Proposal

I have chosen Poetry as the backbone of my blog. I wish to present to readers the essence and power of this unique yet broad style of writing. There is a definite dark cloud hanging over poetry, especially rhyme. Stigmas have leached on to its’ bandwagon since primary school and unfortunately most people never lift this barrier in their minds to accept and understand the true essence of poetry.

I first uncovered my passion for Poetry in 5th form when a new class was introduced to the school called “Writing for Publication.” This was one of the first classes of its kind to be offered to such young students in the country. My teacher Rosalind Ali was inspirational to say the least.
I started the class off like a dog with tail stuck between the legs. Every ounce of feedback I received was rough, “show more, don’t tell’, ‘less is more’ and so on. A few months later it was ‘Good, but we can’t understand what you are trying to say, too abstract, tell more..” So it was a bitter-sweet love affair that started things of for me.

Today, poetry is my oxygen, my trip to Fiji, my bowl of warm soup on a winter’s night, my nightmare revisited, my alarm clock rattling me awake in the bitter morning; my one way to release the pollution of this world and society from my lungs and turn it into an alley down which many more can roam free, boundless. Poetry is freedom in this sense.

The topic of poetry is a very broad one, so for this blog I will focus on the journey of a writer, my journey, through the depths and shallows of this reality. There will be an ‘upcoming works in progress’ section where readers can give me feedback, there will be old writing, new writing, advice from other writers, quotes, my top ten influences, recommended writers and books. I will upload a video (if I can find) of one of my favourite poems read by the writer himself, or perhaps clips from the movie “Sylvia Plath” as she was very influential to my understanding and style of writing.

Upcoming Works in Progress

Here is where I will be regularly uploading my writing. Please feel free to give any feedback as this is invaluable for any writer and it also provides good critical practise for any other writers out there.

#1 I really enjoyed writing this although it only took maybe one minute to write and the editing consisted of changing one word. There is an irony here to do with the abstract if you can pick up on it and without giving too much away when i say 'jungle' i don't mean the green bushy one...

Abstract

The abstract
glimmers
between prison bars-
it cools the air
in its gray
coat.
It sits above
looking below;
red squares
many squares
here and there
and maybe over
there
by the fountain
of fizz
where gremlins
spring
and to the children
they sing-
in the ivy bush,
in the jungle.

#2 I wrote this one the other day whilst having breakfast outside (coffe and ciggy) and the sun was shining through the smoke so i ran up to get my book and ended with this.


The Sun Shines Through The Smoke

The sun shines through the smoke
but it lingers still,
perhaps waiting for the right gust-
yet some gusts never come,
like the new-born gulls that cry
when their mother is scared to fly
in the gust not called hers.
But has she no wings
nor clever eyes?
And even more
does she not own the skies
through which invading gusts crawl?
Yet her chicks still cry
until those who live
to see the day
when they begin to fly.

#3 This is one of my later edittions. It has a darker tone to it than most my published works. I usually don't have trouble with the layout it just works and flows naturally but with this piece I'm unsure wether the structure aids or distracts from the writing and tone.. Let me know what you think I would love some critical feedback. Enjoy!

Toxic Tears

Toxic tears
Burn holes
In my cheeks
As she speaks
‘You can’t change the world’
And all I can think is
‘why must we spend
All our lives
Changing to fit?
While the world’s
Sinister engines
Continue to pump
Future generations
With toxic tears
That have burnt through my eyes—
Finally,
I see no more!

#4 This next poem was actually an exercise we had to do for our Creative Writing class (actually it’s called ‘Storylines’). We had to write an observatory poem, that is, observe a complete stranger and try come up with a thorough piece of writing that goes somewhere, that has some kind of point to it, an ending. I have been doing this for years, whether on the bus or in the cafe; there is a little red book I carry with me everywhere and all my ideas and observations go in it. For any budding writers out there, this is a great thing to have because any topic is a writable topic as is any idea you may get on your daily travels.
* Ive made one change in it since posting it here by taking out a line. I thought it wasn't necessary nor did it fit the tone.

Sick Slick


Look at you
So proud
All suited up
-- all black.
Your shoes stick out;
Disturbing squares
Pointing upwards,
All importance
With your folder,
All suited up
-- all black.
She waves at you
from her car
as you text away
frowning
at her disturbance
-- the lights go green.
Look at you
Standing there,
All suited up
With your folder
-- all back.
Who do you aspire to be?

#5 The third piece also arose from an exercise we were given in ‘Storylines’. All we were given is the phrase; “Strange what you don’t forget”. I purposefully changed it to Funny and as you read it, hopefully you will see why I did this, or give your own views as to why I might have changed it.

Black Humour

Funny, what you don’t forget;
The smell of a rose,
The step of a cat.
-- The bigger the will
To not be forgotten
The smaller the memories
That go rotten.
Not the pictures taken
Of the grand statue
But the scent of summer
Or a stone in the shoe.
Funny, what you don’t forget;
The sting of you slap,
The step of a cat—
And now you lie
With closed blue-eye
-- Funny, what you don’t forget
-- Worse when you try.

#6 Here is one I've had for atleast a year tucked away into some dusty book, and with some editing it became worthy of featuring on my blog. I have put it in the "upcoming" section because I still consider it a 'new' piece of writing. I really don't even remember writing it. This one is especially in need of some critical feedback, so go for it.

Dance

A dream plagues the night-
your eyes ilight
two stars for me to pluck
I do.
A wave washes in
again
on my skin, your hand -
mooves across
the sand; drenched.
The sweep of summer's
breeze
tingles pink
where your lips
burn
on my cheeck.
A buterfly lands
on my skin, my hand
and mooves across
the sand; drenched
as we fall
to face the sky
yet nearer still
you sweep
along the sand,
my hand; drenched.

A Rhyme is a Rhyme

This poem is one of those bits of writing you just seem to vomit onto paper and it kind-of works. Spur-of-the-moment poems in rhyme, for me, usually end up with the best flow and bounce as it comes fresh from whatever creative juices are within. This poem is also, in a nutshell, what I am trying to show people in this blog. Poetry and ESPEIALLY rhyme is playfull, sophisticated and alive; it should never be stiff (unless intended, in which case the 'stifness' will still flow).

A rhyme is a rhyme,
Is a timeless chime
Of a man and his dog
And the city in fog
That sings and rings
And dances with might
That laughs and cries
And alters your sight,
A rhyme is a rhyme
Is a timeless chime
Of the man who ran
And the boy who knew
Not what life was
For him or for you.

Eva Vemich