The Lonely Painter

A tired palette of paints 
Distressed from depressed days
Sits in the hands of a Painter,
Hands of bone and method
Holding the colours of blood and age,
Or that of a beautiful blossom,
Or a strangers stage;
so graceful and unkept
That is where the Painter has slept
In dreams so fresh and new
Wind whispered felicitously while she grew
The perfect portrait of a petal
Unstable
Unsure
As the Painter does not settle
Your petals only seep taints,
The lonely Painter merely paints.

The lonely Painter simply waits.

Scribbles at their finest

This evening I have treated myself to come home from work early, instead of normally carrying on through to try and build up some extra hours to earn money for travelling. However, I am so tired. My body and mind are both quite exhausted – but in a good sense. I feel a sense of achievement from being tired as it usually means I’ve been very busy with work or a social event (drinking too much and staying up until ridiculous hours of the morning despite having work the next day). I do it to myself because my form of relaxation is to go for a few drinks with friends.
Anyway, I am currently sat deeply in the warm chair of my living room, perched adjacent to the cosy fire(I love the word adjacent). I haven’t really written a type of diary entry on my blog for some time now – I feel poetry has started to express my thoughts in a new creative way. Other than rambling away about how I miss someone special, am bored of work or that I’m angry because I have stubbed my toe. Poetry is very pretty, I love how the words sit next to each other on a line to become whole. I sound so arty when I speak like this. Uhoh, what has happened to my sentence structure, so much for attempting to be an ambiguous writer, if you reread my last thoughts they’ve become short and uncared for.

I am going to post some more poems I think, although I have a to do list which feels like it’s turning more into a ‘Things I need to do but probably wont until the last possible minute when it becomes such a big nuisance that I have no choice over the matter”

Just read this ramble – It’s full of fragments of all the different things I’m trying to write about at once. It has got elements of me being poetic and thinking of art, combined with my attempted humour. This post definitely defines the meanings of scribbles.

Probably my weirdest post yet..

P.S I have also eaten two smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches today – and I regret nothing.

TIME TO TRY AND BE CONSTRUCTIVE AND STOP MUMBLING LILY-MAY

Embers of Allure

Here’s a little song I have written, I haven’t ever attempted to write song lyrics as I haven’t been influenced by the combination of melody and writing before, I feel it’s fun and flows well in my head – may add a few more verses but I had so much fun rolling with word play such as sibilence, euphonics, plosives, fricatives and alliteration with a quick metre and rhyme scheme. It’s made me feel brilliant (in a devilish/I can’t sing but I like to write poems kind of way.)

#1                                      You burnt away the whole of me, and renewed my flame to my name
                                     Fire kindled ferociously, sweet like a honey-lover’s lover supposedly
                                         Dulled by defected decisions, and burnt by mis-guided visions
                                                       I was simply relighting, realising, revitalising 
                                                             Proud to shroud myself in mysteries 
                                                     To believe in my own histories, of love
                                                                                       Pleasure and peace
                                                               Only to iron out the crease 
                                                           Creases of complications, caution and care

                         Oh sir you burnt away the whole of me, and renewed my flame to my name
                                                   Douse the blaze to unravel the maze
                                    Only to be infused by us once more, beyond euphoric galore
                                    Of what to be loved, hugged and free of the unloved
                                              I was simply relighting, realising, revitalising 
                                                        Proud to shroud myself in mysteries 
                                              To believe in my own histories, of love
                                                             Pleasure and peace
                                                     Only to iron out the crease 
                                                 Creases of complications, caution and care
                                                    This ones for me, Ethel Volér and I’m in my own snare.

Homeless

I have just had the pleasure of meeting a lovely homeless woman named Donna.
I originally was walking past when she asked me for a lighter – normally I would walk straight past but I had a feeling she was genuine, she wasn’t there to be malicious or lash out, she just wanted a lighter.
So I stopped, offered her one and we began chatting. I introduced myself to her as she did to me.
I remember my mum always saying “If you give the homeless money, they may be self destructive, if you buy them something they need / then they’ll use it.”
So instead of giving her spare change, I bought a sandwich, some water and gave her my umbrella. She was a lovely woman and I was and am happy that I helped her.
She spoke about her past, and how the homeless shelter helps her out everyday. This has inspired me maybe to give up some of my time and volunteer – after all, I do really enjoy helping others, meeting new faces and personalities.
She called me her friend.

This one is for Donna, the woman who has had a horrible past and currently lives in a sleeping bag under the subway. My wishes go out to her.

What a lovely, heartwarming experience. I said I’ll buy her coffee soon, She likes plain, warm coffee with no sugar – so let’s hope I bump into her again. She’s also nicknamed me Lily Light, what a wonderful woman.

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Mother Nature

Had a very beautiful experience today, I found a perfect spot on the windy coastline to settle down and write. It has been a very rainy and misty day today – So there was only one thing to do. Write away..
Here are a collection of little writings I have done about Mother Nature. She’s really helped me be in charge of my thoughts and has aided me to create some of my favourite scribbles yet –

#1To you, Mother Nature

Sat in a cave
I am protected by your body, soft
mud like skin
Delicate tree roots like hair,
You comfort me.
Yet you range outside my lonely cave,
Horizon misted and trees twisted
They bow down their powerful trunks to you
Carved and forged by your flesh,
Reaching out to you for light and warmth
Because to them, you are their sun.

#2 You’re the Power beneath my feet
The Air in which my body inhales,
Trees grow awkwardly in my lungs
Branching,
Reaching,
Rooting me to your Earth.
I am just another of your Creations
Yet you allow me to Live,
To feed off of your Love,
Like I am the only one to Exist.

#3 In the dark, sorrowful nights
When the streets are empty and souls
are hidden,
You remind me that I am not alone,
With your gentle raindrop taps on my window
Your soft moonlight
and your sense of peace,
Fashioning a fierce twinkle in my eye.
I do not underestimate your power
and you do not underestimate mine.
And that, is why we are friends, you and I.

#4 I’ve found my inspiration
My beauty and my Love,
But it’s not of him or her
It’s that of a sweet dove,
Mother Nature I’ve found you
And you’ve found my Heart
My smile is yours –
You are my Art.

I love these and I am so happy with them. I’m going to remember these for ever. Here is a photo I took earlier at the scene.
Hope you all enjoy, also hello to all my new followers – thank-you so much for following me and reading my rambles, it means so much to me!

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“And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart, till the Devil whispered behind the leaves ‘It’s pretty, but is it Art?’.”

– Rudyard Kipling

I love the rhythm within this quote and the juxtaposition between mighty and devil – you could always link both might and devil together depending on what view you have. It ends up being a contradiction of art, is art pretty or is it something disgusting, grotesque and meek? I also Iike how ‘Art’ is a proper noun, so it’s more significant like a person or a place.

10 second ramble over. I’m off for a run and I’m booking my flights today/tomorrow for my travels. I can’t contain my excitement!