WEBSITE: —
LOCATION: London
RECORDS: 19
LATEST RECORD: over 1 year ago
JOINED: November 09, 2009
LOCATION: London
RECORDS: 19
LATEST RECORD: over 1 year ago
JOINED: November 09, 2009
All Ella's RECords
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A house filled with wavelets of tiny amounts of cold, Gently playing around figures hunched around themselves, Teasing the skin with goosebumps, Lifting shivering hairs and chattering their teeth. Everything is slightly blue, All is contracting, Attempting to keep within itself, The last remnants, A faint, Fond, Memory Of heat. Spasms and shivers pulse through one life, A moment in time, Convulsion, Need. To encourage the memory she craves, She rises; Runs up stairs, An attempt to outrun the frigid atmosphere. And then, Through the blue, A small, Brilliant, Shining Slice of sun Spread out, On the shadowed wall. A little piece of light, Hiding, In a house of cold. |
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Flighty thick dust, Wheat miniatures, Upon a brick coloured road, Hued the perfect bake, Of wear, And tear, And natural. A girl with straw tinted keratin threads, And a speckled, Freckled, Sheet of skin Over bird-like bones. A swirl of rosy cloth Flits around her shapely marble And maculae legs, A bounce in her metaphorical step, A flash of cream Behind curtains of fleshy coral. Sparse sunlight, Richly swathing the swinging grass, That leaps to the air, Oh imploring flight! Only to be held fast by stems and roots And all things logical, Biological. A flirtatious, Flabbergasting flash of jaded blue, Shoots tenderly from beneath thick black explosions, Of more keratin thread. And from behind those coral curtains, And the creamy, gapped teeth, A peal of human joy, Bursts forth, Into creation. |
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Slightly in the style of Rudyard Kipling's "If"...or something like that :) When all seems lost, And hope all wearied be, And darkness falls, No flexed inconstancy, But heavy lock On heart and mind and soul, And light is far away, Shining too weak, Too old, Remember this; That birds still soar in sky, And sing their hearty songs, And flowers grow, With stems all green and long, And Home still stands Upon that concrete hill, And we still eat And daily take our fill. The world still turns When all is black and dust, And grief upon your tired shoulders lies, And in my pulsing heart, Because it must, Our love still beats its wings, And flies. |
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I had a friend who thought he could sell silence. It was a business failure. Turned out, when all the silence had been downloaded onto the iPods and MP3 players and radios (they even had a special vinyl edition) and when all the other noise was blocked out, all people ended up hearing was the buzzing of their own brains. And that's the sound they disliked most of all.
While not necessarily being a completely palpable material, I hope that words count as something I can make my heart out of. :) <3
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Ok, so I really liked Pete's challenge/Haiti plea. REALLY liked it. And when something strikes a chord like that, my immediate reaction is to write something. Also, as it was so inspirational, I shall be donating to the Tearfund Emergency Appeal in aid of the Haiti victims. Little example of how a piece of writing can move someone. "It was ok, for a while, My first ten years of life. Sure, interspersed with the odd and occasional famine, financial difficulties, domestic problems and such like. But it was ok. I got through it. No worse for wear, I'd soldier on, and oh how I've come to love the tenacious and unapologetic adrenaline that comes, part and parcel, of the child's spirit. It's got me through some tough times. My family too, though not the best off, we did ok, those first ten years. Yeah yeah, always hungry and nearly always beat, but we were family. I think that's great, don't you? We stuck together. Bit of a miracle really. The glue that held us fast wore off long ago. Maybe it's force of habit. My friends and I, we weren't much different. All lived around the same places, No difference in the houses, little difference in the homes. I liked that. It gave us something to share. And when there's not much around to begin with, that's something. So, that was me, didn't have much, but didn't need much else. I certainly didn't want it grabbed off me like that. No sir. I was quite happy where I was actually, thank you very much. Human suffering is such a heavy load on the heart. Makes you collapse, from the inside, gives the pit of your stomach a real run for its money. I don't like screaming. Not screaming children, screaming sirens, screaming pain. I hate the way things can just...disappear. Crumble. Vanish. I liked them where they were. I liked the fact that our houses were all upright and not piles of rubble, that the roads didn't have massive wounds gaping right down the middle. I liked it when the people weren't crushed under piles and miles of rock. I even quite liked it when I could breath, without the fear of being suffocated by dust. Good times. God didn't seem to care about my preferences when He decided to break our island in two. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe He just wasn't looking and His hand...slipped. Or something. But whatever it was I really wished He hadn't done it because now I'm gone and my family are too. And our house, and our dog, and our back garden that looked onto the sea (which has swallowed it all up now, mind you. Greedy bastard.) But I don't feel any better, because I know they're all still down there. And they're screaming. And suffering. And I can't stand it you know? That was a real body blow. That was below the belt." |
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