Untitled #2

This piece was done after wandering around town on a grey winter day. It is very sensual and I kind of fizzled out at the end, but I liked some bits of it and it was just a splurge.

Untitled #2

Cold air, nose running rivers. Puddles soak through jeans. Wind whips round red ears, cheeks burn. The not-quite rain settles as a film on freshly-washed hair. One freezing drop hits bare neck – the consequence of standing under doorways. People walk, umbrellas held high, barriers to the misery of the deep grey sky. Every so often, snippets of inane conversation – drunken weekends and broken hearts. Misery reigns while misery rains. Bright colours dulled by the grey gloom of rain. Faces grimace against the bleak drizzle, eyes squint, heads bend forwards. Feet splashing through puddles in an attempt to find a dry place. Blue jeans black. Children hide behind masks of condensation, mothers smothered in fur-lined hoods over poker-straight hair. Black benches sit lonely under solitary trees. There will be nobody sitting down today. Old ladies cover their perfect perms with raincaps, Hush Puppies steadily shuffle along slippery streets. Warm yellow light breaks the grey, welcoming you through double doors into corporate comfort. Whipped cream and ground beans. Sugar rushes and caffiene highs, just the way you like it. Well-lit windows show discount garbage. Fast-food queues deep with regulars in need of their Big Mac fix. Screaming children throwing chips at inattentive parents. Flustered workers half-listen to ranting customers.

The River – poem

I don’t write poems often, but I had a spark of inspiration. As with the last post, if you are in any way disturbed or triggered by implications of self-injury, please do not read further.

The River

Run, river, run.
Red lines through
blank canvases.
Waterfalls over pink hills.

Nowhere to run
to, river. Yet you
keep on running,
tracing blood lines
across snow-white softness.

Run, river, run.
Run, river, run.