In love with life and all of its foibles.
Suffering and I Go way back To the start, really Why is the compulsion To give away Unexpected abundance So great
By Aspen Marie 6 months ago in Poets
Two people in a room Are praising my character Output is a funny thing Accolades for proficient production Never pierce interior walls
I’ve known men like you Heroically tolerating My coruscating demeanour Unamused, obligated Resigned to the minutes You must toil
By Aspen Marie 7 months ago in Poets
This hanging pause between ideas Feels like a honour My mind is empty Of all higher thoughts And deep feelings Mundanity of life has deterred
Red coral beads on a long strand Wind around my neck Amaranth spotlights wash away All trace of imperfection Brass gleams as tuba bellows out
I bit my lip today Rolling soft, pink flesh Into my mouth A solitary drop of blood Pealed across my tongue Tastebuds shocked
Imagine A captivating performance Of courtly flourish And effluent speech My internal cadence resonates In mind’s echoing chamber
I used to shape clay and plaster pieces Humble offerings to please the senses An obvious output; physical forms Showcasing creativity, skill
Visual imagery resides Within spatial representation Mechanics of perception Draw a map Its dotted lines Stretch and wind
Mustard ochre walls Marked and dirty Hands, paws, life Indelible smudges Of passing time What if I sit down Face six inches away
What does it mean To make a painting Adolescent hands Applied brush to every surface I could scrounge Cheap paint, chalky and chunky
Charles Ray of light Artist who dares To draft paper clouds For ancestral blue herons Elegant Ardea Herodias Dance on air
