Words. Plain and simple.
They make, they destroy. They are placed, taken, dissected, chewed, held; broken down into bare molecular facets of their completed whole, then re-assembled with varying delicacy to varying results befitting a variable response from the intended audience.
Words are ironic.
And by these words, with words subject to your varying deconstructions, I present.
They come to me as faint whispers, soft sharp voices I ought to not hear.
But I do, and they fend me off like water sliding from a flower's petal.
Sometimes sunny, sometimes cast, mostly disturbing (but in a good way), always memorable.
Cold to the touch, hard to hold on; fleeting, its warmth; calming, its effects on me.
It causes repetition, like an overplayed tune, but without the placidity. The same words, over and over, whispered in echoes, carried in song, taken and liked.
My words, to my tastes, for your palette.
Showing posts with label Artwork. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Artwork. Show all posts
Sungazer
"... and through the years she stood alone, touched by the rising sun, each year gleaming more brilliantly than the last."
I rested my foot on the platform next to the monument. We took months to travel here, to where time froze and nothing has a name.
I've spent the last few days looking at the statue of the lonesome goddess as we made our way up to the pinnacle. The ancient people must have adored her; she stands atop the highest point for miles, casting her sad smile into the ridges and canopy below.
On her right where my feet now rest lay a platform, half a foot in height alike the one she stood on. Several lifetimes of erosion left a mystery to whether anything once stood beside her.
Archeologists have a theory based one key evidence.
"A ring is a terrible thing to see on the fingers of such a beautiful creature."
There was a coating of copper on the ring carved onto her left hand. When the sun shone it gleamed gold and bright - a signal more than a symbol.
I put my other foot onto the platform, raising myself to take in the view. I look left, and noticed the goddess and her gaze.
"It's like she's searching, waiting."
Some things are meant to be hidden from the world, and as much as I wanted to excavate this wonder for my museum, I was stopped cold.
Not by the splendor of the sun against the stone, not by a sense of respect for the ancient people.
As we made our way back to camp and home, I caught myself looking back at her constantly.
Many features on the statue marked it magnificent, but none more than her eyes. They capture me, not allowing me to leave, ripping at my chest and making it hollow.
Till today I think of the lone statue in the lost city and her patient gaze over the land. I imagine myself among the people of the ages, asking around, seeking an answer.
So beautiful, yet alone. So yearning, yet patient. So sad, yet smiling - cast in stone, eternal she stands, in place by her own, where sun rules the land.
I rested my foot on the platform next to the monument. We took months to travel here, to where time froze and nothing has a name.
I've spent the last few days looking at the statue of the lonesome goddess as we made our way up to the pinnacle. The ancient people must have adored her; she stands atop the highest point for miles, casting her sad smile into the ridges and canopy below.
On her right where my feet now rest lay a platform, half a foot in height alike the one she stood on. Several lifetimes of erosion left a mystery to whether anything once stood beside her.
Archeologists have a theory based one key evidence.
"A ring is a terrible thing to see on the fingers of such a beautiful creature."
There was a coating of copper on the ring carved onto her left hand. When the sun shone it gleamed gold and bright - a signal more than a symbol.
I put my other foot onto the platform, raising myself to take in the view. I look left, and noticed the goddess and her gaze.
"It's like she's searching, waiting."
Some things are meant to be hidden from the world, and as much as I wanted to excavate this wonder for my museum, I was stopped cold.
Not by the splendor of the sun against the stone, not by a sense of respect for the ancient people.
As we made our way back to camp and home, I caught myself looking back at her constantly.
Many features on the statue marked it magnificent, but none more than her eyes. They capture me, not allowing me to leave, ripping at my chest and making it hollow.
Till today I think of the lone statue in the lost city and her patient gaze over the land. I imagine myself among the people of the ages, asking around, seeking an answer.
So beautiful, yet alone. So yearning, yet patient. So sad, yet smiling - cast in stone, eternal she stands, in place by her own, where sun rules the land.
Window, closed
It is a strange situation we have here - the cold concrete blocks that rise up, stretching toward the skies like flags; humanity staking claim to the world around us, building higher and higher, tearing the boundaries set by birds and the clouds.
Yet I am reminded of the wonders of nature every morning as I walk to work. There are leaves on the ground, fallen from the tree tops like discarded scabs from their wounded pride. They who grow upwards to the sun, fighting for survival by reaching the light - beaten by the shadows cast by our towering buildings.
There are the ants and the snails and the worms that fall from the tree, hanging themselves and casting themselves off to fate; mysterious nature at work, seemingly senseless but yet miraculously efficient. They swarm, they crawl, they squirm to survive.
Yet we pass them by.
And with their territories invaded by our lifeless constructs full of windows and smoke and noisy offspring, the birds have taken to drastic measures to integrate with our inconsiderateness.
One pair of tiny avians have roosted outside my window, in a small corner, with a small nest, for three small eggs.
And they have hatched.
For days I watched and observed the chicks. Sometimes the mother bird would be there, sitting on them and flying off when someone approaches. Other times the little birds would stretch their necks to the skies, awaiting their providers' return. But at night it would always be the same - mother bird would be in the nest, snuggled tightly against her babies, sheltering them from the cold.
But one day, she wasn't there. And another day. And another day.
Today the chicks lie motionless, victims of the harsh reality we have so taken for granted. In our own struggle for supremacy, we forget that in each breath we take as the alpha life form, there ends the many other beings we share this world with.
This is for all the mother birds who failed to make it home; for all the worms who failed to grow wings; for all the snails who didn't cross the concrete pathway fast enough.
I see you, outside my window.
Worries
I have these thoughts, and they run through my head so often it hurts sometimes. And I try to shake them off, take them to the back and shelf them up high so I can forget.
But they return, each instance worse than ever. It's like the more I try, the harder it hits.
So I gave up.
It's been three months since I saw Dr Fawkes, and I don't know if it's a good thing. He's been the only one who has managed to make the pain go away, but the price he asks for mounts and piles into astronomical proportions.
It was he who gave me the solution, and I have to return to have it fixed again.
He warned me that it will be even harder now that I've stopped treatment the last time. There was a hefty price but I'm prepared to pay for it.
The nurse collected from me before the procedure, and I parted with my money easily.
Anything to make the pain stop.
As the doctor spoke to me I could imagine his stern face looking at me. The operation lasted longer than expected, but Dr Fawkes assured me that all was fortunate and well.
There was the smell of surgical instruments and gauze and medication and tensed nerves as they surrounded me.
I felt a pair of trained hands reach behind my head, dislodging the clips that held my bandages tight.
A relief, and the tension eased from my skull. Round and round the wrappings went, each turn a revolution towards my penultimate state.
Three, two, one. I'm free.
They surrounded me, and I could sense the confusion.
The world was dark, covered in a layer of mist. The fog thickens and all I can do now is hear. As the voices came they slur and fall into a deep muffle.
There is no sight. There is no sound. I am happy.
But they return, each instance worse than ever. It's like the more I try, the harder it hits.
So I gave up.
It's been three months since I saw Dr Fawkes, and I don't know if it's a good thing. He's been the only one who has managed to make the pain go away, but the price he asks for mounts and piles into astronomical proportions.
It was he who gave me the solution, and I have to return to have it fixed again.
He warned me that it will be even harder now that I've stopped treatment the last time. There was a hefty price but I'm prepared to pay for it.
The nurse collected from me before the procedure, and I parted with my money easily.
Anything to make the pain stop.
As the doctor spoke to me I could imagine his stern face looking at me. The operation lasted longer than expected, but Dr Fawkes assured me that all was fortunate and well.
There was the smell of surgical instruments and gauze and medication and tensed nerves as they surrounded me.
I felt a pair of trained hands reach behind my head, dislodging the clips that held my bandages tight.
A relief, and the tension eased from my skull. Round and round the wrappings went, each turn a revolution towards my penultimate state.
Three, two, one. I'm free.
They surrounded me, and I could sense the confusion.
The world was dark, covered in a layer of mist. The fog thickens and all I can do now is hear. As the voices came they slur and fall into a deep muffle.
There is no sight. There is no sound. I am happy.
Zebra
There is a meek smile, paired with eyes
that shine like the midnight stars;
Her lips curl like flower petals
surrendering to the night;
Two arcs on her face carry
the burden of her sweetness;
And although she does not speak,
her song tames the wild beast
that had me locked, gaze and spirit,
on the black and white stripes she dons.
that shine like the midnight stars;
Her lips curl like flower petals
surrendering to the night;
Two arcs on her face carry
the burden of her sweetness;
And although she does not speak,
her song tames the wild beast
that had me locked, gaze and spirit,
on the black and white stripes she dons.
Fat Husky
Four paws on the hot hot tar,
Fat Husky under the mid-day sun;
Feels so warm he can't move on,
Fat Husky sure ain't havin' no fun.
His fur's so thick and the leash is tight,
Fat Husky he don't know why;
No more strength to put up a fight,
One more step, and Fat Husky dies.
Fat Husky under the mid-day sun;
Feels so warm he can't move on,
Fat Husky sure ain't havin' no fun.
His fur's so thick and the leash is tight,
Fat Husky he don't know why;
No more strength to put up a fight,
One more step, and Fat Husky dies.
Black and Gold
Girl in the funeral dress,
Sunshine laced behind her.
Smiling so sweetly,
That everyone would just stare.
A mismatch so appropriate -
Unfitting of the occasion.
Cast by a misfortune,
Overshadowed by her radiance.
Oh bitter irony, a partner in crime
With karmic resonance
When I uncover, in ill grace,
What will all come in due time.
A meek smile, a hung head;
The girl in the funeral dress,
With many ways to make you happy,
Can only exist in dreams.
Sunshine laced behind her.
Smiling so sweetly,
That everyone would just stare.
A mismatch so appropriate -
Unfitting of the occasion.
Cast by a misfortune,
Overshadowed by her radiance.
Oh bitter irony, a partner in crime
With karmic resonance
When I uncover, in ill grace,
What will all come in due time.
A meek smile, a hung head;
The girl in the funeral dress,
With many ways to make you happy,
Can only exist in dreams.
Seconds
The raindrops slur onto the roof
And he stood still, lost.
A whisk, and he turned;
Caught again by the gaze
That he tries so hard to avoid.
A whisper, and his lips move;
A smile, and his face lifts;
A look, and his eyes are lost.
So far they seem, yet he follows
The trace of perfection
That burn in their wake
Across his imaginary sky.
And he stood still, lost.
A whisk, and he turned;
Caught again by the gaze
That he tries so hard to avoid.
A whisper, and his lips move;
A smile, and his face lifts;
A look, and his eyes are lost.
So far they seem, yet he follows
The trace of perfection
That burn in their wake
Across his imaginary sky.
Bottomless
Twice, they seize me,
Caught me falling.
So deep, and yet
I know not how;
So still, and yet
I keep swaying;
So rich, and yet
I still don't know
The true colors
Of when they shine.
I pause and think -
Hands to my chin,
Of the many
Reasons there are
To raise concern
About this thought;
That I should stop
My straying gaze
From falling down
To a dead end.
Caught me falling.
So deep, and yet
I know not how;
So still, and yet
I keep swaying;
So rich, and yet
I still don't know
The true colors
Of when they shine.
I pause and think -
Hands to my chin,
Of the many
Reasons there are
To raise concern
About this thought;
That I should stop
My straying gaze
From falling down
To a dead end.
Into the subtext
"Never thought of that did you?" he stared me in the eye as the words drawled from his southern tongue.
I looked at the man before me, unshaken by the abuse he's suffered - scars on his face, a broken jaw, quivering hands, and a bad case of dandruff.
If he were off the horse I'd have taken him for a desert bush.
But there he was, mouthing off to me about some abstract alternative that I was gone supposed to have known before I got myself in this here mess.
I tried to look collected as I delivered the retort.
"No, stranger. Can't say that I have."
There was no expression on his ugly mug when he tugged on the reins of his horse and turned his tattered denim jacket back on me.
And off he rode, with me wondering if I had something better to say when I see him again.
I looked at the man before me, unshaken by the abuse he's suffered - scars on his face, a broken jaw, quivering hands, and a bad case of dandruff.
If he were off the horse I'd have taken him for a desert bush.
But there he was, mouthing off to me about some abstract alternative that I was gone supposed to have known before I got myself in this here mess.
I tried to look collected as I delivered the retort.
"No, stranger. Can't say that I have."
There was no expression on his ugly mug when he tugged on the reins of his horse and turned his tattered denim jacket back on me.
And off he rode, with me wondering if I had something better to say when I see him again.
Sunshine in your steps
If the moon would show tonight,
Then let it be for long;
And in the night time sky, so bright
The crickets will sing their songs.
When they're done, the bullfrogs come
To take away their fun;
With their voices, they will drum,
It's time to greet the sun!
The sky turns blue; the clouds go white;
The shadows start to fade;
As sea and sun and sky unite,
To make a brand new day.
And now it's time for birds to dance,
Flying off with glee,
"Hurry now, let's take this chance!
To the sun, where we want to be!"
Then let it be for long;
And in the night time sky, so bright
The crickets will sing their songs.
When they're done, the bullfrogs come
To take away their fun;
With their voices, they will drum,
It's time to greet the sun!
The sky turns blue; the clouds go white;
The shadows start to fade;
As sea and sun and sky unite,
To make a brand new day.
And now it's time for birds to dance,
Flying off with glee,
"Hurry now, let's take this chance!
To the sun, where we want to be!"
Cold Coffee
It was a passing glance,
But yet you remember
The face that walked by -
How the pair of eyes so big
Looked into yours and quickly
Turned back to the floor.
Or the sheepish smile
From the momentary
Feeling of awkwardness.
But most of all, you replay
The small of her voice whispering
Something you can't hear.
But yet you remember
The face that walked by -
How the pair of eyes so big
Looked into yours and quickly
Turned back to the floor.
Or the sheepish smile
From the momentary
Feeling of awkwardness.
But most of all, you replay
The small of her voice whispering
Something you can't hear.
Back home a hero
The heavy wooden door closed behind me as I entered the captain's room. It seemed a different world to the one that I stepped out from.
Sever was obviously a fan of trinkets, for all matters of tokens were sprawled in every corner. It looked more like a museum than the quarters of a respected seaman.
The man was seated in front of me. He had chosen to take his place behind the desk, away from the small dining table decorated with splendid teapots and serving trays.
There was a parchment lying on the table.
"The brave Mr Cook, back home a hero after the conquest of alien lands!
"That's what they'll be saying of you when we port at Yogava isn't it?" the Captain chuckled.
That a man so mannered would display such a mockery baffled me. I kept silent.
His eyes narrowed, lips curled into a slot as he stated me down, "Do you what that is, Mr Cook?"
The parchment was pushed towards me. It was rolled, but the broken seal was unmistakable; the error of my ways have caught up. There was no need to read it.
"Dear Captain, I believe my offer to bring me to Yagova is a very lucrative one for you and your crew. I expect it to be fulfilled regardless of the consequences," was my answer to Sever.
The Captain stood up, his chair landing hard onto the floor. Heavy footsteps place him towering in front of me. He did not speak, choosing to breathe heavily down my face.
I could not falter, "And I believe I have more than enough to spare you the trouble of calling the British dogs on me."
He smiled. There was a sharp pain in my chest, but still I could see him smile. I looked down and saw a dagger in me, and as he withdrew the blade from my beating heart I could see his smile widen.
"You do not come in to my ship a wanted man, threaten me with your riches, and tell me what to do with myself, Mr Cook," he slid back to his desk, wiping the blade on his trousers.
I buckled to the floor, my knees giving way as the vision stated to blur.
He gave a signal, and the door behind me opened. Heavy boots carrying a heavy man entered the room. There was the smell of death about his, drenching the room with blood and sweat.
"Look around you, Mr Cook. We have no use for your gold out here in the ocean! My men are hungry for a little more than riches."
The Captain turned towards his collection, "That pocket watch of yours will make a handsome addition."
Big hands clamped down on my arms as he dragged me out. I could hear the imbeciles cheering, no longer making fun of the unwelcome guest. They looked at me like wild tigers, after playing with their prey.
Sever was obviously a fan of trinkets, for all matters of tokens were sprawled in every corner. It looked more like a museum than the quarters of a respected seaman.
The man was seated in front of me. He had chosen to take his place behind the desk, away from the small dining table decorated with splendid teapots and serving trays.
There was a parchment lying on the table.
"The brave Mr Cook, back home a hero after the conquest of alien lands!
"That's what they'll be saying of you when we port at Yogava isn't it?" the Captain chuckled.
That a man so mannered would display such a mockery baffled me. I kept silent.
His eyes narrowed, lips curled into a slot as he stated me down, "Do you what that is, Mr Cook?"
The parchment was pushed towards me. It was rolled, but the broken seal was unmistakable; the error of my ways have caught up. There was no need to read it.
"Dear Captain, I believe my offer to bring me to Yagova is a very lucrative one for you and your crew. I expect it to be fulfilled regardless of the consequences," was my answer to Sever.
The Captain stood up, his chair landing hard onto the floor. Heavy footsteps place him towering in front of me. He did not speak, choosing to breathe heavily down my face.
I could not falter, "And I believe I have more than enough to spare you the trouble of calling the British dogs on me."
He smiled. There was a sharp pain in my chest, but still I could see him smile. I looked down and saw a dagger in me, and as he withdrew the blade from my beating heart I could see his smile widen.
"You do not come in to my ship a wanted man, threaten me with your riches, and tell me what to do with myself, Mr Cook," he slid back to his desk, wiping the blade on his trousers.
I buckled to the floor, my knees giving way as the vision stated to blur.
He gave a signal, and the door behind me opened. Heavy boots carrying a heavy man entered the room. There was the smell of death about his, drenching the room with blood and sweat.
"Look around you, Mr Cook. We have no use for your gold out here in the ocean! My men are hungry for a little more than riches."
The Captain turned towards his collection, "That pocket watch of yours will make a handsome addition."
Big hands clamped down on my arms as he dragged me out. I could hear the imbeciles cheering, no longer making fun of the unwelcome guest. They looked at me like wild tigers, after playing with their prey.
Coffee in a lonely room
A whiff, a stir, a sip;
Taken without expression
when a smile would greet
the welcoming taste.
The weather outside, cold;
The people indoors, hidden;
The air around, filled
with the tingling of a moving spoon.
White is mixed with beige,
Two beings offering little resistance;
Unlike the stinging sensation
that rests in my chest.
Taken without expression
when a smile would greet
the welcoming taste.
The weather outside, cold;
The people indoors, hidden;
The air around, filled
with the tingling of a moving spoon.
White is mixed with beige,
Two beings offering little resistance;
Unlike the stinging sensation
that rests in my chest.
Towards the breeze
Life is driven by greed, and that desire causes people to act unlike themselves, trading their morals for varying acts of misdemeanor warranting varying degrees of consequence.
Of the many thefts, there will come a heist; of the many beatings, there will come a death; of the many lives affect, all will attempt to run.
And here I am, victim of my own greed, escapee from the consequences of my actions, stricken with the burden of my reward from an act of crime too far past to turn back.
"Tis a good day, Mr Cook!"
He is Francis Rivers, crew of the Merry Maker - a vessel I have taken my troubles to. The short excuse of a gentleman has become somewhat of a friend to me over the few days that I have been stuck at sea.
"That, you've been saying for the last two days, Mr Rivers... "
"... and it hasn't gotten any better! Haha!" Rivers cries, completing my sentence, sans my usual sarcasm.
"Haha!" reverberated the crew, listening intently to his foolery.
There should be around thirty of them, a motley crew cast together with the help of a dodgy tavern and the promise of booze and women - of which the former they have no lack of, judging from their lack or sense in gravity or oral hygiene.
And I have become a joke of sorts to them, me with my scent of the civilization that they chose to leave behind. I have become used to this, and the bantering ceases to a sometimes tolerable degree. But they soon pick up another part of myself to ridicule, and the fun goes on again.
That is, until they hear the voice of their captain.
"I fail to see the humor of this situation, gentlemen."
Silence, sniffles and gruff laughter turn coughs as they choke on their fear of the captain. Dressed as distinguished as a life at sea would allow him, Redford Severs helms the Merry Maker.
The name of the ship was his idea, though not one in the crew can convince me of the reason why. There is no hint of merry in the face of Severs, and his treatment of his crew do not tell me otherwise. I've seen fingers chopped off and skin scorched for as much as a look of discontent.
This man commanded discipline, and he will get it.
"Mr Cook, I will see you in my cabin," he said before the heavy oak doors close behind the giant of man.
This is the man who has taken me aboard his ship, and has in his best effort be civil. I follow him, glad to be rid of the company of idiots he calls a crew.
Something silly
I saw a little girl today,
She's as cute as can be.
But the moment she had a look at me,
All she could do was scream!!
So off I scamper, so afraid
That she would stomp me flat!
And I if don't go home today
My family would be sad.
For it's been raining fast and hard
In the forest where I live,
And to escape from drowning fast
My shelter I have to leave.
So little girl don't be afraid
Of me, the tiny worm.
For you are a thousand times my size,
So it's me that should squirm!
Misshapen
How can you miss someone you never knew? Have the image of the person linger at the sound of a tune?
And to keep listening to that same song over and over, just so the image will stay and you don't have to miss them so much and the heart will stop aching.
How can the heart play such tricks on the mind, making nonsense valid and overcome the logical sense of things?
Each beat, each word, each strum of the guitar.
There are limited memories, and to you they are crystal. Holding on in your mind like the tremble of the last string and repeating with the first. Again.
Two words, accompanied with the lyrics of the slow, meaningful chorus.
How can you miss someone you never knew? I guess it's just because you hope to know them so well.
And to keep listening to that same song over and over, just so the image will stay and you don't have to miss them so much and the heart will stop aching.
How can the heart play such tricks on the mind, making nonsense valid and overcome the logical sense of things?
Each beat, each word, each strum of the guitar.
There are limited memories, and to you they are crystal. Holding on in your mind like the tremble of the last string and repeating with the first. Again.
Two words, accompanied with the lyrics of the slow, meaningful chorus.
How can you miss someone you never knew? I guess it's just because you hope to know them so well.
