Posted in Confidence, Creative Writing, Femme Fatal, Sexy, Sunset Boulevard, Theatre, Writing

The Gaze of the female

Look at me! I said look at me.There right in the eyes. Is it a seductive? When you look do you imagine unwrapping layers of clothing, letting the silk garments tumble down my body like a waterfall. Do you imagine me naked? Your finger tracing shapes onto my naked flesh until I fall asleep in your arms. Do you want to taste my soul as our mouths lock, searching for a passion to ignite between us. Or do you simply want to use me for your own pleasure.
Do I intimidate you? Make spiders crawl up your ghostly flesh when our eyes meet? Make you want to run away as a tear your soul apart; I can see into you. Untangling your personality and spreading its beads onto the cold stone floor. You know I’ve broken the hearts of men , shattered them like glass. But you find me intriguing, sexy.Thinking I will grant your deepest wishes, your darkest sexual fantasy.You know I am a danger, I can burn you. You don’t retreat,like a moth to a light, you glide towards me hoping I will feel the same way about you.

With one look I can break your heart, with one look I’ll play every part. When I speak it’s with my soul..I can play any role.

The Gaze of a female.

Posted in Creative Writing, English Literature, Free Verse, lush, Poetry, Writing

Musings from a bath

​Let me sink into to your scarlet blue , and lather my breast plates golden moonlight, whilst I catch the swirling stars. Lather me in dust till the golden pearls drip from my naked frame. Smother me in your colour until I become a creature , an arching goddess whose eyes are as blue as the Atlantic, voice as smooth as honey.  Let the Gods massage silk into my spine until I bleed golden droplets.

Let them bathe me oils until my skin melts away leaving my golden form ,still like darkness. Oh let them weep! Let them decorate the sky with sparkling  tears. While I lay frozen in a sheet of ice. Stars surrounding me and giving me wings.

Let my fly to the heavens and make a home on the moon.

Posted in Creative Writing, English Literature, Photography, Poetry, Romantics, Sunrise, Writing

Siren of the sky

The master of hide and seek , taking refuge behind buildings and trees. Glowing like a medal in the distance; ruining the game.

A flash of lights as vision becomes blurry , head dizzy. Sparkles glowing. A siren , whose eyes lure you; burn you with kisses and leaves a red love bite which remains forever ;creating a glowing reflection. Don’t blink, don’t look away.The siren of the sky  will ache from the heavens and spread a curse.

Frosted tears will spread darkness causing the tufts of grass to turn ashy and weep with icy tears.

Until the siren melts away the grey, creating a colourful haze. Oh eternal siren burn me until you have no fire left. Kiss me until I transform into ash. Your beauty will whip me eternally until you fade into your hilly home.

Oh Siren of the sky, you beauteous form will caress me until my end is neigh. Golden Siren of the sky.

(Apologies for not posting I’ve been very busy with Christmas, I hope you all had a good one too! Happy New Year.))

Posted in Creative Writing, English Literature, Martian Poetry, Poetry, Writers, Writing

Writers

Mechanical robots of words,whose heads are stuck in the clouds of ideas ; in between piles of half read books listening to the eternal whisperings of authors.

Hands always flowing with an inky substance always smudged. Whose eyes act as spies, delving into the pasts of heroes, villains and lovers; their tales vast and lives many.

 Brains scattered with lightning ideas that fizz and pop, come and go . Wake you up in the night causing the ink to leak onto the bed covers.

Whose very existence lives on the taste of paper and never ending cuts. Draining the words like Dracula then placing them back to life like Frankenstein.

Their thoughts and creativity will never die.

The magicians of life.

Posted in Blake, Creative Writing, London, Photography, Poetry, Writing

London

The mistress of fast pace and rushed time whose arms run through secret underground stations connecting towns.The mistress whose lips are pursed with an iron clamp and do not open to greet hello. Tutting at the sound of a northern who dares to cross the barrier. 

Whose bullet will stain my soul if I dare step through the Palace gates;housing the blood of men. 

Whose heartbeat scuttles around the city like a black inky snake filled ,with the poison of souls gone before. Whose voice is loudest alarming the hour through an instant chime. 

Whoes breath is dirty fume of coal filling the air like a dragons fire burning the lungs.  

The mistress of disgrace and tarnished reputation, whoes eyes no longer sparkle at the waking of the moon.

Posted in Creative Writing, Keats, Nature, Photography, Poetry, Weather, Writing

Sunset

Ink dabbled over a blue lit sky, leaking when prodded by clouds. Arms stretched to cuddle the blue, embracing the darkness.  

You lie , begging your eyes to remain open until your eyelids droop, cascading night,causing the sun to submit. Lightning up its own invisible world. A halo around a moon.

Darkness flies  like a Raven across the  sky until finally landing .It’s wings still , silent and calm. Echoing the sound of lullabys’ and crickets. Until you purse your lips, a hush fleeing across the land. You sleep, coldness your comfort blanket leaving your starry dreams to escape and twinkle like embers. Frost remennants, your broken dreams because you can’t remain forever. As the cold morning chill leaves your frosty , bitter breath on the land of man until your return.

Posted in Creative Writing, Keats, Literature, Poetry, Sex, Writing

The Stardust Lover 

(Sequel to lover at the other side of the road)

You gazed at me today , your eyes a lit with stars, blue ,twinkling. Your glance never left, my body on fire with a cool sheen of bliss. I could  feel the stardust bouncing, sending an electric buzz along my spine like dancing sparks. 

I felt your heart echo like thunder,its’ sound  like raindrops tapping on a metallic roof.Splitting  me in two. When you smiled doves escaped your lips , ,sending me branches of miseltoe and palms making me feel as if I found my missing peace of land floating in the abyss. 

Your speech an intoxicating wine ,my head dizzy with ecstasy which you never once tried to sober. Dreaming of what may become of us once our hands became intertwined ivy. Or the days spent roaming  in the garden whilst you explored my  flowery rose bed ,the dew on the petals as fresh as the morning sunrise. The droplets causing the tree to awaken and  rise to the heavens.  

And when the pains of our labours finally hit my stomach after spending days on my knees ,you’ll hold me in your arms and take the pain away your moonlit breath rocking me into a calm ,tender sleep. 

My lover made of stardust.

Posted in Atonement, blogging, Britishness, Creative Writing, Dead, Emotions, English Literature, Fall, Heartbreak, Literature, Remembrance, Soldier, War, Writing

March To The Cenotaph

Today I attended a remembrance service, my grandad fought in the second world war and died in August this year. My Grandad wrote poetry inspired by his experience during the war , here is  one of them.

Who are these men? These quiet men ,       Who march with their heads held high,             With the band a-playing and Standards flying,                                                                           They march so proudly by.

They march to pay their quiet respect,            To the comrades they saw die,                             Midst shot and shell at the gates of Hell,           With their utmost they did try,  To save the world for anarchy their sole and single aim     But so many stayed in foreign lands, forever to remain.

These are the men who fought in tanks ,           And are of many ranks,                                           For an Eighty-eight could see no stripe or crown,                                                                           As it brought death and horror down.

So these quite man, who march today,              And think of days gone by,                                    Will think of friends long passed away ,            And say a sad Good-bye.

Don Faulkner

48th R.I.R