Posts Tagged by Ellys Sugarman
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 – winners and losers
| September 3, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
London’s Burning in my Heart It starts with a small spark in the cold caverns Of a nameless place where despondency shrouds a sunken face and the sky is frozen consumed by poison Then the spark meets another And they huddle together Safe from the clutches of gloom They can exhume Hope Flames showcase a sweet embrace It holds you close Brings out the hero Then fires rage Roaring crowds London’s burning in my heart my mind my bones my being every muscle that quivers across the finish line Tonight Gold is mine By Huma Khan A call A call, a phone call. Who’d have known. One call would change all. One single decision. Who’d have known. Would cause… more
Poetry of the week – mystery and intrigue
| July 25, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Mystery Looking into your eyes is like looking into a room full of smoke. I have a knowledge of what to expect and see but I can’t see everything I wish too, though I can always hope. Looking into you while our eyes meet there’s so much I wish to ask and to be told. However judging by your smile and the way the dodge my questions it appears I will be playing this game until I am old. Every time I get an answer to one of my questions two more appear in my head for me to ask I want to keep trying to understand the mystery that is you, a very lengthy, complex but also fun task.… more
Poetry of the week – clarity and intoxication
| June 25, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
The Downs the Joyous Clarity After Cerone died and rocket girl blown away The shutters flickered, and opened; the machine Drunk on its own dreams clattered to life. The tempter was gone with its violin. The room stank Of sweetness and solitude gone stale. I don’t want to die; I don’t want To grow old; I don’t want to lie in bed On Sunday afternoons in the April thaw And think of nothing but you anymore. I don’t want to watch the light stream through The attic window, or see the particles of dust Fall in its wake, disturbed and shaken Like the atoms of you stretching in my bones. The world is noisy outside but empty here. The airtight… more
Poetry of the week – open (part 2)
| May 30, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
And I smiled And I smiled. For that which was to come, Sat still off. Pain which would sway, Pain which was to shake, Pain which was to take, Pain which would choke. For a moment I saw Beauty in the trees and sun. That now? No more For that which was to come Sat till off. And I smiled. By Ellys Sugarman Dōjō Looking at you, I know You hate me; don’t worry, I Wouldn’t worry about it mate I hate you too. Every time we get called out to spar We take the time to pummel each other To senseless sacks of meat, pretending We’re sandbags with newspaper cutting Faces stuck on with superglue, boo to you… more
Poetry of the week – hope
| May 9, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
I hope I hope I forever know, How much you mean to me. I hope that when you go, I trust you’ll come back to me. I hope that our smiles, truths, Can win out ‘gainst life. I hope, that when I fall, You’ll be there to catch me. I hope that when you fall, I’ll catch you, before the drop. I hope. That no matter what. My hand will lay in yours. Ellys Sugarman White horses As the line is made between sea and sky, by a careless child’s pencil and the tiny gilt patterns in the sea spray, ameoba like, fade away. They are shape changing continents. A majestic gull is hardly disrupted by the overwhelming water. Calmly… more
Poetry of the week – summer
| April 23, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Back the Folds In this land bright things disappear quickly As soon as they come. They dot the grey landscape Like paint-drops on canvas by a careless artist, Overturning the balance; rupturing As simple chaos will do everything it touches. Words of summer do not exist here. Warm days and things are concepts In a fragile mind incapable of holding Anything hotter than numb ice. Intimacy Does not exist. Lust is a luxury But here it is a necessity, a byproduct Of keeping the heart going. We love the warm months. We strive for them In this frozen wasteland. We are sick Of these pockets of cold flash-freezing Patches of homes like turbulence But all we do is howl like… more
Poetry of the week – spring
| April 16, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Light on the Valley The Sun creeps over to take the first, Steps to look over the hillside Where the lambs do stumble, First strides of the year. The green grass reflects the blue, As the sky blue and shining white, Clouds which keep their place, With no wind to shift them. Let the lambs jump and flee, The parents which support in a flock, With bairns born to the world, Another Spring begins. By Maisie Poskitt Twelve Lines Away among the breezes I listlessly sway, Gentle currents rock me like a leaf, Above the hills and valleys. The stillness all around, peace takes over grief, I dive into the depths of calm, Unhesitating, unmoved. Alas, should I be elsewhere… more
Poetry of the week – pride and regret
| April 10, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Pride Turning to help, But not offering. Turning to speak, But never vocalizing. Turning to look, But not really seeing. Turning to God, But not really believing. Sitting above and looking below, The actively passive, and proud to be so. By Maisie Poskitt Ice Man drip drip drip drip drip Painstakingly precise. Each movement of crystal water. My crystal palace is falling. Outside I can make out a faint pale yellow glow which bounces off the powdery snow surrounding me. I can sense the lice on my skin. They begin to crawl again. But I can’t shake them off yet. Painfully slowly, my nose is thawing, and I can smell my own scent. Not surprising after months spent in… more
Poetry of the week – light and darkness
| April 2, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Out of the Cave The one that stuns does blind the sighted, Lightens the world with baby’s smile, The dark is fallen on those without hope, Luckily it passes in a while. Dark are days in mind of the confused, A hovering cloud, an eerie gloom, “Follow the light,” they say, It leads to a nicer room Of flying dreams and what not seems A world of make believe, Come out of your cave, What have you to grieve? Remember the light, for when it is dark, Since the sun is not always the answer. Keep hopes up high and wave good bye, The darkness falls ever after. By Maisie Poskitt No longer shining Now nothing but a dark… more
