Tuesday, 29 March 2011

Poem: "Musically Reborn"

I feel nothing;
Nothing except musical notes,
Like tiny pinpricks of life
Lifting me, surrounding me, twisting me
To their will.

Music: Taking me higher and higher,
Leaving behind the mundane,
The prosaic, the dead.
The only life I can feel, is here.

White light engulfs me,
Notes shape and mould me,
As the clay of the first humans
In God's holy hands.

Music: Breathing life into me,
Filling me gradually,
Until everything within me
Explodes in an orgasm of vitality,
I am Reborn, Ecstatic, ALIVE.

Sunday, 27 March 2011

New Photos "Cemetary and Stone"

Here is a collection of some of my new photos, taken from my latest collection "Nevermore". Hope you like them :)

Before you go any further though - I know what you might think; "She's a Goth so she's going to take pictures of gravestones" well, maybe - but firstly I didnt go to the cemetary purposely to take pictures, I went with a friend who was visiting some graves, secondly the reason I took these is because I genuinely think they are beautiful images, there is something particularly lovely about "The Old Soldier". Or maybe your favourite will be the creepy "Can You See My FACE?" take a look and let me know which ones you like. xx.

"This evenings performance......"

"Old Friends"

"Sailors Repose"

"The Twins"


"House Of Cards"

"At Rest"



The Old Soldier"

"A Perfect Wife And Mother"

"Can You See My FACE?"

"Angel Of The Morning"

"Clinging To Hope"


Thursday, 17 March 2011

Poem: "Music, The love of my life"

Music is the love of my life.
It is to me what
Air is to others:
Essential for living.

I CANNOT live without it
And I do not want to.
The flow of the notes and chords
Are as wordlike as poetry to me,

I SING with them,
DANCE with them,
LOVE with them,
HOPE with them,
DREAM with them,
IMAGINE with them.

I CRY with them,
DESPAIR with them,
And sometimes *of* them!
I REJOICE with them.

I WRITE them,
DRAW them,
PAINT them,
I LOOK to them for inspiration, and shelter.
I LIVE them!

Notes, Chords, Lyrics, SONGS are my lovers.

I am FAITHFUL to them.

Tuesday, 15 March 2011

Poem: "Writing For My Life"

Today is evidently "Creative Day"
I cannot stop writing.
I am inspired!

I would die without such a recreational catharsis.
My soul would wither and blacken,
And my heart would turn to dust,
Without the ability to express
My innermost loves and fears.

I am lucky to do such a thing.
I do not understand how people
Who do not write or draw or paint
Continue to live.

For me it is impossible to reason
Such an empty way of life.
Creating is unequivocably inexorable,
And my belief in its healing powers is unflinching.

How unnatural it seems to me
To live through lifes passions and nightmares
Without documentary examination!
How else can we free our souls
From such daily burdens?

To take drugs or alcohol
Is only adding to them,
So why not create something instead?

I confess;
Although I do try to understand
How people live a non creative life,
I dont think I will ever be able to.

Poem: "Rain For The Soul"

Sitting near the open door
I can smell the rain coming,
And I thank God for it.
My sins, both numerous and plentiful
Are washed away
In the cleansing rain.

It rinses my sated mind,
And purges my tired soul.
It restores in me the beautiful melancholy
On which I depend to
Survive this life intact.

I listen to people running for cover,
And so I step out,
Rejoicing as the swollen drops
Soak my hair, and seep through my senses.

Lifting my arms out to the sides
In suplication,
I welcome the rain into my heart
To ease the heavy burden
Which forever slumbers there.

And turning my face to the heavens
I am happy now that the rain
Is filling my eyes,
Instead of tears.

Poem: "Croydon Angel"

In this unfamiliar place
The mundane surrounds me,
I step out and bear witness
To an as yet undiscovered
Level of mediocrity.

There - on the street corner,
A young woman stands,
Resplendant in her
Violet velour tracksuit
and "Croydon Facelift" hair.

I begin to imagine the life I think she has.

But, in an instant
I stop myself.
What right do I have
To judge her?
I know not her, nor her story.

She might well lead
An iconoclastic life
For all I know.
I look down at my own costume;
Black trousers, black top -
All black, telling nothing about me.

I open my eyes anew.
She is smiling at me,
Directly at me, and
Her smiling eyes are knowing.

She waves at me,
A friendly sort of a wave.
It makes me self conscious,
So momentarily I look away, unsure,
But when I look back
She has disappeared!

To my Croydon Angel: I know better now.

Poem: "Will He Never Stop?"

What must I have done
So long ago,
To deserve his continued hate?
What must I have been
In times past,
To be so villified now?

Must I be
Continually subjected to
His internecine acts?
Or his lofty expectations
Of that which
I am unable to give?

My sins have been misrepresented
In and out
Of his mind,
For longer now
Than the term we were together.

Will he never stop?

I have borne witness
To his insecurities,
And have been tormented
By his doubts
For so very long now.

Too long.

It is a terrible price to pay
For once having loved such a man.