OTHER WORDLY .
Unfathomable to relate how a portrait of an unaffected cherub
a forgotten dimension to
the paradigm LONER.
PENSIVE – angelic eyes
unfreeze momentarily — expressions animate the oil painted canvass.
Voice barely audible -mouths out to me
who is this new persona?
bBlood of my labour sworn to tell the gospal TRUTH.
Astonished -wrinkles crease — at time ‘s wilfulness to penetrate her innocence—
She’s not looking back at her youth.
The cycle continues-
Elders blame the outsider for a lack of faith in conventional —Spirituality.
ELDER peers down through a intoxicating incensed haze.
Measures me up.
squares me up.
On humble grounds
I stand a full head above her broad shoulders.
Closer to her divine maker
pious prayers hail down
the blame game
the name game.
Torured soul seeker
Scarpers for the licks of hell’s flames.
trips over underwood
poltergeists log a strategic placed guilt ambush
rotting the core of this circle of life’s CONTINUITY.
time will decide whether we are cosmic twins born 3 decades APART.
this is her descent to destiny .
roughly sketched into this world-
pallid , charcoal smudged into silence.
An artist confronted with his frailty to conceive life.
Mourns the leftover clots of a being.
Miscariage – remnants of nurture -a mere puddle of blood outlining his corrosive flaw.
A splattering of colours, tears stained by remorse.
a howl of def toned melancholy
The artist sips a cup of penny total tea.
A sighed relief-
she has -AWAKENED.
ALONE – – is she fated too?
-The rebels never conforms
Stricken by the awareness of my own
INQUISITIVE betrayed by her translucence
frown rouges her cheeks in introspection.
familiar strange words
Alienation effect prompts a impulsive turn around
damning this loner to truly see.
An epiphany of divine INSIGHT
UNDER or OVER ACHIEVER perfection adorned with feathers of liberty –
don’t try please anyone!
A storm intervenes obscuring the BIGGER PICTURE-
Save that energy
is a gift and
It’s your greatest fight.
RESPONSIBLE for so much — tempted by earths seasonal affective disorder
why does she have to be mortal?
Wings hook into shoulder blades
Reduced to a puppet attached by silver linings.
Eyes strain ,blood shot.
Wind exhales mustard peppered vapours
orchestrating sight to follow a new PERSPECTIVE.
WISDOM revealed by the crooked halo’d questions
shimmers her every inflection.
the yearn of experience — to keep heavens babe toothless , unaware of the survival evolution taking place
TENACIOUS – I overlook her every smile
stitched up my heart
the scape goat
until a moment forces me to find a burial ground
Unwillingly close my eyes –
the universe screeches –velocity erases all time.
Formless parts full up spaces amongst the dirt.
await for these settlers to wipe all memory from this life.
Old souls never alone for eternity.
We have one another to rise above our hurt.
knowledge is power, wisdom is happiness and truth is freedom
This is the moment where I should embrace the wintery-powder snow to come.
We all have naive delight to create snow angels.
So too the most damaged pimped out hoes.
The death of every thing I know.
Even one thing for certain.
I blew according to the way the wind doth blow.
until I walked right into the eye of the
shouted them down-
No, I won’t go slow.
Voice ricochets seeking a target
The managers above cloud corporation hear my
Attacks of panic.
I got what I was owed.
Hitch hiked a lift with a passing tornado.
Whirlwind dropped me off in a place with no directions to the Republic of sense-at-ors of common.
I walked along the the uneven, cobbled path — another independent equality free flowing feminist ,
juggling with digits and exchanged words with third eye chakra chemists
All alternate in form — it ends for the same means.
Or is that me unravelling myself from being stitched upped — picking away at the seams?
I didn’t mean to lose my way — country side hikes are not my governing zodiac sign indicating
I’m in my element.
This body contains still waters wrapped in layers of skin.
No teasing trickle or babbling brook
nor a wishing well to reassure my hearts confidence within.
Summer time and the livings never easy
not when you’re a weed on self destruct,
especially when the sun shines on and makes blossoming
a gift without the morning sickness
That sense of queasy.
Rudimentary realisation .
Dark sunglasses can’t make me ingnioto —
I should of clapped my hands
,in breathless awe when the sun set—
lowered gently against the abstract backdrop
Tropical orange salmon ,pink sprayed skies.
Pay my respects —
Let it rest when it his time to slip down and fall.
Reap what you sow.
I deal with every blow.
Turbulent Winds spirals me off common ground
I find myself high up and all alone
the come down — finds me face down in muddy bog marsh — eyes arrested by a
Facetious fog —
Not even a bird to sing me an ode of encouragement to aid me back home.
Its true what they say we come into this world alone and we die alone.
Money, stuff — the acquisition of property
— it all gets left behind when we lift the veil to step into the next body of energy-
stagnation left in a cadaver —
this is our vessel —
Our only claim to earths throne.
Seasoned Cycles of
it’s contradictory to our nature
Wearily wallow over wilted , dead plants — tomorrow I’ll throw them away.
it’s all procrastination
Embrace the opaque
, the possibility of a welcome winter wave in
undisturbed silence-solace only to be find in untouched fallen snowflakes.
Trigger the cycle to fall — this is autumn .
Death and decay I feel implacably broken.
This idea of pressing flowers ,dried
Into bookmarks is a nostalgic notion.
Shouldn’t I let it go and embrace the tremors, the blast of the callous cousins cold and colder
A gift of this perilous season?
I live on an island full of tall trees in treason for being out of season.
Let these words be enough.
Be my reason.
On my knees begging for hands to let go of me-especially those who touch are rough.
Grant me sight to see-
permit my body and soul to feel the spectrum
exhilerating and painful emotion.
Facing forward to a future
smelling the unsullied scent of rebirth
A possible sight spotting of Tigger
ready to uncoil and bounce into spring
For the awakening of the the blessed bees, Lilly white lambs and a hereuse holiday closer to the ocean.
When my Kalinda peers into his reflection he see’s jagged, ragged parts of a body
Staggered yet separate. -body parts sewn together haphazardly.
The truth is stranger than fiction.
How can it be!
his soul mate doesn’t mirror the effort in his deeds.
ffinger nails claw and pierce at skin -prolong hanging flesh separated from bone
VIP’s seated , assume an opinionated speculation into the art of this self destruct –
The blown up bags come from the baldy eagle, wearing a t-shirt that says ‘corrupt -will sell poison to feed my ego.’
Point in rage to pandora’s obsessive flirtation with suicide.
Maidenhead Hymen annuls her delusional animas.
Make her believe!
it helps her to inhale insecticides.
What is wrong with all that is her?
doesnt she get that her life can be more than a bargain plea?
why does every stonewalled chamber gather breathe from disjointed words,
instead of radiating from true love’s scribbled scribes in blank verse.
Write to recover. Recover to write.
Perform this pantmine on las ramblas , in the hope the days will turn bright.
Supportive cups hold up the excess mounds.
‘damn you look good, healthy, put some weight on’
Must she hear this now? or indeed ever!
It’s too avant garde even for Gaudy.
Face swollen from a sting with an arbitrary drone.
Monthly luna flickers up sheds of decrepit blood clots;
compund that to a portrait that makes her face plump–fits of
dis – ease
stop with the back handed compliments, hun.
Hands hesitate over arms once scrawny, cheek bones sliced inwards.,
She’s rather own her shame and reach every gaze at her in a state of lean chronic thigh gap syndrome
spongy Food floats
-drowns all sign of hope.
enough self loathing to remedy it with a calibre of a gun.
Date with Russian roulette –
6 chance distractions from this body, this mind ,every part called forward into existence.
five rounds until she lands in the seat of a crash test dummy.
Grief , guilt ,
unpleasant to the taste.
fret bursts in beads of sweat – her few will revolt into petulant demonstrations of
Get by on hope and luck and a fine mother hen
A good sized egg , pair of irises that delude her into feeling all her sins have been revoked.
Big day in the U.K.
Let’s sort out any confusion
I’m under no great illusion
that Corbyn is NOT the messiah to lead this island
to balmy weather.
Fair in the ideas he postulates.
Words that that resonate with humanities mantra of together.
Don’t expect a perfect world unless we all put in some labour
One man can speak for the many but the many must graft for the life they seek in ardour.
the many make changes – X marks your choice
It’s not over.This is but the start – it’s time to think outside of the box – continue to use your new found voice.
This is phase one of an arduous journey
We will lose if we don’t endure the marathon and have JC’s back when it all gets thorny.
Don’t lose faith
Keep your head looking to the above.
It’s not a one man job
It’s up to all of us to stand the test -stay the course
perhaps one day we will see a world blossom from our sacrifice to give it one love.
Today I vote labour.
If there was a chance GREEN would or could win this election, I would have voted for them
Never knew there was a word to describe their combined fate.
Never knew Shakespeare studied the stars and knew much about lovers who mate.
Never knew they were lined up as opposites-never to align on the same side.
Thoughts of opposites attract are magic tinted Methos applied,
so people can trust to confide
in each other.
Always end up leaving one for another.
A summer’s day, sitting, drag remnants on a Marlboro tab.
Destiny reeled her in like an unlicensed cab.
Doomed. Life growing inside – feelings of Rigor Mortis was all she could summon to transpire.
The truth was the loss of her will
She had lost that inner fire.
Under a freckled thumb- tangled in a webbed lie
through it the sun still shone.
A shadow emerged from the light, and a heart realized its given art.
Fairytale savior- a hero always ready with a smile.
Swallowing down screams.
into a false smile.
Their eyes connect – should she tell him what she has done?
It was never to be.
Swallowed a lethal poison in an effort to be free.
Yes, she intended to take the life with her she had growing inside.
It was a desperate plea.
Shades of nausea, don’t you see?
Coins fall to the floor along with all the great works of Wordsmith Shakespeare.
It was easier to think unlovable thoughts
imagined hatred in speech bubble form.
To hear him say you are not for me
distilled in clouds of fear.
Bus stop revellers turn heads
eager for a spectacle.
He walked away.
Not trusting him still burns her cheeks
to the same Fahrenheit, she felt that day.
Rain lands on penetrable skin,
wanting much more and expecting the very least,
set the fickle tone for the rest of this cycle of the ‘beck and call’.
Inevitably Seasons passed.
A winters day,
he called out her name.
His smile cleared up the fog of habitual trudging through the every day
blurs into arts of abstract- more imposing than some great display admired from afar.
Swept up with day to day folk uncluttered by star-crossed philosophy.
another chance to show him- somehow he would think.
that girl -WOW!
Fight for her
over imbibed, arguments stippled in blackouts.
with sand she dug up for her own grave.
Dirty bitten down nails,
silent punishment for things that could never be undone.
Who’s to say who was truly in the wrong?
She can’t remember much
past walking into the house promising the most fun.
Dressed and forgiven – ready to wed the worthiest white knight to ever traverse her path.
Dichotomy sanctifies such a union.
Tear’s splotch faces, toasts, fuzzy memories.
no need for a tuppence
Freely sung the newlyweds a blessing.
Something along the lines of tinkles chimes and her laugh.
Afterthoughts cushioned by rose petals
a lavender fusion
flagellation on self
imposed by guilt
deepening the confusion.
How do we wake, make our move if caught in the spin cycle of punishing our souls?
her thoughts told her.
If indeed they were merely star-crossed
She would willfully find a way.
Barefooted, she soberly walked into a live fire burning on coals.
Figure out what she felt she owed or indeed was it all a division in her head.
Passions stunned into a state of arousal
Who’s to say if it fulfilled her?
Tears wanton to overflow
nearly lost sense of all ground.
37 days she had not bled.
There are only four seasons.
winter clearly signaling death and rebirth to come.
His posturing lingered long in her mind.
the duresse of her thoughts;
permanently fixtured her by the spun out Catherine wheels.
Clarity comes in an obscure fashion.
Manner and presentation are not facts.
Facts -harsh and cold.
unveiled decision in an exposed mind, scuttling in the dark
not even aware he let loose his redundant rats.
Infiltrate every corner of her mind.
Passively they sit by,
osmosis eyes watch a happy family in a tourniquet.
Forced to apply more pressure.
Open up the wound.
Calculated a reactive to get one man’s truth.
Perhaps Star-crossed lovers are indeed something to be forgot .
Her silence is her answer.
Silence sees her own worth, she sees clarity it doesn’t bother her if the passion died,
Along with the whereabouts of his existence
Shadows move all the time,
even in Beirut.
She walks along her path with a smile on her face.
Her silence doesn’t require her to look up for another clue.
He was never a star-crossed lover but merely another.
* remember: just because one person/people reveals their opinion or truth about what they think of you to you. This is not the whole truth or even half of it. You are not other people’s opinions. Never let people wear you down into believing you are merely what say or what they think you are. No one has their shit together all the time or even most of the time 😀
3 down -5 more to go.
This has been the best week yet on zee Acting program.
We did a fantastic improvisation inspired by Laban’s 8 efforts and movement.
This technique was originally used in dance performance.
From my ahem “intellectual” reading on post-modern performance. Most contemporary artists prefer to think of the theory part of writing and performance as not prescriptive but fluid and as something to provoke the imagination.
The theories exist to be used to merge into something that is relevant to today.
This program is far away from what I’m learning on my MA and this is my struggle with what I’m doing in my MA because, we as an ensemble – group of amateur actors are working towards devising a performance not based on text.
Back to Laban – the whole purpose of the exercise was to move forward and start thinking more about character development. How many ways can an actor develop their character?
For me, it helped me focus more on my physical body and what I could do with it, to create a character with emotional depth.
This is the exercise we did:
Laban categorized human movement into four component parts:
Each of those parts has two elements:
Direction is either direct or indirect.
Weight is either heavy or light.
Speed is either quick or sustained.
Flow is either bound or free.
Laban then combined these parts together to create The Eight Efforts:
The Direction is Indirect
The Weight is Heavy
The Speed is Sustained
The Flow is Bound
I loved how I explored character development using my voice, my body and employing Laban’s technique to create a character.
I chose the movement to ‘wring’ and what stemmed from that incongruent action was a character called -Prushka who ended up in an improvisation scene with another character (his chosen action Punch) who became my workaholic husband with a temper.
We did a short improv scene in pairs of threes.
Us the couple were arguing about our relationship and where it was headed when the third character (developed from the movement of ‘flick ) interrupted us.
Her drugged up character was stumbling across the streets asking where she was. We ended the scene by my character telling my character’s husband we had grown apart and it was over.
I went to help the drugged up girl get on a bus and get home. Instead of dealing with the confrontation – a stake was thrust into the scene and as a Wring character, I made the decision guided by my body movements to leave the relationship and avoid the angry, punchy husband.
I’m sure there is a much more simplified way to describe all this but I have never been one to simplify anything!
This acting program has got me thinking about finishing my MA somewhere else. Sad but true.
As a group, we seem to be gelling more and getting to know each other.
It looks like we will be devising a piece to perform to a public at the end of March.
Sat on the train, typing this post and I can’t wait to get home.
Weird guy with bouffant hair sitting opposite me and staring at me like I’ve got an abscess growing on my nose. 😂😂.
I’m currently redrafting TMA 3. I’ve strayed into morality play /Faustian territory purely by accident.