Silent death be upon us,
Peace be a thing of the past.
Silence is the cleansing opiate
The elixir of those who suffer
,From the fiery, ferocious flames of death.
Tree’s despair
As their children disperse
Into an eternity of bleak virtue.
The earth rumbles,
As silence crumbles
Cascading into the pits of hell.
The black wind breathes,
The white air grieves
For the passing of a season,
A death, with no reason
Tuesday 9 November 2010
Friday 5 November 2010
Autumn Thoughts by Dominic Aveiro
Humans are a funny bunch to please,
They believe in what they see with too much ease,
Yet the firey-orange my children adopt,
Every Autumn cannot fool them,
Every year they'll reach the ground,
Every year I'll hear the sound,
Of a ressonating crunch whisper through the winds.
We try and ressemble fires,
while those we try and please already emulate it.
They believe in what they see with too much ease,
Yet the firey-orange my children adopt,
Every Autumn cannot fool them,
Every year they'll reach the ground,
Every year I'll hear the sound,
Of a ressonating crunch whisper through the winds.
We try and ressemble fires,
while those we try and please already emulate it.
Wednesday 21 January 2009
Sepia pictures and red wine By Nathan Bednarek.
Too familiar are the notes
of Moonlight Sonata to me,
like the hasty hum of roads
searching for a place to flee.
It plays to me always –
or whenever I look through
the stack of sepia pictures.
A wine glass, half-full,
stays within my reach
and sometimes never leaves
as I attempt to bleach
out the red-wine stains
that have dried many times
and are now in sepia – red
in a stack of memories
filling an empty bed.
Too familiar are the sounds
of half-full wine glasses to me
in a rhythmic jingle of rounds
searching for a place to flee...
of Moonlight Sonata to me,
like the hasty hum of roads
searching for a place to flee.
It plays to me always –
or whenever I look through
the stack of sepia pictures.
A wine glass, half-full,
stays within my reach
and sometimes never leaves
as I attempt to bleach
out the red-wine stains
that have dried many times
and are now in sepia – red
in a stack of memories
filling an empty bed.
Too familiar are the sounds
of half-full wine glasses to me
in a rhythmic jingle of rounds
searching for a place to flee...
What was left unsaid By Nathan Bednarek.
He is given the baby to hold
in his strong arms;
he remembers all he’s been told –
how a newborn disarms
a man’s heart; how a man begins to unfold
and untie the strings of fatherhood and
how his eyes are transfixed upon the life he carries –
a life no bigger than his own hands.
He remembers all they’ve shared,
but knows that one thing was left unsaid.
He holds the baby in his arms and he’s scared.
His arms begin to tremble with dread,
so he lays the baby softly
on his chest, where
it can sleep in safety,
close to his heart, not in midair.
The baby breathes calmly;
the man sheds a fatherly tear...
in his strong arms;
he remembers all he’s been told –
how a newborn disarms
a man’s heart; how a man begins to unfold
and untie the strings of fatherhood and
how his eyes are transfixed upon the life he carries –
a life no bigger than his own hands.
He remembers all they’ve shared,
but knows that one thing was left unsaid.
He holds the baby in his arms and he’s scared.
His arms begin to tremble with dread,
so he lays the baby softly
on his chest, where
it can sleep in safety,
close to his heart, not in midair.
The baby breathes calmly;
the man sheds a fatherly tear...
The chain and three dice By Nathan Bednarek.
I bought the chain with my eyes
when I saw it on display –
no price tag, just a sticker that says
‘Special offer! A negotiable price!’
So I negotiated with myself,
Throwing arguments like dice,
and each argument always rolled a triple six
as if the chain on display
had all three dice jinxed.
I bought the chain with my eyes,
willed it with my flesh,
and all I hear are the clattering cries of my clattering dice...
when I saw it on display –
no price tag, just a sticker that says
‘Special offer! A negotiable price!’
So I negotiated with myself,
Throwing arguments like dice,
and each argument always rolled a triple six
as if the chain on display
had all three dice jinxed.
I bought the chain with my eyes,
willed it with my flesh,
and all I hear are the clattering cries of my clattering dice...
Monday 5 January 2009
Winter Haikus! By Deanna Addis
Sharp blue piercing eyes
a gust of wind brings a tear.
More rain in London.
Icy chill
I close my curtains
goodnight world.
My heart beats slower
each breath is sharp and painful
winter is upon us
I can't feel the cold
his hands and his gaze hold mine
winter love story
a gust of wind brings a tear.
More rain in London.
Icy chill
I close my curtains
goodnight world.
My heart beats slower
each breath is sharp and painful
winter is upon us
I can't feel the cold
his hands and his gaze hold mine
winter love story
Depression by Deanna Addis
In an empty underground room, with only a small dim light coming from a far corner, lies a chair in the direct centre. A small man of middle age sits slouched with a bowed head and a fixed gaze. His breathing follows a perfect rhythm. His arms lie hopelessly on his lap with no hope or intention of moving again. His face has so long been serious, his eyes and every crease bare deep signs of pain and hopelessness.If there was a way out, would he choose it?Would he realise it?He cares not, his position stays a forever wounded statue.
Autumn by Deanna Addis
She walks briskly, moving with the wind. Her red and orange scarf flutters behind her like a flame. Her face is rosy and her expression thoughtful. She hugs a folder close to her, containing the work she has almost completed, the work she does every year. She walks toward me, slowing down. Her smile widens as she hands it all into my hands; her gentle whisper says 'It's your turn now, you may put out the fire...'
Wednesday 17 December 2008
5 AM by Emma Eaton
"5am.
A cup of coffee on the desk.
A cigarette in one hand
and a pencil in the other,
writing down everything that comes into mind,
so it's empty to fill with everything
that comes the next day.
Insomnia sucks.
Nothing to do but sit and wonder.
and contemplate everything that I can't sort out during the day
because there's too much going on.
It's amazing how many thoughts you can fit
into a little girl's mind.
So I continue to sit,
staring out of the window,
as the first morning bird starts to wake,
and I write,
so my mind is once again clear,
ready to take on the next day..
Insomnia sucks,
but it does have its perks."
A cup of coffee on the desk.
A cigarette in one hand
and a pencil in the other,
writing down everything that comes into mind,
so it's empty to fill with everything
that comes the next day.
Insomnia sucks.
Nothing to do but sit and wonder.
and contemplate everything that I can't sort out during the day
because there's too much going on.
It's amazing how many thoughts you can fit
into a little girl's mind.
So I continue to sit,
staring out of the window,
as the first morning bird starts to wake,
and I write,
so my mind is once again clear,
ready to take on the next day..
Insomnia sucks,
but it does have its perks."
Wednesday 10 December 2008
Mind Block by Emma Eaton
"No inspiration.
Sat here waiting.
Trying to think,
but mind goes blank.
Imagery missing.
Words have no meaning.
The pen stays still,
page still blank,
mind still empty.
Thoughts have stopped,
passion all gone.
Creativity failed.
Heart won't unlock.
Just another day,
with a mental mind block."
Sat here waiting.
Trying to think,
but mind goes blank.
Imagery missing.
Words have no meaning.
The pen stays still,
page still blank,
mind still empty.
Thoughts have stopped,
passion all gone.
Creativity failed.
Heart won't unlock.
Just another day,
with a mental mind block."
Waiting by Emma Eaton
"Waiting.
The familiar feeling returning,
leaving my head spinning,
disoriented.
The anticipation is overwhelming
as I lay here unable to sleep,
but unable to move.
I wonder...
The toxins are making their way through my system as I succumb to the unknown, the anticipated expectation of what might not even happen.
Just, waiting."
The familiar feeling returning,
leaving my head spinning,
disoriented.
The anticipation is overwhelming
as I lay here unable to sleep,
but unable to move.
I wonder...
The toxins are making their way through my system as I succumb to the unknown, the anticipated expectation of what might not even happen.
Just, waiting."
Monday 8 December 2008
Lights Camera Action by Emma Eaton
"The spotlight's on you
as you stand there smiling,
with perfect hair,
perfect makeup,
the perfect disguise.
People believe you are truely as narcissistic as you appear, even egotistical.
What a great character you have become.
The camera lies,
as inside you feel alone,
unwanted,
flawed.
But no one can know this
so you step back onto your centre stage
with the spotlight glaring,
looking happy
& flawless,
continuing to smile
and pose,
like the actress you have become.
Your life is just an act,
and once again you put on your facade,
as tomorrow is your next scene.
And the alarm clocks calls,
"Lights.. Camera.. Action.."
as you stand there smiling,
with perfect hair,
perfect makeup,
the perfect disguise.
People believe you are truely as narcissistic as you appear, even egotistical.
What a great character you have become.
The camera lies,
as inside you feel alone,
unwanted,
flawed.
But no one can know this
so you step back onto your centre stage
with the spotlight glaring,
looking happy
& flawless,
continuing to smile
and pose,
like the actress you have become.
Your life is just an act,
and once again you put on your facade,
as tomorrow is your next scene.
And the alarm clocks calls,
"Lights.. Camera.. Action.."
Christmas Eve & Autumn Forest by Jay Barnham
christmas eve-
I'm scared, silent movements on the roof,
down the chimney,
snow compressing to the floor,
Noises trailing,
out your window, in your house,
on the stairs, at your door, in your room,
he knows when you are sleeping
and awake.
Autumn Forest-
Her long smokey brown hair drapes along the leaves, crisp and dead on the soil. Clothes to camoflauge herself with the browns of the autumn forest, no sound comes from her lips, just a whistle like the wind. Her face was soft, beaming brown eyes and pink full lips. She grasps books and reads under trees, sitting in the comfort of crimpling leaves. Small feat with burgundy doll shoes and wooden bangles running along her wrists. Taking small leaps and light steps, controlling her movements around the forest she loves. She is tired, wants to leave, but her time is not up yet.
I'm scared, silent movements on the roof,
down the chimney,
snow compressing to the floor,
Noises trailing,
out your window, in your house,
on the stairs, at your door, in your room,
he knows when you are sleeping
and awake.
Autumn Forest-
Her long smokey brown hair drapes along the leaves, crisp and dead on the soil. Clothes to camoflauge herself with the browns of the autumn forest, no sound comes from her lips, just a whistle like the wind. Her face was soft, beaming brown eyes and pink full lips. She grasps books and reads under trees, sitting in the comfort of crimpling leaves. Small feat with burgundy doll shoes and wooden bangles running along her wrists. Taking small leaps and light steps, controlling her movements around the forest she loves. She is tired, wants to leave, but her time is not up yet.
Wednesday 3 December 2008
Full Stop by Nathan Bednarek
A dash –
a semicolon;
always just a-
head of each line;
like the ‘out of bounds’ sign –
perhaps I should grow a spine.
Perhaps I should finish my sent –
Instead of conjunctions,
why not for once,
a question mark?
‘May I have this dance?’
Why not?
A drink?
Perhaps a colon:
a list of words
potentially
forming a dialogue
and a suggestive ellipsis...
or the ambiguous brackets
(a slightly tilted head),
and a long-pause
after full stop
when she just can’t help
but smile.
a semicolon;
always just a-
head of each line;
like the ‘out of bounds’ sign –
perhaps I should grow a spine.
Perhaps I should finish my sent –
Instead of conjunctions,
why not for once,
a question mark?
‘May I have this dance?’
Why not?
A drink?
Perhaps a colon:
a list of words
potentially
forming a dialogue
and a suggestive ellipsis...
or the ambiguous brackets
(a slightly tilted head),
and a long-pause
after full stop
when she just can’t help
but smile.
You Say by Nathan Bednarek
“A star-filled sky”
You say.
“Just a pierced eye”
I say.
“The world is beyond the cape of night”
You say.
“The world is beneath the cape of night”
I say.
“Fill up your heart with fresh water”
You say.
“Fill up a sieve with fresh water”
I say.
“Eat the food I lay before you”
You say.
“Then flush it down, the whole menu”
I say.
“Walk the path, cleanse your robe”
You say.
“Yes, the path to my wardrobe”
I say.
“Don’t you see what’s ahead?”
You ask.
“Don’t you know I’m already dead?”
I ask.
“Your feet have not yet
descended to She’ol,
but the paths of life you forget
to contemplate. Heal
your bitterness, your regret.
Though you may not be ideal,
though your conscience may be in debt,
my love, o Son, I do not conceal.”
You say.
“Just a pierced eye”
I say.
“The world is beyond the cape of night”
You say.
“The world is beneath the cape of night”
I say.
“Fill up your heart with fresh water”
You say.
“Fill up a sieve with fresh water”
I say.
“Eat the food I lay before you”
You say.
“Then flush it down, the whole menu”
I say.
“Walk the path, cleanse your robe”
You say.
“Yes, the path to my wardrobe”
I say.
“Don’t you see what’s ahead?”
You ask.
“Don’t you know I’m already dead?”
I ask.
“Your feet have not yet
descended to She’ol,
but the paths of life you forget
to contemplate. Heal
your bitterness, your regret.
Though you may not be ideal,
though your conscience may be in debt,
my love, o Son, I do not conceal.”
Steady by Nathan Bednarek
Steady your lung-sighs during Sabbath
and sit in your once dark-brown
armchair; now a spreading cancer of
autumn beige steals the chair’s gown.
Steady your once youthful coal-mine arms
and grant your coal-lungs a rest –
for a mine that brings harvest like farms
is a mine where coal is best.
Steady your bare-chested coughs and breaths
and soothe an old opera-voice
that was once a harmony; your bluff,
a coherent vocal choice.
Steady your once hasty north-bound feet
and why not for once head south -
like birds that rule the skies in their fleets
and dream of warm winter boughs.
Steady yourself for once and listen
to a heart immersed in lung-
sighs and hear the gold of a coal-mine
like the north-fleeing bird songs...
and sit in your once dark-brown
armchair; now a spreading cancer of
autumn beige steals the chair’s gown.
Steady your once youthful coal-mine arms
and grant your coal-lungs a rest –
for a mine that brings harvest like farms
is a mine where coal is best.
Steady your bare-chested coughs and breaths
and soothe an old opera-voice
that was once a harmony; your bluff,
a coherent vocal choice.
Steady your once hasty north-bound feet
and why not for once head south -
like birds that rule the skies in their fleets
and dream of warm winter boughs.
Steady yourself for once and listen
to a heart immersed in lung-
sighs and hear the gold of a coal-mine
like the north-fleeing bird songs...
Wednesday 12 November 2008
Some Basics
Hi RUTC Creative Writers
Email me at dloffman@rutc.ac.uk and I will post your work onto this blog.
You should be able to view the blog from your PC by looking for http://wwwrichwriters.blogspot.com/
We can change the name of the blog.
We can add some details about who we are
We can post photos to the blog
You can comment on what people post to the blog - sign in as anonymous but you can sign your name on the comment. See below.
Encourage friends and family to visit the blog on a regular basis and leave comments.
Why not create your own blog and link to this one.
Happy Writing
David
Email me at dloffman@rutc.ac.uk and I will post your work onto this blog.
You should be able to view the blog from your PC by looking for http://wwwrichwriters.blogspot.com/
We can change the name of the blog.
We can add some details about who we are
We can post photos to the blog
You can comment on what people post to the blog - sign in as anonymous but you can sign your name on the comment. See below.
Encourage friends and family to visit the blog on a regular basis and leave comments.
Why not create your own blog and link to this one.
Happy Writing
David
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