Signs

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The sky had no clouds,
A pristine blue dome
Was created for my wedding day.
Every thing was perfect,
My dress,
My schedule,
My wedding party,
My fiance.
But before I walked down
That aisle, before I say
My vows to the man
I love, I want to see the world
With the eyes of a single woman.

Out I walked into the open space
Between the two buildings.
At the other end of the space
Was where the wedding was
To take place.

I looked up,
Looking for a sign,
Any sign and more than one came.

The wind blew from behind me
Pushing me to that space,
The geometric shapes on the buildings
Pointed to that space,
And when I closed my eyes
A quiet voice said
"Walk boldly into your destiny."

I was filled with
A sense of completion,
Of surety and without
Hesitation, I returned to
My wedding party and
Prepared to walk down
The aisle.

In less than an hour
I was united for life
To the one man
I loved completely
And I knew the universe
Was happy with the union.

Dream

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They slept,
Nikki and Daemon
Tucked away in their
Respective dream worlds.

I wondered if Nikki
Was dreaming about
Dolls and friends
Or of boys who
Caught her eye
Under their hooded eyes.

I wondered if Daemon
Dreamt of action figures
And karate class
Or he wished he was out
Fishing with Grandpa James
Instead of taking part
In Aunt Joan's wedding.

I watched my babies sleep,
The wedding is to start in
An hours time, but I'll let
Them sleep another
Half an hour, I'll let
My babies dream.

River Goddess



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Cigarette butts

Lay in the gutter,

The world took on

A grey cast,

As though all life

Had been drained,

Leaving behind

The hard edges of things

Man made.

I didn’t care,

All that mattered

Was that this was

My day,

My wedding day.

On this day,

I was a river goddess

Who lived among

The rapids. My dress

Reflected this.

My body was embraced

By a frothy lace

That gave way to a flowing

Skirt that spilled between

My fingers where I grabbed it.

No,

I was not going to be

A princess,

A queen,

A supermodel,

Or some uber feminine mystique

Associated with brides.

I chose to be

A river goddess.

And today, I will marry

The one man I can refer to

As my rock.

The one who stands by me,

Strong and resolute.

I know in time,

I will wear him down,

But in that time,

He will have calmed me down.

So the world can be

Stark and ugly,

With cigarette butts

And cracked walls,

But today this river goddess

Marries her rock.

Thank You For Listening

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Dear God,
It's me,
I hope you can hear me
Through all the cries
Of sorrow,
Of pain,
Of anger,
Of quiet desperation.

Can you hear me,
God,
I just want to take
A moment,
This one scrap of time
And thank you.

Thank you for my life,
Although at times,
It felt so hard,
So pointless,
So full of tribulations,
But somewhere in there,
I've felt love, joy, peace
And, once and a while,
Happiness.

Thank you for my family,
My friends, my co-workers,
Even my enemies,
Without them
I would not remember
How special I am
And through our encounters,
We all grow to be better people.

God,
Are you still listening?

Thank you for my husband,
For bringing him into my life
At the right time.
A time when we were both ready
To love and cherish each other.
In him I have a best friend,
A trusted confidant,
A lover and a partner in crime.

God,
I know you're busy
Looking after this and that,
But I thought you would
Like to hear a genuine
"Thank You".
Let it be a flicker of light
In the darkness of
Humanity's sorrow.

And one more thing,
God,
Thank you for listening.

On Every Face



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 On every face,
A smile.

What better way
To start a new chapter,
A new life than to be
Surrounded by the
Smiling faces of those
We love, we respect,
We hold dearly.

On every face,
A smile.

The Last Muse



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She was the last
Of her kind.
The last of the muses,
Sprite women who whispered
Inspiration into the ears
Of artists and geniuses.

One by one,
Her sisters disappeared
As they were no longer needed,
Their voices drowned out
By the droning of modern life.

She was now gaunt
And she knew her days
Were numbered, so
She donned her best dress
And got her favourite parasol,
Then waited for her fate.

It came four days later,
She was frozen in her steps
And slowly her body
Turned into gold dust
And in the breath
Of the digital world,
She blew away.

The last of the muses
Disappeared and
No one was there to
Mourne her loss.

Waiting

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Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Grandpa Mosely sat
On the velvet armchair,
His favourite hat perched
On his head,
Waiting.

Bianca sat beside him,
On the matching love seat.
She was the mini bride,
Just as I was the mini bride
When Aunty Judy got married,
When I was the one
Waiting,
Waiting,
Waiting.

Charlotte had slipped off
The love seat, her right shoe
Sat to her left,
The shoe of my flower girl.
A flower girl becoming more
And more antsy as she
Waited.

In twenty minutes,
The waiting would have ended,
All the characters would
Fall effortlessly into their roles.
First Bianca as the mini bride,
Then Charlotte throwing petals
And then Grandpa Mosely
As he walks me down the aisle.

But till that moment,
They all wait for me,
To complete my transformation,
They wait for me
To become your bride.

Untitled

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The white of her dress
Contrasted against the dark browns
Of the stair case.
To me she appeared
To be gliding up the stairs,
An exquisite ghost
That enthralled me
Instead of scaring me.

This was my bride,
The woman who I gave
My heart to and who
I will be giving my life.

I should not be seeing her
Before the ceremony,
Bad luck, they say,
But I could not look away.
I could not slip back
Into my room
And finish getting read.
I stood at the rail
And stared.

Unexpectedly, she looked back,
Catching me gawking at her.
A wave of irritation crossed her face
And before it froze in place,
It melted away
As she registered the love
That was plastered across my face.

I wanted to run down the stairs
And kiss her hungrily.

I wanted to steal her
Into my room and make
Passionate, sweet love.

I wanted to hold on to her
And never let go.

A warm smile blossomed
On her face and she mouthed
“After the ceremony,
Go and get ready.”

With that promise,
I slipped back in my room
And got ready
To start a new life
With the woman
Who kept her promises.

New Challenge

I'll be honest, I've been missing my weekly challenge, so I returned to my source, Alice's blog on My Modern Met and went searching. It was not my first time, but nothing was hitting me as a series I would have wanted to do until Monday I saw this and I had to do it. Here is the info from the blog post

Call it daring, dark, dramatic and even haunting. Just don't call it unoriginal. This is the work of Rocco Ancora.

Popular Photography just released its list of their Top 10 Wedding Photographers of 2011 and it included the talented Melbourne, Australia-based photographer. Pop Photo calls the ten the "best in the business," chosen for their art of creativity, adventure and individualism. "For decades, wedding photography was stilted and conventional," says Aimee Baldridge, editor of Pop Photo. "But recently, an adventurous spirit rising in both couples and photographers has shifted the rules. Individuality is now key, whether that means bringing in landscape photography techniques, photojournalism or hipster style. No matter how edgy they may be, though, wedding photogs still need to get a shot of Nana dancing with her 7-year-old grandson."

Out of the ten, what drew us to Rocco Ancora's work was that his photos looked like paintings. This is, of course, on purpose. “I draw a lot from Renaissance art and Pre-Raphaelite paintings, and from Rembrandt and Vermeer,” he explains. “I’m fascinated by the way they used light.”

Ancora's distinct style has been called classical and romantic. In addition to paintings, his photography is also inspired by old films from the '40s and '50s (like in the film noir genre).

Here are a few pics:

 

Why do I want to write poetry to these images? To me they are beautiful, I love the rich colours, I love how the photographer made the imagery look like it was painted. I love the drama and how it creates a story and I have a soft spot in my heart for film noir. I truly look forward to this challenge and I hope you enjoy the poems I come up with.

I Got High

My Modern Met


I got high.

Lucas had bought
Charlie's special concoction
Of weed laced with coke,
With a hint of extasy.

In Lucas' basement,
We partook in our
Little bount,

The smoke filled
The little room,
Dissolving the walls,
Leavind us suspended
In a technicolour space.

Just when we thought
We couldn't get any
Higher,
We found ourselves kitted
In astronut gear
Floating in a space
So bright, the air
Looked like clouds.

I got high,
The only problem is
I never got low.
I died in Lucas' basement
In a smoke
That dissolved my existence
To nothing.

This poem is the end of the challenge, hopefully, I will come across another series of images I can use to challenge myself.

I Have Accepted

My Modern Met

Night had fallen
Turning everything
Into varying shades of
Blue and black.

The destruction was
Evident, broken blocks,
Steel bent and exposed,
And we all took in
This new existence in different ways.

Some of us
Held on to the everyday
Practices, watching TV
As though there was
No gaping hole in the wall.

Some of us,
Stood stunned
Looking at the destruction,
Trying to understand,
Trying to accept.

Some of us
Tried to deny
That anything had happened,
Crawling back into bed,
Hoping that it was all
A dream, and they would
Wake up and things would
Be they way they were,
The way they should be.

And some of us
Got angry,
Trying to mete out vengence,
On all and any who
Could have created this
Disruption of their
Daily lives.

As for me,
I just accepted it,
I accepted that life
Was not a constant,
That out of the blue
Everything could be turned upside down.
I accepted that
Some people will die
And some will survive
To carry the grief for those
Who have died.

I have accepted,
And I continue to live.

Drink, Drunk

My Modern Met

Drink
Drink
Drunk
Drunk

Delilah in my arm,
The acrid smell of
Alcohol,
Perfume and
The unmistakable scent of
Body Odor.

All that was missing,
Was the sharp,
Undeniable, so familiar
Scent of cigarette smoke.
The cacaphony of
Filtered,
Unfiltered,
Clove scented,
Havana blended
Smoke.

All of that was shipped
Out of bars,
Left to sit on the curb
Like rotting garbage,
But that did not stop
The few,
The committed,
The addicted,
To perch on said curb,
Like vultures as they inhale
Smoke.

They shipped it out
On the grounds of
The general health of
The patrons,
Those who smoked,
And those who didn't,
But still we find a way
To kill ourselves.

With each glass,
We drink,
Drink,
And get drunk,
Drunk.

Drink
Drink
Drunk
Drunk.

Dreams Worth Dreaming

When I was
But a child,
With lanky legs
And rebellious hair,
I used to dream.

I used to dream
Of Bengal tigers
That roared fiercely
And liked strawberry ice cream.

I used to dream
Of going out to sea
And leaving all my troubles
On land.

I used to dream
Of swimming
In far off oceans,
Catching fish with nothing
But a knife
And my quick thinking.

I used to dream
Large, fantastic dreams
That were bigger than life,
But smaller than
The universe.

I don’t dream
Those dreams anymore.
Instead I dream
Of work and bills,
Of deadlines and responsibilities.

The dreams of my childhood
Have faded away.

Set a drift
In an unknown body of water,
In an unknown body of consciousness
Are my dreams of
Bengal tigers,
Boat trips,
And being a bare hand fisherman.

Hopefully,
One day,
They will return
And I will once more
Dream of
Dreams worth dreaming.

The Challenge Rebooted

Earlier this year, I had started a challenge where I would write poems based on a series of pictures. Unfortunately, I got a bit stuck on one pic and I'll be honest this one just wasn't coming. This is the pic:

Anyway I am going to beat this challenge!! As usual a new poem every Wednesday based on the pictures mentioned in the challenge. Wish me luck,

New Challenge

Last year, my sis gave me a challenge in which I would write poetry to the photography of Sator Arepo, a Spanish photographer. This challenge spanned over a period of 15 weeks and the poems were posted every Wednesday. To read the poems click here

This challenge really stretched me as a poet as I had to create a poem from a photo that could be about something else. To a degree that is what art is about, an artist could have one thing in mind when he creates a piece but someone looking at that same piece and have something else in mind.

Unfortunately, that challenge came to an end and a void was created. I had an idea of something to replace the challenge poems but I just never got it started. Then the other day, my sis asked about those poems, and I told her that I was thinking of doing the challenge again but I haven come across any series of artwork that I wanted to use. She in turn sent me an email with a link to Magnificent Storytelling Illustrations on My Modern Met.

This is the write up on the artwork:

Israeli-born illustrator Tomer Hanuka creates incredibly interesting scenes. His stories are told not just by the expressions on his characters' faces but by the beautiful colors he chooses and the mysterious shadows he casts. His passion for drawing emerged at a young age, when he fell in love with American comic books. He found them "mysterious and majestic, an unreachable light in a faraway land, and more beautiful and exciting than anything around."

His client list includes prestigious newspapers and magazines like Time, The New Yorker, Spin, The New York Times, and Rolling Stone. He has won multiple gold medals from the Society of Illustrators and the Society of Publication designers, and was showcased in Print magazine and American Illustration.

"This is about storytelling; it's creating drama, not unlike a movie director, but frozen in a single moment," Hanuka said.

And here is the artwork:

 

 

This challenge will be starting next week Wednesday. It should be interesting what I come up with.