matisse. The famous 'Blue Nude 11' or 'Woman in Blue' was a piece of art that i came across at an art fayre and decided to concentrate on the connotations that screamed out at me. In this poem i touch on the subject of physical abuse towards to the woman, images of 'black' and 'blue' and her body being moulded into place.</span></em><br />
</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />
<br />
Across it moves.<br />
</div><div align="left">Strokes of fine horse hair caressing the white veil of innocence,<br />
</div><div align="left">with water droplets falling onto stained woven silk.<br />
</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Cut from sugard paper,<br />
</div><div align="left">and placed upon a canvas,<br />
</div><div align="left">like the blueberry stain you used for your sky.<br />
<br />
</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Tainted on your skin,<br />
</div><div align="left">my body a mass of desire,<br />
</div><div align="left">Naked, black and blue.<br />
</div><div align="left">Your fingers placing my body parts into sphere's<br />
</div><div align="left">Like your face, a fist, my breast.<br />
</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Your cold water stains left upon my cheek,<br />
</div><div align="left">Uncontrolable hands posessing the fire that you burn,<br />
</div><div align="left">with cherry blossoms and orange skins,<br />
</div><div align="left">crushed into a pulp.<br />
<br />
</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Skin cold and sore from the time you take to paint. <br />
</div><div align="left">My face undisclosed.<br />
</div><div align="left">A figure of a blue, placid river.<br />
</div><div align="left"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0