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Fri Apr 27, 2018 8:30 pm
Title: Still Life-Coffee-Orange
So, I’m standing there, leaning against the counter,
peeling an orange as the kettle boils for my coffee-
and it hits me, this picture in my head which makes me think:
This should be a still-life life.
By which I mean there should exist a painting,
somewhere- oil, or gouache, you know-
which depicts this cup of coffee beside half an orange.
Let the colours be bold, bright, and warm,
inviting you to sit yourself down in the sun and just breathe-
I’m getting Mediterranean vibes from this.
This moment just here, this life I’m living,
or at least the little snapshot of it which fills me with a giddy imagination-
this should be preserved in a remarkably lively still life,
which you could see on the walls of a gallery,
or on your feed online,
so one day someone may stand there,
leaning against the counter and think:
“This is just like that still life.”
Sat Apr 28, 2018 10:18 pm
There was a brief moment when for less than a minute
the sky exploded and sent a mad parade of hail
beating down and bursting against the dirt outside
as I put together the cake batter.
Sun Apr 29, 2018 6:34 pm
16+ for language
Title: Peacock Spring
Good fucking god,
the world was a peacock display today.
When the estuary climbs up the bank it sits upon these clumps of grass
like they were islands, and seeing the sky reflected upon the surface you realise,
Jesus, the sky is so blue. You become used to it but, Jesus, seeing it here
on the ground it burns it’s so bright, such a bright, bright blue-
and the grass is emerald today.
Mon Apr 30, 2018 7:25 pm
Title: Burning Bright Red Sunset
burned so brightly
I could’ve sworn
I am still breathing today.
So, I suppose it was just light-
they do say before you die
your brain replays
your every living memory.
So, how am I to know
that I tomorrow I won’t wake up-
my entire life having passed before my eyes
in a blink-
(the ending having caught up to me suddenly,
tomorrow morning, before I wake up)
and die from the nuclear storm in the air.
The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading, in order to write; a man will turn over half a library to make one book.
— Samuel Johnson
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