Bop is the Brixton Pixie.
My inspirations for him are;
My daughter, Brixton and its many characters and vibrant/miserable hide aways.
Tuesday, 2 February 2010
The Eye Behind The Eye
Who is that lioness watching me,
why does she spit and chew like a horse?
When will that animal be tamed in love,
why do flames burn in her haste to be filled?
Are we all like the raped young woman, lost
when will they realise that a smile is easier?
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
Crystal Eyes
Crystal Eyes
Crystal eyes,
crystallised again.
Slipping, sliding
sloping away
Liquid eyes,
liquidised like brown
lifting the mind up
bubbling in the blood
Crystal eyes,
crystallised again.
Slipping, sliding
sloping away
Liquid eyes,
liquidised like brown
lifting the mind up
bubbling in the blood
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Fuck the morning
Sometimes I wake up and my past stumbles into my life and smacks me in the face.
How long are you meant to repent the sins of your youth?
How long are you meant to repent the sins of your youth?
Inspired by Linda
I had a conversation one day
With a lady I know,
Talk slow I say
I’m not running away
Her eyes were wild
‘These caterpillars turn,
To butterflies not’,
though her manner was mild
Misunderstood they watched
She could have clocked them, NOT
Like a child she turned
And then she was burned
‘With flame?’ she asked
Coloured in jade, they don’t fade
They saw, but not with awe
‘No! Blame I see,
Don’t fill your pockets with stones’
We laughed and joked
How blind we can become
Rivulet streets they are jealous of flow
Barriers, up they throw!
We are out too sea in this house
Where the strange rules our rafts
Change is in the mist
Throw doubt from your midst.
Monday, 18 January 2010
Getting Dressed
'Its cold' I moaned this morning. Sophia latest favourite thing to do is head dive into any part of me. Adorable, but sometimes I wonder if I will stay intact. I eeked out every last bit of warm air curbed under my duvet.
In a cold house the morning can be slow. Sophia doesn't seem to notice. SO I get dressed first this morning.
Sophia watches me choose a long sleeved top, a jumper and then I fall short at the trouser part. I opted for the jeans that look like parachute pants and a ripped on purpose look white jumper. Nice, comfy, can't go wrong.
Sophia has the best clothes. She is teaching me to take care in our appearance again, not that she knows this, but she is helping. If little baby looks so cool, mum needs to at least be dressed. A difficult feat if you know you dont really have to leave the house today...
...this is rubbish sorry who ever reads. Hopefully soon i'll be comfortable enough to start putting the real stuff up. But I have always been advised by writers to just write what ever to get the creativity going again.
lost creation...
...one of the most frustrating things to happen to a person is to loose things they made or created....
"an artists filing system is never organised they way it should, that would get in the way of natural flow"
Me This morning
"an artists filing system is never organised they way it should, that would get in the way of natural flow"
Me This morning
what is victorian fan language?
16:24Daisy
• An open fan in the left hand: "Come and talk to me."
• Clasped hands under an open fan: "Forgive me, I pray you."
• A closed fan: "I wish to speak to you."
• An open fan covering a left ear: "Do not betray our secret."
• An open fan fluttering with the left hand: "Don't flirt with that woman."
• A pensive gaze at a closed fan: "Why do you misunderstand me?"
• A half-open fan over the face: "We are being watched."
• A closed fan presented to another: "Do you love me?"
• A closed fan resting on the right cheek: "Yes."
• A closed fan resting on the left cheek: "No."
• A fan handle to the lips: "Kiss me."
• An open fan covering the eyes: "I love you."
• A closed fan in the left hand: "I am desirous of your acquaintance."
16:24Daisy
• An open fan in the left hand: "Come and talk to me."
• Clasped hands under an open fan: "Forgive me, I pray you."
• A closed fan: "I wish to speak to you."
• An open fan covering a left ear: "Do not betray our secret."
• An open fan fluttering with the left hand: "Don't flirt with that woman."
• A pensive gaze at a closed fan: "Why do you misunderstand me?"
• A half-open fan over the face: "We are being watched."
• A closed fan presented to another: "Do you love me?"
• A closed fan resting on the right cheek: "Yes."
• A closed fan resting on the left cheek: "No."
• A fan handle to the lips: "Kiss me."
• An open fan covering the eyes: "I love you."
• A closed fan in the left hand: "I am desirous of your acquaintance."
A Sample
Tomorrow the new week of job hunt Cardiff begins. Frustrating, mundane, all that our wonderful little welsh life is meant to be.
Just enough space in my new life as a calm, well adjusted new mother for me to start shifting through the eons of babble I have left in my mind from the first quarter century of my life.
I am reading Enduring Love by Ian McEwan at the moment, on a back handed recommendation from my mother. As is the way with a misunderstood artist. I received a text following an argument telling me to watch the film as it explained all. I was surprised she suggested the film, once upon a time she had more respect for the origin of a piece of art work. But my mother seems to have forgotten many things about herself.
I should be doing the more responsible thing like learn my driving theory, but instead I am chasing the creative buzz. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELHEEEHEEEEELL then.
SO a sample of my work then
So I'll start with an extract from one of my short stories, it reminds me of the squat I lived in. A whole chasm of influence and naughty goings on.
"Dulwich road, a road that shouldn’t bounce but the locals could never complain about their slightly extroverted neighbours. They contained their parties, true they could be rather loud sometimes, but anybody who knew somebody in Brixton had been to one of their parties before. So what were you to expect? You can't preach against what you have joined. Brixton seemed to breed these kind of houses."
Isabella Harris 06/2006
Just enough space in my new life as a calm, well adjusted new mother for me to start shifting through the eons of babble I have left in my mind from the first quarter century of my life.
I am reading Enduring Love by Ian McEwan at the moment, on a back handed recommendation from my mother. As is the way with a misunderstood artist. I received a text following an argument telling me to watch the film as it explained all. I was surprised she suggested the film, once upon a time she had more respect for the origin of a piece of art work. But my mother seems to have forgotten many things about herself.
I should be doing the more responsible thing like learn my driving theory, but instead I am chasing the creative buzz. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELHEEEHEEEEELL then.
SO a sample of my work then
So I'll start with an extract from one of my short stories, it reminds me of the squat I lived in. A whole chasm of influence and naughty goings on.
"Dulwich road, a road that shouldn’t bounce but the locals could never complain about their slightly extroverted neighbours. They contained their parties, true they could be rather loud sometimes, but anybody who knew somebody in Brixton had been to one of their parties before. So what were you to expect? You can't preach against what you have joined. Brixton seemed to breed these kind of houses."
Isabella Harris 06/2006
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
