Wednesday 31 October 2012

To all MA Creative Writers at Lincoln Uni - 

I had a go at Michael's book idea for creating poetry! I used Wuthering Heights. Here are 3 poems I came up with:



*
Up the garden causeway
the pervading spirit of neglect
twisted round her head.
He rose,
a born and bred gentleman
eager to greet.
He refused her hand and
shook her head instead,
thinking it best.


*
Hide your face.
Be off!
A stranger’s interest,
an object of amusement.
Trip merrily on!
My expectations are satisfied.


*
Impelled to see through my rudeness,
a respectable character
perceived decay,
black gaps and
creeping moss
woven into the heath
beneath a benign sky. 


No idea if they make sense or are any good but it was fun!!!!

Friday 26 October 2012

Check out this guy!

My sister edited his video! He's a new artist from America.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Wl4UnxMlJY



Thursday 25 October 2012

A little poem by me...



           Once a Whale

                    Now
               a colossal
            shell, a vessel
       emptied of the desire
         to claim the ocean
              as its realm.
                    The
                 greatest
             voyager, rest
           in your final port.


Thursday 18 October 2012

Mirror by Sylivia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.