Posts Tagged by poetry
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
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 – endings
| December 29, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
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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
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
A collection of poems
| November 22, 2012 | Posted by Errol Waters under culture, poetry |
Here are a small collection of poems that I have written about day to day items and sights, which aim to provoke deeperthought, and interpretations of all levels. Feel free to comment below with your own thoughts – or to suggest other concepts/items I can write about. The Curtain Lonely I am, all creased up and wrinkled, I block out the unwanted. Where are my thanks Half Eaten Pizza Why pick me when I am too big, The task is too large for one person. Have no fear in asking for help, You’re only human. The Tree It is almost winter, Every waking moment I spend waving to the passers by, I am unrecognisable – why am I… more
The Great Ones
| November 12, 2012 | Posted by Samantha Seto under culture, poetry |
Excerpt from The Stolen Child by William Yeats: “Where the wave of moonlight glosses the dim grey sands with light, far off by furthest Rosses we foot it all the night weaving olden dances, mingling hands and mingling glances. Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap and chase the frothy bubbles, while the world is full of troubles and is anxious in its sleep. Come away, O human child! To the waters of the wild With a faery hand and hand, For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.” I believe in escape into nature. Race into the wild. Awaken to the unexpected pleasures of life. Excerpt from One Art by Elizabeth… more
Poetry of the week – natural and unnatural
| October 22, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
The unnatural union The blood soaked eyes and hollow expression is enough to make me scream. They approach and I wish in vain that this is a nightmare, some sick dream. I pinch myself, and do not wake up, it is real and they are coming near. My body trembles no longer fully under my control as they look at me hungrily, already I am showing fear. This is wrong I want to scream, its un-natural and yet they exist, they are here. I stare at into its hungry soulless eyes, what was once someone is no gone what to call this thing is unclear. I could call it a result of the sickness or just simply a monster, it… more
Poetry of the week – trust and lies
| October 8, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Glass Heart The shards on the window sill Glitter as the sun sets behind their corpse, The corpse of my heart. You cut it out piece by piece, Indulging in the deliciousness of the moment. My delicate glass heart had cracked. It shattered in my chest and you, In your kindness, Picked at the fragments, Lifting them out and placing them on the sill So I would feel no pain. And now my broken heart stares at me and whispers: He lied. By Zahra-Claire Bahrani-Peacock A Game Of Lies I smile at you behind a false mask. I play my role patiently telling you what you want to hear, everything you ask. I lie to you, and you foolishly let… more
Michel de Montaigne and his essays about thumbs
| September 14, 2012 | Posted by Jade Cuttle under culture, international |
If you were to hand Montaigne a quill, a wax tablet and an order to intellectually inspire, this philosophical French writer from the 1500s would craft you a convincing explanation for why you don’t need shoes, compare a king to a deformed “child monster” or write you an essay about thumbs. His ability to assign intellectual appreciation to absolutely anything influenced the work of many, from Descartes to Shakespeare, while forming the foundations of the essay genre and setting its prestige in stone. He’s one of the most influential writers history has seen, and yet most people have never heard his name. So, thumbs. I couldn’t help but grin as I turned to the page, expecting nothing more than a… more
Poetry of the week – urban and rural
| July 31, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
Rural solitude of the soul I roam a grassy plain gazing at the stars. From here I can be in peace and sometimes even stare at beautiful planets like Mars. I’m alone like a shadow on a wall. In solitude and isolation where no one can come to call. Yet I feel at peace, all is calm and tranquil. Yet even here that face haunts me still. Though it’s not painful but more bittersweet. The one person I wish to be with, the one goal I am only able to hope I will someday meet. I gaze upon my reflection in a river and ponder my future and what will be. But I am at peace here, nothing can hurt… more
