One Day

This was written for my girlfriend's eighteenth birthday a few months ago. I'd been working on it for a fair while, and it's really the only decent thing I've written in some time.

One day will dawn not so far away

It will break over you, your dreaming form

Sunlight spilling through your dew-damp curls

And pouring like syrup out of the morn

One day's rays will fall on crested waves

Of foaming breakers and crisp, white sheets

Untangling myself, I will - catlike - stretch

And as you stir, you stir my heartbeats

One day will open our sleepy eyes

To butterfly kisses and cups of tea

And the knowledge that we are still there

Continuing what is, and will be

One day will no longer be future;

A hope so distant and in disarray

Instead, we are perfectly present

In the glow of the light of today.

Almost

Lying here without you, I can almost taste your scent

I can reach up

And out

And steal it

Your essence

Your very deepest, darkest essence

Now belongs to me

It is all I can own of you

Here, now

You have me enslaved, ensnared

And I am a willing prisoner

Not for me, however, the cold ball and chain

The heat of our furnace has warped them

Into fine chains of silken-light dreams that settle, glinting,

On my heart

And now, lying here without you, I can almost touch them

A Word's Worth [+...]

Merci. La confusion reste sur la scène, mais il y a une boîte vide dans mon théâtre qui vous attendra.

A Word's Worth

Another combination of words

Or a new set of lyrics

Twisting adjectives to flatter, verbs to hurt

One more noun for what is

Or the next description of what isn’t

The flick of a tongue

The tap of a key

And the flowing, scratching, twirling, stabbing

Exploding lines

Of lead and ink and thoughts

Try, we do in vain, to find a better way

And though actions may speak louder than they

And though a picture may say a thousand

They are my companions, and -

Remember this: the pen is mightier than the sword

So long as one’s wit is sharpened.

Confused

The reading of my heart was your job

Accidentally commissioned to do it, you were relied upon

Every time the numbers changed I got a new sparkle in my eye

And yet suddenly my audience is gone

                    Alone in the spotlight

                    Gazing out at empty seats

                    The plush velvet begins to rot

                    And words start to collapse

Your words still touch me, you know

And I still read your heart, even though it's not my job

And I want to understand the turn of events;

Why the walls of the city fell down.

Toxic

So, I finally wrote a new piece that I don't hate and that I managed to finish. This is nothing short of a miracle, so be gentle.

It is about something specific this time, but once again the reader's perception matters more than the writer's. The words should really speak for themselves.

Toxic

The sordid air clings to everything; all-pervading

Swirling, curling, twirling crushed diamond blocks

Streams of red satin and conscience

Laughter and burning eyes

 

We are the life and soul

And the ghost in the corner smiles benevolently

She knows that soon we will touch the sun

And as wings are flicked into a pile of ash,

We fly on

 

With terms of endearment and echoes of youth

One dormant heart now erupts

Tides are turning, and we are suddenly scented

Tainted

 

Eject an apology from a rear window,

And leave for the lamplight-sunrise, far away

Wander across the endless dust to a destination revisited

And finally find, prostrate upon wilting petals,

We linger on

And I Never Understood Really...

No pictures today; I want these words to be concentrated on.

The piece of poetry I am about to present to you is one of my favourite things that I've written. I wrote it a few months ago, I guess, and in a really odd way. I simply put pen to paper and wrote exactly what came out of my mind. This is why I have absolutely no bollocking clue what it's about. But that's good, 'cause it means you can decide for yourselves.

And I never understood really

what time and elegance would bring,

and with it, the soft surrender of darkness

 

My eyes are not yet accustomed to the dim light around them

and so shapes move in colours that don’t try,

and the cool, cut-glass sun streams music onto unsuspecting faces,

upturned and glorious

 

To strive for that day, when man is free –

and woman alike – will come to naught

without the silent tick-tock of the wandering clock,

that sleeps so swiftly

when the neon brights and shining lights are gone

 

The bubbles in the rose-water burst like thoughts and dreams,

and so much else that is fragile and so easily lost,

while machines turn the tide of man

and the warmth of hearts

 

Breathe, for now is when you smile and wonder why

 

The revolutions of every wheel that slaps the backs of innocents

cannot compare to the revolution brewing in the hearts

and minds

and teacups of so many

 

May we one day explode our ugliness,

may we one day throw caution to the wind,

and play with the flames we create

 

May one day the soft beating of the drums warm our souls,

that we make take flight and scratch the stars

 

In their difficult way they gaze their star-gaze, until

with a flick and a kick they spiral away to dance with the gods

In Search Of Posterity

Well, I thought I might as well share one of my reasons for even having a blog (albeit one that I am the sole reader of); this is a little scrap of writing I did in about January. I was in Scotland and out on a walk with my dog, and came across a scene of intense beauty of some kind or another. I evidently felt moved to write the following:

The problem is that not only do I want to do it - live it, feel it, breathe it - I want to capture it; record it. It’s not enough just to have experienced it; you want to be able to hold on to the moment, share it and keep it. Not easy when your camera’s broken, your pen’s decidedly unreliable, your phone has no signal and the only conscious mind in sight is that of your dog, whom the profundity of the time and place seems to be lost on.

Related to this in terms of posterity is my One Million Masterpiece square:

The OMM's a great project that brings together artists from all over the world in the name of world records and charity. It's a wonderful thing to be involved in, and I have come to be really quite proud of my square. You can see a replay of me painting it on my OMM profile here - recommended for hidden messages!

My square is now a little out of date, in terms of what is on it and what is not. For example, June 26th 2007 was not "the first day of the rest of my life", as it turned out, and currently one of the people in the 'photograph' is threatening me for money. Also, my girlfriend does not feature (as she was not my girlfriend at the time). It is therefore not an accurate portrayal of my current state of affairs, but holds a place in my heart nonetheless.

I would like to encourage anyone who might read this to head on over to the One Million Masterpiece and get involved - whether for yourself or in search of altruism...*ahem*doesn't exist*ahem*

Pride & Poetry

'Twas Pride at the weekend (no longer am I a Pride virgin!) and although it was only my best friend and I that were available to go, I had a lot of fun and many pictures were taken, including the one to the right. I have no idea who the arm belongs to, but credit goes to them for waving that flag so well.

Not much in the way of wordiness today, just a wee scrap of poetry-ish-ness that I think complements the picture quite well.

How can you know what I am when I am so lost in time and stars?

We are never far from meaning in our daydreams

We bring the effervescent light of sound; so hard to see

Blinking, and brushing away whirling colours

Swing Me To Sunshine

At last I'm over the moon; I'm under the sun (Diamonds And Pearls - The Holloways).

Well, methinks it is time to get this words-and-pictures ball rolling. This is a poem I wrote last summer, but have since edited and refined. I thought it would be appropriate as Summer is - happily - now upon us.

Swing Me To Sunshine

Swing me to sunshine, and the sweet, lazy humming of summer

Swing me to fields of long grass swaying with the breeze

 

Swing me to vast, azure skies that touch the horizon on every side

And the whispering words of the soft-spoken trees

 

Swing me to the oppressive heat, and the stillness of the sultry air

Swing me to heavy, heady hours that drift out of mind

 

Swing me to the beat of the warming rays; back and forth

And the sepia-tinted, dark-framed view of the world

Presenting...

...the words and pictures of me, R. An unimportant sort of person who spends most of her life drinking tea with a pen in her hand. Poetry, essays, emails, articles, pointless prose, blog posts, stories that are mainly unfinished, forum posts, letters, Facebook messages. Digital paintings, sketches, photoshopped pictures, doodles. On my hand, on paper, on tables...and now, on Electric Paper.

J’écris, donc je suis.