PopOh yes.
I have a couple of things in the pipeline, hopefully to be finished off over the Easter holiday (which hasn't actually been particularly "holy" in the UK since chocolate was invented).
Newest
CoffeeThere was a man at the long table that faced the window, sitting on a stool, with his forehead resting gently on a blank notepad in front of him. He held his hands behind his head, with his fingertips pressed together in a bony steeple, and his shoulders rising and falling meditatively. He appeared utterly content in that position. The cup of coffee at his right elbow had long since cooled, and many who passed that window in the street turned their heads briefly to look at him, but continued at the same pace. As seconds became minutes, others within the café wondered at him, but somehow nobody felt that he was in any distress. He struckCoffee
by ~mediocrepoet
02:22, 11.3.08We are nothing but Variations on a theme By the Almighty.02:22, 11.3.08
by ~mediocrepoet
ArtThese hands could never paint, could never hold A brush as steady and secure as to Stay faithful to the transcendental eye, Nor press the paper with a pencil's tip; Unconscious of the ghostly marks They make, oblivious as ducks to ripples are.Art
These hands could never sculpt, could never carve, Nor mould the plaster to familiar forms,
Nor cast the boiling brass to stand, firm, Defiant of temporal weathering, As one sits pensive in the winter sun, Mere metres from the very gates of hell.
These hands could never write or play a tune, Dumbstruck by the i
by ~mediocrepoet
The Bastard Child of SilenceCocooned in metal and fluorescent light, The air somehow conducts unconscious thought, A charge that hums beneath the muted roar Of turbulence within the tunnel wrought. As thick as dust upon the filthy floor,The Bastard Child of Silence
Yet gentle as the sound of china bells, It sits like sun-warmed marble in under lights That never pierce their allocated cells. Inverted liquid, through unchanging nights It settles comfortably spent of force, Until the morning travellers arrive, To scythe it with the day’s evolving course. The rails beneath the filthy floor are live, But dead within the
by ~mediocrepoet
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Cardiff/London, UK
- Interests: Reading, writing, walking
- Favourite movie: Fear & Loathing, Quills, True Romance, Crash, Pulp Fiction
- Favourite band or musician: Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell, Jefferson Airplane, Garbage, The Rumble Strips. The Longcut
- Favourite genre of music: Anything and everything
- Favourite poet or writer: T.S. Eliot, Hunter S. Thompson, Thomas Pynchon, Emily Dickinson, Thomas Mann
- Favourite game: Deus Ex, Half Life 1/2, Call of Duty 2, Rome: Total War
- Favourite cartoon character: Pocoyo
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I'm a Bunneh :B
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Lettuce naught fur get term oil in tails Miss Spelling. Soda speak.
Yours had me severely doubting whether or not I was seeing things, and as a result I had to stare at it until I realised I wasn't. Damn you!
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"Frankly, I have no taste for either poverty or honest labor, so writing is the only recourse left for me." - Hunter S. Thompson
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Lettuce naught fur get term oil in tails Miss Spelling. Soda speak.
I haven't commented as of yet, but when I read your stuff...I am taken back to a place I visited many times in childhood....filled with autumn and red, red maple leaves and the crisp air, and I am silenced and in awe. Thank you.
Keep up the excellent work.
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Holy slag, it's a fraggin JET! Get in the car---HOLY PRIMUS!!
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\\\"when life gives you lemons, go to the person that gave u life and punch the everloving shit out of em\\\"
Like anime? Like macabre? Like realism?Like fantasy?
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You saw nothing!
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'We are such stuff as dreams are made of' - Prospero
Good stuff btw.
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