Photo Credit © Gary Frier Bly Stil Vannie Skarrel*Stay Quiet about the Struggle to Survive Mute Melody – Our voices muted our tongues cut out prevented from speaking out underneath this unprecedented Covid-19 Corona virus unwelcome cleansing cloud exposing our tired hungry empty suffering hearts. We shout at you but told not to We raise … Continue reading GLOMAG June2020 With GARY FRIER: ‘Bly Stil Vannie Skarrel*Stay Quiet about the Struggle (to Survive)
Exclusive Special Ekphrastic Poetry Challenge curated by Paul Brookes-Writer Photographer in Collaboration with select artists and writers – The final days!
Thankyou to Jane Cornwell for designing the front cover
.. there is a dampness..
they called it heavy
before a storm
pits hang damp
then he said it
he said it
so I hid in the plant house amongst the smell; the frogs
should I add fetid air or will that just be another cliché
look my device added the required accent there
so it was all dripping down reminding of grandma’s kitchen
brown gloss paint & mustard walls running in cabbage juice
she boiled it dreadful
well they did in those days
no al dente then
it was after the war
now where was i
my heart beating my head out
oh no is this my asthma or the disease
going round, have you heard of it
if I tell him I have it will he go, leave…
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Special Ekphrastic Collection curated by Paul Brookes-Writer Photographer The next TWO days in collaboration with select artists and writers – Check out my poems, ‘Twilight Asylum’ and ‘The Residents’
Acknowledgements Thankyou to Jane Cornwell for designing the front cover
Frozen Eyes – Daily prodding confused nodding
Yes sir no ma’am, ‘You’re not my mother!’ – Look
into my eyes stop fidgeting widen your eyes stop
complaining look up – ‘Shut up I am fed up shut your
trap you old hag!’ Now calm down look this way no
that way are you even still here? Stop fidgeting!
Midnight Lullaby – Nocturnal healing cries soothe
my sore blood shot eyes as the midnight owl echoes
my existential meandering melody of suppressed
forced emotions blamed for defensive contortions
whilst the mocking laughing of a fox unleashes
my lost hoarse voice to violently protest in this
hell-hole confused constrictive nest my inner mess!
I rock myself to sleep as my broken emotions tend
to seep into my darkest demon alley sleep slipping
into the deep branded a confused…
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The Brillantina Project are poems for those who glitter and glisten, those with bright wondrous gazes, hearts bursting with love. Somos brillo que brilla: Somos Orlando. Let us unite in solidarity through poetry and use our words to create awareness and change.
Here is my contribution.
May 2020 Ekphrastic Poetry Challenge curated by Paul Brookes-Writer Photographer in Collaboration with select artists and writers – READ AND LISTEN TO THE NEXT 4 DAYS!
Thankyou to Jane Cornwell for designing the front cover
Murakami’s cats, the peeling memory, an unhealthy preoccupation
with Studio Ghibli animation, an unhealthy preoccupation with
certain social media accounts, with line breaks that you have to
get over – eventually. Ninety-percent of my life is devoted to
upsetting people with a line break, forming only at the preposition.
It seems, most of the time, this is more upsetting to / some people
than the combined human rights violations of, say, North Korea.
foam is ok , like this sea stuff
yet pea foam leaves me wanting for regular
without the mouth sensation
unlike mousse which is more like
or should I say foam again
and spoil the muse
light is wonderful
lifts the brain and limbs
sparkles rain the morning
once again we have the repetition
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Here’s a show for you… Interview with poet Don Beukes in France episode of This Much I Know https://open.spotify.com/episode/1G2TcEzcz2aah07dVFbpAa?si=oDrB0EneTueQppJacBkhIA
Glomag May 2020 in Collaboration with KATLIE MOKHOABANE Photo Credit © Katlie Mokhoabane It's Me – I am Sotho, Ke Mosotho Childhood Lullaby – My morning song an inner wailing, craving to be seen If even just for a fleeting moment to forget the daily morning routine shouting most of the time for nothing but … Continue reading It’s Me – I am Sotho*Ke Mosotho
A Special Ekphrastic Collection curated by Paul Brookes-Writer Photographer – The first 16 Days in Collaboration with select artists and writers.
Thankyou to Jane Cornwell for designing the front cover.
May 1..looks like you are drowning..
looks like you are drowning &
hope i am wrong. i can see the
the turn about in water.
i have done that too
pat says that i have paid the price
but i wonder
i will lay a petal
and think of you
as i think of the others
that drowned before you
that had no feathers
it looks like you are drowning
shall I jump in to save you and maybe
or shall I wait to see
to lay a flower at our feet
maybe you are not drowning really
that I made it up and you are dancing
like the others
while people die and we lay…
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Day 31: Final Ekphrastic Poetry Challenge curated by Paul Brookes-Writer Photographer in Collaboration with select artists and writers- My poem, ‘Epilogue _A Final Letter to Humanity’ with audio. Thank you Paul, all the writers and amazing artists!
Alex Mazey has not contributed to this last day. He says
“I wasn’t going to write a poem for day 31. I quite like the idea of having a day in the month dedicated to silence.”
These walls and windows
Are tearing me apart
Yet my soul’s untouched
There are no heroes
No one to claim my worn heart
My spirit’s a black muck
This vessel holds all my sorrows
Tears filling each bodily part
There are no short cuts.
-Carrie Anne Golden
“To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven” -Eccl. 3:1
Strung out with
Dead deer along the
On the route of life.
Today is death and
At worst, disgust.
But we are a renewal people.
As long as we’re able,
Seeking rebirth – moving
Beyond crumbling leaves,
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Day 30 Ekphrastic Poetry Challenge curated by Paul Brookes-Writer Photographer in Collaboration with select artists and writers: My poem with Audio – ‘Phoenix Rising’
Avoiding Prolonged Regret
Open doors can mean
Brick roads often
Leads to more unknowns, and
Darkness behind doors
Ajar, can be worrisome –
Consuming, until it’s
Hard to tell the
Brick and mortar reality, and
I turn away, not wanting
(Because I’m not wanting)
To squander this moment,
For the sake of expectation.
Red Asylum oct 2019.
Alone with my thoughts
I park the car
and climb the
to my childhood.
Up Cockett Hill
to the Red Asylum.
I glance down
for a glimpse of my
child knees, not there.
Water tower and chimney
stark upon that hill.
A land marked Swansea bay.
Now a conglomeration
to a builder’s greed.
And our house
of the same
victorian red brick.
Rotted no value left
save for the slugs
and other denizens
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