Poetry of the Week – stable/unstable
| April 1, 2013 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Decline and Fall Marbled gold crowns the Caelian hilltop, Paterculaean piety splendour-poised; The stout city of wolf-born fratricide stands, Temple-strewn, a metropolis found on military bedrock. A blade-born state upset by blade-born grief. Aenean Hesperia besmirched through civil war, The Tiber clogged with tacit secrets of Empire. Domus Aurea now houses human slaughter: Strife for an unstable throne. Rancid Republican remains of Augustan dreams, an Island depravity belching spores; Fly, float, fertilise the mothballs of decaying aristocracy. Fungus finds filth: Fiddles while it burns; Latches, leeches life. Once tangible; regressive slime pools the Stygian shore. Foundations tremble, rotten-cored and useless: A city of matchsticks. Lunatics with fire. Dominus noster, planetoid godfather, risen phoenix and Saviour from bitter ashes. Jewelled slippers… more
Culpable dimensions (Part 1)
| March 31, 2013 | Posted by John James under creative writing |
“I hate funerals” Jason blurted out as his mother flicked his left ear across his cheeks. Jason rubbed his ear and sensed that it was his cue to be quiet. All eyes in the church turned their heads in unison to witness a beaten boy; drowning in his own tears, he treaded down the aisle, and each step he took he tried to pick up pieces of he and his brother’s shattered lives. He had approached the top of the church. Nathan made eye contact with his brother Marcus and ambled across to sit next to him. Marcus shifted from Nathan. Nathan noticing this held his head in his hands and looked down. This fatality was his entire fault, everyone… more
In Black and White
| March 15, 2013 | Posted by Sophie Wright under creative writing |
Maybe this is what happens when you have to keep secrets. It ends up spilling out somehow, and this is how I end up staring at the blank page with a pen in my hand. It might come out eventually, but everything always does. Some days, it was clear and easy what we were. Other days, the lines blurred so much that I had to squint to see. We were best friends, together from the forgotten start. I can’t remember how we met; it was a blur of jokes and indie love songs and chipped black nail polish tapping on my hand, and before long those fingers were tugging mine around, a glorified leash. Not that I minded, because I… more
Poetry of the Week – blank (part two)
| March 11, 2013 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Blank Dare I touch it? The crisp, clean sheet in front of me Creativity pours from every pore, but I still can’t put pen to paper Imagination whirls and transforms Colourful and alarmingly bright Fingers itching to begin, but I still can’t put pen to paper Eyes darting, palms sweating Heat rushing to my cheeks It calls my name, but I still can’t put pen to paper The ultimate rush when Finally the light peers through Free of the artist’s nightmare, Free of the blank canvas. By Josephine Mackell Blank: Leaving You Behind The Earth spits me out, My stomach left behind as I take off. Your world stretches at my feet, Like Legoland. My eyes close. Your lips… more
Poetry of the Week – blank
| February 26, 2013 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Blank The pale blue ocean, calm in the midnight flame. The beams of light bouncing off the blank canvas, that is the pale ocean. Creating the masterpiece of nature, That shines through all life, in the deep blue ocean, Leaving behind the blank canvas that was once there. By Dylan Connor That Persistent Thought The thoughts that consume me, Hold me to the edge, The edge where we last were, Before falling Is washed. The floods, that we tried to ignore, Bought peace as I endlessly thought, everything over again. The mud was fresh, The stones were cleaned, But my mind still pushed over, Then I stopped. Blank. I ignored the thoughts, Where we last were, Who I was… more
Poetry of the week – tension
| January 31, 2013 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Ego A cruel man, but hath made one to be. Become a monster, burnt and slayed, His soul, His Heart. In the darkness let it be Shadowed, the Light let it be lost. As all that remains, be Savage, Filth and Regret. A day then cometh, He cries out loud Exile me to Death, or whichever will last. To succumb – perchance to perish, To execute. But law is above all men. His arms won’t move his pain won’t rest. Like a gothic symphony in a spiritual Realm. Its abundance, Oh so voluminous. Yet stand unfulfilled, an outcast. Like an Unsung ballad, A Sermon untold, like the Belief of a Mystical world. … P.S. But once he was a little… more
Poetry of the week – resolutions
| January 14, 2013 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
The Sunken Sun Like a cloudless starry sky, an eloquence Of heart whose love be Innocent. As holy And enchanted a soul could be. She sings, Waiting in divinity, unmoved, untouched. For her fellow soul, unaware of a grey dawn, The dark hours, a Black winter, to come. I sing, a solitary lass in love, and Beneath the glorious sun. In richness And innocence I watch the skies, days, A world of dreams, for my dearest. With beauty and splendour awaiting, Your beloved damsel. A Night, stirring the Wild West Wind, Time was about to leave me frozen, fractured. As strangers met me, On my way back home. Dear God. I weep for them. Beauty fell, splendor shrieked, Wailing away… more
Poetry of the week – endings
| December 29, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
|
Winter A chill, A draft through the window, A clunking heater that doesn’t work, A patter of rain, A damp smell. Winter blues, Cold, unfriendly darkness, Slippery pathways, A helping hand? Time for family, Journeys on trains, Claustrophobic, Smelly, Cramped. A soft, enclosing hug, The glow of a fireplace, Hiding under a blanket, Waiting for warmth again. By Alaa Jasim Doom Town, 1954 Once, there was a perfect little town. A model town. It was a middle class haven, full of the best: top of the range autos, Bakelite radios, even a microwave oven. A gift from nuclear physics. Not much happened in this sleepy model town. Lethargic figures stood poised in the streets, as if waiting. As if they… more
Interview with a real Vampire – and no, he doesn’t sparkle
| December 3, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under culture, reviews |
Have you ever been to a Twi-hard’s house? If not, let me tell you how it goes. T-shirts, bedspreads, signed photos, posters, magazines and wristbands saying “Mrs Cullen” spill out of every room, the Cullen family tree is in pride of place in the kitchen, and my personal favourite: the “Top 50 reasons why I love Edward Cullen” toilet paper in in the bathroom. It is pretty clear by now that the Twilight franchise has taken the world by storm and made a more than healthy fortune out of it. Up to Breaking Dawn Part 1 the films made $265mn and it is estimated that the author Stephenie Meyer has pocketed more than $300mn from the books. What could possibly… more
Poetry of the week – cold
| November 27, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Insomnia Tired. Awake. Eyelids heavy, closing. Snap open. Yawn. Brain, fuzzy. Cotton Wool. Air chill. Warm blanket. Car growls outside. Wind. Light rain, knocking on the window. Kettle boils. Tea. Relax, no sleep. Brain rushes. Thoughts fly. Accept inevitable: Rise. Computer screen blue, flicker. Eyes ache. Phone bright. Music. Sky fades, black to grey. Tired. Awake. Eyelids heavy, closing. Snap open. Yawn. Morning. By William Taylor Autumn Morning I sink into white mountains of warmth. My eyelids slide shut and all thoughts sail away down a river of turquoise through fields of green and yellow. Flowers dance around me with their butterfly partners into the wood’s orange leaves cover my path. As I kick them away they turn into… more
