Archive for June, 2010

Down the subway, a tune floats through
A happy clappy your-shoes-go-tappy tune

An old scarecrow, with grey bristles peeking
through woolly hat, sat on a chair
Plays the fingers-go-snappy tune

And he looks so happy with that
ear to ear grin as he plays the accordion
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a tenderness for you

           others won’t comprehend

this inexplicable bond

           of pacific platonic perfect love

an invisible thread

           that binds us through time,

grief and dreams apart

           I am not yours,

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If I slay the sun
               would you bring the moon and
                              encourage her to shine her own light?

If I slay the sun
               would you put me on a stake and
                              demand justice puncture through my heart?

If I slay the sun
               (more…)

Fernando Pessoa was a Portuguese poet who I found fascinating, not least because I think he had some sort of multiple identity disorder, but also due to his profound and sometimes humorous writing. Pessoa wrote under many identities, each very different characters to others, only one of them being a woman. I was introduced to him at my first attendance of an event organised by Poet in the City and City of London Festival, a formal affair very unlike the intimate dynamic atmosphere I am used to at Poets’ Corner (more on that in another post).

It was a privilege to hear the first speaker, Richard Zenith, as he had translated most of Pessoa’s work for Penguin Publishers. Zenith spoke with a passion conveying his intimate knowledge of Pessoa’s life, in a way that made me feel I knew the poet personally. However, if I took my eyes off Zenith to (more…)

Since deciding to actively write this year, it has made me more aware of life, to notice and appreciate things more. When I’m doing something mundane I ask myself, how would I describe this experience right now if I were to write about it? This slows me down and makes me fully experience that particular moment, whether it is listening to the sounds as I’m walking home, or trying to describe the taste of something I am eating.

I’ll stop whenever I have an idea and try to scribble it onto my notebook that I carry around. I whip out that notebook during ‘dead times’ like a bus journey, when I have been inspired by something. Or if not inspired, I will still whip out the notebook and edit something written earlier. The person sitting next to me will glance over, probably wondering, What is she writing in her pink notebook? With her pink pen. She must be obsessed with pink, look she has a pink headscarf as well, and her white dress has pink flowers and butterflies on it. And OMG, no way, she’s wearing pink JEANS? I didn’t even know PINK jeans exist?!

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I am a child of change
I cannot stay in the same place
I will not see the same thing
I shall not live the same day

Born on the winds of change
A storm that pushes and pulls
Tug of war with my soul
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Carved on a tree
You and me
Supposed to be
For all eternity

Except
The tree got chopped.