Surrounded by colour

Cheery red and green wires dance together across the starched white sheets,
exploring the caverns made between the ripples
before separating.


The green smoothly shimmies under the red
and enters through the short sleeve with ease.
It splinters in two, and stops to
listen to the rumba of the heart.


The red tangos to the hand,
it dives, piercing the saggy skin and
is secured safety with itchy white tape.

More wires conga, one after another.
Desperate to touch and listen.

By the time I arrive
you are surrounded by colour.
More wire than man.
You look like you have shrunk.
Grown pale.
You seem old, frail,
helpless.
Not the strong wise man
whose feet I sat at when I was child, eager to hear
tales of strange foreign countries,
wild creatures and warm rain.

I'm thankful for the beat the wires dance to
but I can't help wondering what will happen when it stops.

The Wait

You don’t laugh anymore, I never see you smile.
Your face is pale, your eyes red.
You are getting thinner.
Your clothes hang off you,
balancing delicately on your visible shoulder blades.
You refuse to eat,
it makes you sick.
You count the pills every morning, swallow them
slowly, methodically.
You don’t go outside anymore, you
just stare though the glass, blankly.
Time has slowed and only exists
when it’s time to take the next pill.
You don’t get out of bed anymore, you can’t.
Your dependency makes you feel child-like.
You can only wait.
You don’t long for it
but it seems to be the only answer now. 

The Cardigan

I search beneath the oppressive heavy lid of my trunk.
I see the sleeve poking out towards the bottom,
waving for surrender.

I offer it my hand and pull.
I hold it for a moment, regarding it like a forgotten friend; a stranger.
There is little resistance as I slip it on.

The smell of you is overpowering.

A flash of white teeth and rosy lips, brown scruffy hair.
I feel your arms around me; your warm breath tickles the back of my neck
 as your beautiful mouth whispers things to me.
I remember when we ran through the snow
holding hands,
your laughter echoing for only us to hear.
You put your cardigan round my shoulders, and rubbed my arms
This will keep you warm.

I remember the fights, the tears;
the anger scrunching up your handsome face.
The words that you could never take back resonate through my head.
I remember when you left.
I take it off slowly,
fold it neatly.
Stare at it.

I return it to the trunk,
and close the lid.

I want to forget you, 
but I can't just yet. 

Tuesday 9:00 AM by Denver Butson

Tuesday 9:00 AM

Denver Butson

A man standing at the bus stop
reading the newspaper is on fire
Flames are peeking out
from beneath his collar and cuffs
His shoes have begun to melt

The woman next to him
wants to mention it to him
that he is burning
but she is drowning
Water is everywhere
in her mouth and ears
in her eyes
A stream of water runs
steadily from her blouse

Another woman stands at the bus stop
freezing to death
She tries to stand near the man
who is on fire
to try to melt the icicles
that have formed on her eyelashes
and on her nostrils
to stop her teeth long enough
from chattering to say something
to the woman who is drowning
but the woman who is freezing to death
has trouble moving
with blocks of ice on her feet

It takes the three some time
to board the bus
what with the flames
and water and ice
But when they finally climb the stairs
and take their seats
the driver doesn't even notice
that none of them has paid
because he is tortured
by visions and is wondering
if the man who got off at the last stop
was really being mauled to death
by wild dogs.

from Triptych, 1999
The Commoner Press, New York

Copyright 1999 by Denver Butson.
All rights reserved.

Poem by Neil Gaiman

You Fit Into Me

You Fit Into Me
Margaret Atwood

you fit into me
like a hook into an eye

a fish hook
an open eye 

Today

I feel a little trapped within
a cocoon of self-reflection.

It's lonely in here,
but I'm not ready to break out

yet.

Power

My good friend Tom has inspired me to write a poem after we had a discussion about power. You can see his thoughts here: 

http://thomasstewart08.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/power.html 

It's a good blog and he articulates what he is thinking a hell of a lot better than I do! 

My Mask

My mask is egg-shell blue,

it looks feminine, delicate.

Controlled, purposeful dark navy swirls creep from the base of my neck to my crown,

decoration. 

It is what my mother told me I needed to wear when I was little.

Only show them what you want to show them. You are in control.

This performance, this guise

is what I use to protect myself from you.

But now the paint is flaking and it’s starting to crack.

I’m scared to show you what’s underneath.  

I'm sorry...

The twelve inches between us feel like a desert,

Dead and barren.

You’re upset but I can’t help you,

Not anymore.

My hand hangs limp by my side, but I long to cup your cheek, put your forehead to mine.

I want to cry with you, kiss away your tears; I just want to feel you close to me again.

I see out of the corner of my eye you clench your fist before releasing,

Maybe you can feel it too.

I force myself to look you in the eye.

Darkness, lust, pain, anger.  

I’m sorry for your loss

He nods quickly and I feel my feet carry me into the cold winter breeze,

Away, away from you. 

Marcy's Song

We went to see 'Martha Marcy May Marlene' last night at Chapter. Brilliant film and very uncomfortable to watch. I would definitely recommend. This song just gives me chills.

The Best Friend's Job

You sigh and turn to look out of the window.

The lush green garden beckons you, the old wooden gate at the end

an escape.

And yet,

you turn back to look at her hopeful kind face.

She has this magnetic pull,

an optimism for life that you like.

When you are around her you feel better.

But that’s all.

You’re using her to make you feel good about yourself.

She hasn’t realised it yet, but she will.

She’s beautiful and funny and encouraging.

She praises you, listens to you,

fucks you.

She waits for you, and keeps waiting for you.

You stand her up,

more than once.

She forgives you.

She is not naive, and not stupid.

She’s just fallen for you.

You know all of this, and yet you toy with her.

You’re very own living doll.

I feel the bile rise in my throat as you take her hand and smile indifferently at her,

her bright face beaming back.

She won’t believe me if I tell her, she’ll tell me it’s not true,

‘He tells me things he hasn’t told other people.  He tells me that he loves me’.

And yet when you chuck her back into the dusty toy box, broken,

I’ll be the one that will get her out, dust her off, mend her,

and mop away her tears.

I am the one that truly cares.

You smirk at me and tighten your grip, kissing her lightly on the top of her head.

You know I know.

So I wait.

I will always be there, even if you won’t be

You heartless son-of-a-bitch.

Iceberg

Sometimes

I feel like an iceberg,

only showing one thing or nothing

but underneath a flurry of emotions, feelings and thoughts whir, fighting for my time and attention.

I question and challenge myself daily. I work, I play games, I win.

I plan what I want from the future, the future that will work for me.

I think about my family, my friends. How far away they are, if it is one of their birthdays.

I remember all those who have gone. Where they are and how much I miss them.

I ponder death. What it really means and if I should believe in a religion.

I see something sensational and ask myself could I be brave enough.

I wonder who designs the simple things, like the humble can-opener.

If someone’s in trouble I want to help them, I won’t let them down.

Do I have enough money to last until the next payday?

I wonder if I have made them proud.

I let you see only a part of me.

you believe I’m plain

and simple-

I’m not.

Mince

The way I feel about you is the same as I feel about mince.

It's fun to cook with, adaptable, and tasty

Sometimes there are tough bits, which make you want to chuck the whole lot out

but persevere, take out the gristle 

and what's left is pretty awesome.    

- another attempt at my own poetry. Any feedback is appreciated :)

I Compare You to Binge Drinking by Alissa Rogers

I Compare You to Binge Drinking

by Alissa Rogers

The throbbing headache and nausea
I can endure, I've had worse.
Right now I could cry,
such a raw hope consumed me
as I thought about you, desperate.
It was still dark for me then,
when I needed you. Now it's day.
It brings a true smirk to my face
to know you are nothing more
than a night of binge drinking:
a foolish part of my youth, 
a consequence of boredom. 
I could not hold your liquor,
I vomited all that bile you said to me 
in the hedges outside. Don't fret,
this is not a bad memory, in fact
you might never be a memory at all.
I am well. I will drink better and
far more dangerous poisons. 
I am today, you are only last night.




Another poem I stumbled upon

A Cathartic Moment- Alissa Rodgers

A Cathartic Moment

by Alissa Rogers

I could punch myself in the face
or I could grow up.
None of us, or any of this
is perfect; it's okay to not
measure up. Measure to what?
The beauty of life is
that the definition is all my own.
No one can tell me what it is.
I am sitting in the sun.
I can smile.
I forgive myself.
I love
myself.
This is the best poetry I could write.
The beauty of poetry is
that the definition is all my own.
No one can tell me what it is.
I am a pearl, however misshapen
I may be the world is my oyster.
It's mine. It's mine. It's mine.
I could get used to that.

Exit Wound by JEANANN VERLEE

Exit Wound

you are an exit wound

the extra shot of tequila

the tangled knot of hair that has to be cut out

you are the cell phone ringing in a hushed theatre

pebble wedged in the sole of a boot

the bloody hangnail

you are, just this once

you are flip flops in a thunderstorm

the boy’s lost erection

a pen gone dry

you are my father’s nightmare

my mother’s mirage

you are a manic high
which is to say:
you are a bad idea

you are herpes despite the condom

you are, I know better

you are pieces of cork floating in the wine glass

you are the morning after
whose name I can’t remember
still in my bed

the hole in my rain boots

vibrator with no batteries

you are, shut up and kiss me

you are naked wearing socks

mascara bleeding down laughing cheeks

you are the wrong guy buying me a drink

you are the typo in an otherwise brilliant novel

sweetalk into unprotected sex

the married coworker

my stubbed toe

you are not new or uncommon
not brilliant or beautiful

you are a bad idea

rock star in the back seat of a taxi
burned popcorn
top shelf, at half price

you are everything I want

you are a poem I cannot write

a word I cannot translate

you are an exit wound

a name I cannot bring myself

to say aloud

-JEANANN VERLEE

I stumbled across this earlier on http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/9kFslf/www.pankmagazine.com/jeanann-verlee/ and I love it. 

National Geographic

Just a few pictures to illustrate how beautiful and interesting our world is....

http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/7Zb5Kh/m.theatlantic.com/infocus/2011/11/national-geographic-photo-contest-2011/100187/ 

The pictures on this website are just stunning. I love the first one, but I think the sea-lions, the Rufous hummingbird and the lake in the Rockies are beautiful. These make me want to pick up my cameras and go somewhere really obscure and get a bit lost for a while.

Begin

Heart quickening, she fumbled with the papers in front of her,

unruly black scribbles danced wildly, 

solitary words 

surrounded by an oppressive white. 

Thirty pairs of eyes bore into her.  

'When you're ready, begin.'

Jan Svankmajer

Helping Joss out a little with one of his projects. Watched some of the films today he has to write about and its pretty weird, but its really interesting to learn that they are saturated with images commenting on political and social  issues. I've watched a bit of 'Alice' before and enjoyed it... never got to finish it for some reason! These clips remind me of an Aardman and Aardman video I used to watch at my Grandma's (Two of the clips, Indent, and Next are at the bottom of the page). 

Amelie

http://youtu.be/ZqT9kA1bcVQ

Click and watch, I tried to put the video on here but it decided it didn't want to work wah :(

This is one of my favourite scenes of this film. It's so alive with images, sounds, smells. The attention it gives to the little things that we just look past in everyday life makes me want to submerge myself in the hubbub and take it all in.

I think that's what I'll do tomorrow.

What fine friends

Sometimes it is just the smallest thing that just hits home how absolutely fantastic my friends are. The last 3 years at uni would have been completely different if I hadn't met them- thank the deities I did.

Just for you

Find a secret place, just for you.

It doesn't need to be hidden,
or somewhere quiet.
It's just a place for you to be.
Think of nothing, and think of everything.
Be observant, or close your eyes.
What does it sound like? Can you smell anything?

Dip your feet into the water onto the cool, slimey pebbles and watch the sunlight dance on the surface as you gently create the ripples.
Go deeper, watch as the water caresses your ankles,
your knees gradually disappear, your thighs soon follow,
Slowly, your torso and arms, your neck.
You lift your feet from the bottom, and spread your arms, cradled by the river
You become the reflection, staring at the sky.

So this is what we do

Jungle Boogie

Our house is already looking pretty set for tomorrow, getting rather excited now:

As you can probably tell, I still haven't figured out how to turn the pictures on here (they are already edited before I upload them so whyyyyy!?)

Cup of tea?

The last couple of days have been really sad and countless cups of tea drunk, its not the solution despite British History dictating that it is so, but it allows everyone to have a sense of purpose when you can't do anything but wait for more news.

Too much tea?

In other news, I'm pining for the countryside! I want to get out of the city! However, with the lack of funds and excess of work this just isn't feasible right now. I suppose looking at pictures of past adventures will have to suffice for now!

   

News From Home

They all sit on the bed quietly reflective.
The woman in the center crying in the arms of another,
childlike.


Whistling builders, start stop traffic, footsteps clapping on the pavement, laughter and chatter
outside.


This room feels cool and still,
time has stopped,
it doesn't matter.
There is nothing they can do but be here.

There is nothing they would rather do than be here.

They all sit on the bed quietly reflective,
that family of friends.








My little attempt at expressing some sort of emotions. Thoughts? I've never really tried to write a poem before- I read a lot of them but never written.

Desire

'Sex Without Love' Sharon Olds

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

'Infinite Bliss' Sharon Olds

When I first saw snow cover the air
with its delicate hoofprints, I said I would never
live where it did not snow, and when
the first man tore his way into me,
and tore up the passageway,
and came to the small room, and pulled the
curtain aside that I might enter, I knew I could 
never live apart from them
again, the strange race with their massive
bloodied hooves. Today we lay in our
small bedroom, dark gold with
reflected snow, and while the flakes climbed
delicately down the sky, you
came into me, pressing aside
the curtain, revealing the small room,
dark gold with reflected snow,
where we lay, and where you entered me and
pressed the curtain aside, revealing
the small room, dark gold with
reflected snow, where we lay.

We looked at these pieces of poetry in class today and they are by far the most interesting poems I have read in a while. I could do a close reading here, but I think I'm going to save it and write it in one of my projects- sorry :)

A good way to start the day

Shallow Bed

About 4 months ago my housemate Joss stumbled upon a youtube playlist (WLT-Watch, Listen, Tell), a beautiful collection of mainly acoustic breakout artists. Soon after the haunting sounds of Dry The River were coming from every room.

They released their new album yesterday and it is just brilliant. We are seeing them on the 18th April in Cardiff and I can't wait.

Just listen.

Bible Belt
Weights & Measures

An introduction of sorts

I don't really know why I've started this blog. I won't do it frequently, I will post stupid things that no-one will care to read or look at and the content will probably consist largely of photos of myself and my friends that I may not have even taken. With that said and done, alonzy!

I should introduce myself. I'm Vicky, or rather Victoria as my mother still insists on calling me. I look like this:

I read, I go to University, I have a part-time job in a pub, I go out, I like the colour blue. I take pictures with this beautiful camera as well as my digital compact.

I have fantastic mates who I shall probably talk about until you feel like you know them as well as that bollard knows Elly! (That's a story for another day).

The weather in Cardiff has slowly been brightening up, tempting us with the idea of a warm summer...
Well let's see. All I hope for is that this summer is as good as the last, but with the end of university looming and no immediate job or house on the horizon, I have a lot to sort out before I can start planning anything else. Last summer saw me living at home for a month but travelling around the UK, having friends to visit, going to festivals (well just the one), and gaining the odd parking ticket (meh). Picture time:

Some of those pictures are not the right way round which is irritating but I shall soon figure this out and rectify it for the next post. 

That's enough about myself for now, plus I've just realised I've got 15 minutes before I start work- Tra.