Artwork by: Andrew Hem

We struggle to our hearts content, for somewhere to belong
And when we go back home again; feel nothing but forlorne.
The little cottage gleams at us, rusted in the sun;
With flaking skin and rotted wood, we crawl back home again.

Kommentarer

Skicka en kommentar

Populära inlägg i den här bloggen

What is a poem good for?

Poems, depending on how they're written, can be used to express a lot of things. They can be a reference to history, a criticism on the current society or a hopeful statement of the future. It can also be a lot more personal; a way to express an emotional or a psychological state. Whatever is expressed, it's a story tool that can be used in order to understand ourselves and the world around us, with the use of imagery and association. When writing a symbolistic poem it can be challenging to avoid being cliché. Finding visual imagery that can be both universally interpreted, and that also carries a personal and unique resonance can be very difficult. Writing the poem for last week was hard, not only because it was symbolistic, but because we also needed to think about including other linguistic tools, such as antithesis and alliterations. That made the natural flow a bit stifled. However, the more I practice using these tools, and more importantly the more I become an active c...
Läs mer

Murals

Why why why so many murals of hateful things; waves are towering across the town, the moon the moon devours us All good things must die in shame all bad things must live in piece. Even so the nightingale calls with tremors of the earth with roars like engines; Machines digging across the yard Searching for a new earth beneath the soil bones like gold, bones like watches.    Time and time again we see the landscape of your forehead beating us like waves; slap, slap, slap of meat. Squirrels rushing to fill the juicy cave with nuts of gold piece after piece after piece of crushed glass cuts at my feet and the blood becomes an ocean. Rubies of glimmering sundrops drop drip drop    down to the earth and bones and the creatures that live yet further beneath drip drop drop    of blood and rain and sundrops sunlight on the moon moonlight on the gravelled road, the graveyard road peacocks walking their pretty necks outstretched to catch a glim...
Läs mer