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.

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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 Creative Writing, Emotions, English Literature, Fall, Free Verse, Literature, Nature, Photography, Poetry, Seasons, Sunrise, Writing

Sunrise

Like a yawning bird,

Spreading its wings through a cloudless sky,

A child reaching for its mother,

Waking up the nesting birds,

Your golden haze  silhouetting blackened trees,

Whose bones are bare.

You stretch through the branches,

touching  your awaiting audience spreading a rosy glow to their cheeks.

A beaming smile to their faces.

Day is finally here.

A beacon of hope .

Of new beginnings.

And light.

Sunrise.

Posted in blogging, Creative Writing, English Literature, Heartbreak, Literature, Love, Memories, Monologue, Poetry, Relationships, Self image, Stories, Writing

Lover at the opposite side of the road

Lover at the opposite side of the road..

God , there’s so many things I want to say to you right now.

How the sight of you makes me dizzy, makes my head spin wildly like a glitter ball on constant. Even on your darkest days or the time when you walked into the lecture hungover with a black eye I found presence beautiful like a glowing angel, my eyesight not affected by the flaws in your facial appearance.Or what other people would consider facial flaws. Like your huge forehead for instance to me ,it’s not huge, to me it shows your capacity for knowledge.

 What secrets lie inside there. What do you think when you look at me? Do you find my fried egg boob’s attractive or are you put off by the size. Do you even look there and even if or when you do you shouldn’t! It’s not gentlemanly of you. Do you ever think about me stripped naked? Would you like me to be naked in front of you , lying. Our skin pressed together , feeling our heartbeats intertwined. You skin would feel like gold to me if I ever got to brush my hand upon it once, once would be enough. Your mouth would taste like heaven sending me off to an erotic ecstasy. 

My pain would be melted away by your soothing whispers, like chocolate dripping down sealing every crack.

And when your tears hit your cheeks, they would burn my body,

 causing bullet wounds. 

I would cocoon you in my arms protecting you with my armour where nothing would enter.

When I blink you’d disappear because you’d no longer be waiting for me.I could no longer say everything I wanted to because you wouldn’t be there to listen and even if you were there to listen I probably wouldn’t be able to get the words out. 

Because I mean nothing to you..

Yet you mean everything to me.

Lover at the side of the road.

Posted in Advice, Comedy, Creative Writing, Dead, Drunk, Emotions, English Literature, Free Verse, Growing up, Humor, Humour, Hungover, illness, Love, Memories, Monologue, Poetry, Regret, Sarcasm, Spoken word, Stories, Student, Theatre, Writing

 Hungover on poetry

Hungover on poetry,

It’s wrapped around my eyes.

I’ve drank it buckets.

Now I see the Light.

Head pounding,

Eyes hurting,

Throat sore with speech,

My eyebags are dark.

Like images of words,

that I now see.

Was the poetry spiked?

 Did I lap up too many,

too quickly?

Yes.

Over too soon.

Did I trip over?

The words.

Did they  make a fool out of me?

Yes..

But I can’t remember a thing.

Words , oh words . Oh God please stop!

There’s  vomit  on the doorstep,

My shoes ,

My hair,

The clean bed sheets,

And the toilet seat.

I shouldn’t have mixed mixed  Carol Anne Duffy, with my own special brew.

Or let others give me shots of

Poems.

I should have closed my mouth

To stop the migraine.

The litre of water last night wasn’t enough.

To cure the poetry hang over.

Breakfast might make it better.

Still more words .

On the box.

Sickness is growing and I can’t stop the din.

The words are louder, 

Caving in.

Dead on my bed, 

I can’t find the cure.

Drink some more poetry.

That might stop the sore.