Unfinished poem

This is influenced from an experience i had which caused me to visualise disturbing images.

Silence.
Echoes from the wooden lane filter,
into muffled screams,
suffocating my senses untill i stop.
Breathing.

Pain.
So excruicating you fall,
Fall into a well of disbelief,
motionless in the water,
floating into your dreams.

Love.
Hands craddling your body,
wrapping you into a ball.
Racing heart. Everytime you breathe.
Your alive, you want that pain,
The pain that made you cry inside.

1989.

Her Birthday
A piece i completed while using influence from 'phobia's'. This is my second draft which still needs to be edited.

As she lays looking up at the ceiling,
dust collected in her mouth,
parted like an envelope, one side sticky and the other soft,
posted to Japan.

Bloody eyes and dirty nails,
he kissed her skin, surface crawling.
Under the pink bedsheets that smelt of violet drops
and candy floss.

She lies in her death bed alone and confused.
The white lilly's collected around her neck,
a party for the bumblebee's that stung her to death,
under the blossom tree in the summer of 89.

Poetry from my degree. (unedited)

Dust of Dissappointment.
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.


Speckles of doubt overshadow truth,
quiet heartbeats that hurt,
are heard by millions that are dared to be silenced.

Honest and pain free, like the wind that follows you.
Through the dirty path of your deciet and lies.
With cold and icy downfalls,
like your winter fingers in her hair.

Your body and soul falls into a pile of dissapointment.
Dust from a thousand books, cover your tracks.
Contents pages that decieve collect under a shadow,
of a black burning candle.

A small voice that whimpers by your side,
turns into eyes that reflect puddles of melting tarmac,
melting into chocolate, but not as sweet.
The dark kind, the bitter, sour, bite sitting on your tounge.

Your stuck, and i am blind.
For your eyes are only opened by the lies i told,
the lies that you made were forgiven and folded,
folded into little white triangles,
and placed within your wooden box.

Pieces from my portofolio.

Untitled.

In my sidelines you always stay,
a book filled with dust, left upon a shelf.
Cold.

Never have my knots been untied,
a layer of glass between us,
a window, a table, a coffin.
I stop. Beating, in your presence,
Tiny speckles of coal dilate in your gaze,
Montionless when your body touches mine.

lips on fingertips, smooth, sweet.
To taste you again, your breath on my neck,
needing is an urge i try to hide.
But you smile, your coals holding my gaze,
stay.
Deep inside frustration, anger, pain.
My dear 'friend' of mine.

The Model (2007)

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.

Across it moves.

Strokes of fine horse hair caressing the white veil of innocence,

with water droplets falling onto stained woven silk.

Cut from sugard paper,

and placed upon a canvas,

like the blueberry stain you used for your sky.

Tainted on your skin,

my body a mass of desire,

Naked, black and blue.

Your fingers placing my body parts into sphere's

Like your face, a fist, my breast.

Your cold water stains left upon my cheek,

Uncontrolable hands posessing the fire that you burn,

with cherry blossoms and orange skins,

crushed into a pulp.

Skin cold and sore from the time you take to paint.

My face undisclosed.

A figure of a blue, placid river.