Tag Archives: Verse

My Misbehaving Poetry by Daniella Sciuto & J. Matthew Waters (FreeSpace #3)

2 Oct

Welcome to the final FreeSpace from poets Daniella Sciuto and J Matthew Waters. ‘My Misbehaving Poetry’ is the third of three collaborative pieces that Daniella and John have created together.

 

paper-screwed-up

My Misbehaving Poetry

 

a mess of discarded words
surround the waste paper bin
a screwed up frustrating mishmash
of misbehaving poetry
sent to Coventry
the current state of affairs
keeps missing the mark
ideas bouncing off rims in silence
not even a dead klunk
to rattle my soul
to let me know
if I more accurately honed my aim
matched that rhythm zigzagging
in and out of my own personal alphabet
if I took an occasional Z
rhymed it with W instead
attached it to an A, B or C
would poetry suddenly
work for me

exhausted I pause
stare deep into the double-hung window
a handful of flies
trapped between the panes
gasping for fresh air
crawling and buzzing
schizophrenically searching
for the only way out
watching me in a frenzy
weighing up the worth
over-thinking the import
of a few lonely words
which my pen decides
to frantically override
in indigo ink

the day turns to dust
water turns to wine
turns to blood in a trice
I raise my ancient chalice
toasting and praying
to the poetry gods on high
for an ounce of inspiration
as I drift into stars
the night showers reams
of words falling free
my pen and my paper
and my mind all three
collaborate with the gods
to write dream poetry

in the morning I awake
feel the words as they bleed
dead flies on the sill
empty paper
empty pen
an empty state of mind

 

Poets’ Biographies

 

Daniella Sciuto: I’m a writer from The Sunshine Coast in Queensland, Australia. Proud owner of an unused degree in Anthropology. Am owned by many, many books which don’t seem to want to leave once they have been read. My first story to be published was on a pillow. I can be found, together with my ramblings, at bluebellina.wordpress.com and @iwasaplatypus on Twitter.

J Matthew Waters is a poet residing in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. After earning his liberal arts degree in English from the University of Iowa in 1984, he has since enjoyed a career in the financial services industry.  His first collection of poetry entitled “Five Hundred Pieces” was self-published in 1997. His second collection entitled “In the Middle of Somewhere” was self-published as a Kindle ebook in 2011. His most recent work can be found at his poetry blog jdubqca.com.

You can also follow Johnhttps://twitter.com/jdubqca

 

If you missed out on the other two FreeSpace poems by Daniella and John you can find them here:

Proclamation: http://wp.me/p2tYft-2xy

Rewriting the Universe: http://wp.me/p2tYft-2z9

 

FreeSpace is a creative opportunity that offers 3 posts on ArtiPeeps to an individual or group for showcasing or a project. The slots can be taken in a cluster or spread over a period of months.

Rewriting the Universe by Daniella Sciuto & J. Matthew Waters (FreeSpace #2)

22 Sep

Welcome to the second FreeSpace from poets Daniella Sciuto and J Matthew Waters. ‘Rewriting the Universe’ is the second of three collaborative pieces that Daniella and John will be creating together.

 

writing 3

 

.R

Rewriting the Universe

 

I drew these lines ages ago without

understanding the consequences

and my desire to protect them

weakened as time wore on

.

I sketched these images

fast frenetic murals on the wall

portraying all my doubts

concerning this world

and myself

and then I lived on

each day passing by

these lines remained unchanged

concealed by a thin layer of imagination

.

I crossed the line into a new

form of reality

regaining my strength by

becoming one with creation

drawn across the land

yet the pull of these lines

that basis of all

beyond the veil of life

influenced everything

no matter how much I whitewashed

my tabula rasa was not pure

and I found myself

redrawing the lines

found myself starting all over again

.

this is how it both

ends and begins

with poetry written

rewritten and rewritten again

layers upon meanings

upon words

with us forever

redrawing the lines

starting all over again

whilst the ghosts of poems past

influence everything

 

 

If you want to hear an audio of John reading his poem you can do so here

 

Poets’ Biographies

 

Daniella Sciuto: I’m a writer from The Sunshine Coast in Queensland, Australia. Proud owner of an unused degree in Anthropology. Am owned by many, many books which don’t seem to want to leave once they have been read. My first story to be published was on a pillow. I can be found, together with my ramblings, at bluebellina.wordpress.com and @iwasaplatypus on Twitter.

J Matthew Waters is a poet residing in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. After earning his liberal arts degree in English from the University of Iowa in 1984, he has since enjoyed a career in the financial services industry.  His first collection of poetry entitled “Five Hundred Pieces” was self-published in 1997. His second collection entitled “In the Middle of Somewhere” was self-published as a Kindle ebook in 2011. His most recent work can be found at his poetry blog jdubqca.com.You can follow Johnhttps://twitter.com/jdubqca

 

Please do watch out for the third collaborative piece from Daniella and John which should appear over the next few months.

 

FreeSpace is a creative opportunity that offers 3 posts on ArtiPeeps to an individual or group for showcasing or a project. The slots can be taken in a cluster or spread over a period of months.

Proclamation by Daniella Sciuto and J Matthew Waters (FreeSpace #1)

3 Sep

Welcome to the first FreeSpace from poets Daniella Sciuto and J Matthew Waters. Proclamation is the first of three collaborative pieces that Daniella and John will be creating together.

.

 

Words.

 

Proclamation

 

form my words to suit another

snatch a topic from the air

my heart beats fast in fear of nothing

do I dare

do I really dare

 

should my thoughts ever dawdle

or refuse to find new words

may the light of day forever blind me

in this world

and in the next

 

smash the pattern

defy the template

whether in this world or next

yes I dare

I really dare

to throw all thoughts up in the air

grab them

pummel them

write them

down

read them

bleed them

feel them

drown

 

out of the depths

of darkest of waters

I pull myself up

breaking the surface

breathing

in new air

introducing words

never before spoken

never before heard

begging to be understood

by the very one

absolutely

proclaiming them

 

Poets’ Biographies

 

Daniella Sciuto: I’m a writer from The Sunshine Coast in Queensland, Australia. Proud owner of an unused degree in Anthropology. Am owned by many, many books which don’t seem to want to leave once they have been read. My first story to be published was on a pillow. I can be found, together with my ramblings, at bluebellina.wordpress.com and @iwasaplatypus on Twitter.

J Matthew Waters is a poet residing in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. After earning his liberal arts degree in English from the University of Iowa in 1984, he has since enjoyed a career in the financial services industry.  His first collection of poetry entitled “Five Hundred Pieces” was self-published in 1997. His second collection entitled “In the Middle of Somewhere” was self-published as a Kindle ebook in 2011. His most recent work can be found at his poetry blog jdubqca.com

 

Please do watch out for the next two collaborative pieces from Daniella and John over the months ahead.

 

FreeSpace is a creative opportunity that offers 3 posts on ArtiPeeps to an individual or group for showcasing or a project. The slots can be taken in a cluster or spread over a period of months.

 

 

 

 

Weekend Showcase : Anna Angell (Poet, Singer-Songwriter)

15 Aug

Spotlight

Every Friday, 1 creative, letting their work speak for itself.

.

Anna Angell

.

 

.

 

 

Biography

Anna started off life in the beautiful Peak District and now resides in beautiful North Wales – jammy.  She qualified as a Speech and Language Therapist in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, then working mainly in Chester and Ellesmere Port.  She now spends most of her time laughing, crying and getting loco with her two delightful pre-school children.   She wrote a lot of poetry as a child but has only recently got back into it, thanks to the consistent nagging of her persistent husband.  This has also extended into song-writing with her beloved ukulele.  She tries to write honestly about the normal stuff in her life and is convinced that the things of the everyday are the porthole to eternity.  She hopes that by making the most of the short chances for creativity in between nappy changes and swimming lessons she can encourage other busy people to try this as well – and reap the benefits to mind body and soul.

 

Twitter             @a_a_angell
Bandcamp       http://annaangell.bandcamp.com/releases

…………………….debut EP ‘Love’s Life’

Email………… ..anna_angell@yahoo.co.uk

 

 

 

*If you would like to have a ‘Weekend Showcase’ or take part in one of our collaborations do get in touch via the contact form on the What’s On page, or via the comments section. You would be welcome.

Weekend Showcase : Ana Caballero (Poet)

8 Aug

Spotlight

Every Friday, 1 creative, letting their work speak for itself.

______

Ana Caballero

 

In this particular showcase Ana has chosen two poems that represent her work at the moment.

 

Oh, Zelda

 
Pretty much, you

were a crazy bitch.

 

Incensed by beauty

in others, talent in others.

 

No one else was Zelda.

Zelda painting. Zelda

 

writing. Zelda dancing.

Zelda loving. Zelda

 

interrupting. No one had

your husband. Or your

 

name. A belle,

at times, more often

 

a tease. Bad Zelda, who

silenced entire books.

 

Drunk Zelda, who shut

them down like boys.

 

All the rage, all of it,

yours. Sorry Zelda,

 

making the cottage

beds, blowing softly

 

at the suffering fire.

Sweet Zelda, who says

 

it won’t be so. Again

the happy host. Again

 

the righteous muse, who,

for a second, stood right

 

upon the floor. But,

silly Zelda, you boiled

 

a pot of rings and gold,

and you got taken

 

to the crazy home.

The unwell woman

 

in the attic, with you,

told decades too late.

 

No new love

or worried young girl

 

could save you from

the locked doors above,

 

the savage blaze below.

 

* Originally published in East Coast Ink Magazine

 

 

A Notion of Marriage

 

Because I am a poet,

I read about things like the

center of skin.

About warm bodies coming together in the dark,

and how it’s the meaning of life

when someone gets it right.

 

And I know I should write about things

like a moving chest and a naked back.

About the coming together of life in the dark,

about our common desire

and the verbs that it took.

 

And it should be universal,

but personal.

My moving chest, your naked back.

The notion of marriage,

of children, of daily love.

Shrinking rooms

beneath the surface of

different meaning words.

 

But I don’t see the dark jaw

in the night,

or the soft center of touch spring alive.

There is effort and a plan.

There is marriage,

a shrinking room,

daily love,

and a baby that eats time.

 

We do not say flesh when we mean sex.

We say it’s about right.

And, it would be nice.

We confirm how long it’s been

before we ask the other

to get up and make the bedroom

dark.

 

* Originally published in Aviary Lit Magazine

 


Biography

 

I worked in finance, journalism, wine importation, and even for the Colombian government before recently becoming a mom.  Now I focus my efforts on writing poetry and book thoughts, which can be read at www.thedrugstorenotebook.co.

My work has appeared in Big River Poetry Review, Elephant Journal, East Coast Ink, Really Systems, Aviary Review, CutBank, Ghost House Review, Dagda Publishing, Toasted Cheese Literary Journal, Boston Poetry Magazine, among others. It is forthcoming on Pea River Review and Smoking Glue Gun. I also write a weekly poetry post for Zeteo Journal’s “Zeteo is Reading” section.

 

 

 

Weekend Showcase : Kelly Letky (Poet)

1 Aug

Spotlight

Every Friday, 1 creative, letting their work speak for itself.

______

Kelly Letky

 

 

the-sun-rose-again-this-morning

 

the sun rose again this morning

and i wanted to pluck it from the sky
hold it in the palm of my hand

give it a rest

i wanted to run to the edge of the ocean
drop it in
hear the sizzle of forever and always
burn away with so much steam

i wanted to stand in the darkness
just for a moment
and listen to the winds of eternity
straining hard to hear the blackest answer

of course
i was afraid

of course
i was appalled

of course
i was embarrassed

by the stain of my humanity
dripping through the stones
into the soil

roots of truth
i can never wash away

but the sun kept climbing
and i kept laughing

and together

we forged a new day

.

 

Biography

 

Kelly Letky is a freelance graphic artist, poet, jewelry designer, photographer, writer, wife, mother, sister, daughter, crazy cat lady, friend, runner, knitter and gardener, not necessarily in that order.

She writes at www.mrsmediocrity.com www.thebluemuse.com and lives with her husband, three cats and one dog in the rural countryside of Farmington, NY.

 

Weekend Showcase : Ross Beattie (Poet)

18 Jul

Spotlight

Every Friday, 1 creative, letting their work speak for itself.

______

Ross Beattie

 

Broken glass

 

.

 So Wrong from the Very Start

.

Will there be a final line? The one to end it all when my pen drops to the ground and I reawaken as someone else in a completely different place.

Godless children running through nightmares, screaming the names of the ones who’s hands ripped dreams from behind their eyes.

And it all happened at a time when magic could of been real, when hope was held so fucking close to life.

I look down to the ground beneath the one I stand on and birds cry for freedom too, in the skies we imagine they possess.

But us, wrong.

Sipping death from broken glass like its natural. Cutting through age like we have no endings. Spending every moment we think won’t end staring at our reflections in passing mirrors carried by faceless ghosts.

We pretend time is timeless, but now is all we truly have, it’s only this word in this very moment that matters to me.

And only I write my words and only I can ever really pretend to understand where it all comes from and what it all means.

But me, so wrong from the very start, before I even had a chance.

I was strapped to an empty endless page with the false hope that I was free to fill it up in any way I wanted.

But it’s always just been one cruel joke after another.

So I sit as still as I can in the hope no one will notice if I’m either here or not, and I listen for the words that I’m whispered and try as hard as I can to get them down on paper before I either forget them or they cease to speak.

I don’t want to be left alone in that silence again, I spent too long there and this is what became of me.

The hopeless poet holding onto a hope, that probably doesn’t even exist.

Biography

Ross Beattie (@blackpoemblues)
A poet trying to hold on to hope.
www.blackpoemblues.weebly.com

 

*If you would like a Weekend Showcase please do get in touch via the What’s On Page or via ‘Comments’. Thank you for your interest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Weekend Showcase : Rathi Ramasamy (Poet)

11 Jul

Spotlight

Every Friday, 1 creative, letting their work speak for itself.

______

Rathi Ramasamy

 

Fish

 

 

Seaworthy

 

I watch the fish slice saltwater depths with their fins, liquid
wounds self-healing behind them. These flat bodies,
armored in flat scales, have not been designed for remorse.
They flicker with mirrored light as their flicking tails
chart an unspoken course through the sea.

.
Tracing indifferent orbits, their snakespine motion
echoes, ripples against my skin. I spin their water with churning
strokes in a storm that scares them away.
Though fluid hugs my frame as it does theirs,
guilty limbs have a weak hope of grace.

.
My body is wrong here, where sunlight shines
silver and washes my dark hands sallow. I rise,
like seaweed, to the surface. The ocean shows me its mercy
with waves. As each breath of wind sweeps my face, the tide
sweeps my limp form closer to shore.

 

* A graduate of the creative writing program at Denison University, Rathi lives and writes in Columbus, Ohio.

 

 

 

 

 

Weekend Showcase : Louise Hastings (Poet)

4 Jul

Spotlight

Every Friday, 1 creative, letting their work speak for itself.

______

Louise Hastings

 

Blossom

.

 May

 

Again the blossom
foams along the fence
and sparrows in the eaves
chatter, bright-eyed
against the skim of blue.

And while you sleep,
turning as the Earth turns,
rotating in an eye-blink, a petal falls
like a longed for touch of breath
brushing by your cheek.

The garden seems crowded
now, cluttered with sunlight,
a smudge of purple, wings
and trees, a ripple
on the surface of the pond.

And you know this colour well,
the way the light
falls across the water,
how it leaves you breathless
and asks you what you’re waiting for.

 

Biography

I am a writer and author of a first collection of poetry, Phases of the Moon published by Winter Goose Publishing in 2012. My newest book is a children’s fiction novel, Beatha – A Badger’s Story written to help raise funds for the Badger Trust. A nature lover and defender of Gaia, I am inspired by the beautiful countryside of Somerset in South West England. I love reading and writing, and allowing my thoughts and emotions to breathe through the power of artistic expression.

 

 

 

 

‘A Sense of Place’ #2: Millfield School Poetry Festival (Year 9, 10, 12)

26 Jun

 

 

photo

The Millfield Poetry Festival was an opportunity for our students to express themselves and have fun with words. The theme was “a sense of place”, which our highly creative pupils interpreted in a dazzling variety of ways, from the visual to the abstract, the comical to the philosophical. The English Department was overwhelmed by the inventiveness, daring and candour demonstrated by the young poets. The festival culminated in an evening showcase, in which students read or performed their poems and received prizes from our guest adjudicator, charismatic performance poet/rapper Breis, who finished the evening with his own inspiring material.

What follows is a small selection of some of the poems featured in the festival. I hope you enjoy them.

James Baddock Head of English, Drama & Media

 

Year 9

 

Cannes

by Hussein

 

In the great city of Cannes

The air is so fresh;

Beautiful beaches boast soft sand

And the water is so clear that you can see your feet like you

Are in a swimming pool.

I have a flat right next to the beach so from my bright

Balcony I survey la France like a king.

And also right next to my flat there is a bakery and I can smell

The warm buttery smell from the boulangerie. J’adore les croissants,

J’aime aussi les pains au chocolats, mais je deteste

Baguettes parce qu’ils sont ternes.

*

 

Knoydart

by Ben

 

The mighty majestic trees

On mountains above

Nature has no fees

The swooping dove

Dives from heaven above.

 

As I hear the river gushing

I picture salmon jumping

My father and I hushing

We cast and hope our rods are thumping

Have we caught one or shall my heart stop pumping?

 

One lift of the road

I strike hard and swift

Have I done my job?

As I see the body surface I lift, I lift!

I see something much greater than cod.

I miss my father but I look to God.

*

 

Year 10

 

I am where I am

…………Where I am I am

…………………………….Where am I? …………

…………I am where?

…………………..I don’t know where I am!

…………In a big blank space

In a small dark corner

………………… I am where I am

…………………………….But where I am is where

I am scared of where

In this big blank space

…………………… Scared of I

…………………….In this small dark corner

………..Scared of what?

………………………………Inside my head

……….All in the where

And where in the all

……………………Where I am I am not

Where I am not, I am

………..Where am I?

…………………..I know not

…………who I am

……………………how I am

……………………………..what I am,

, …………………………………………………..why I am……

Where am I?

.

by 

Isabelle

 

*

 

He sits there being prodded and poked,

Yet still smiles as I sit beside him,

His round cheeks blush and he stares down,

Embarrassed I am seeing him this way.

 

My hand is squeezed by his small sweaty one,

I am on his level as he stares into my eyes,

Pleading, afraid and silent,

As the salty tears trickle down his warm face.

 

When it is over, he smiles,

But in his eyes I can see he is still frightened,

And I help him limp to his next appointment,

More prodding, poking and injections await him.

 

I try to give comfort and solace,

Yet his eyes begin to glisten once again,

With their unshed tears,

As he tries to stand and cannot.

 

This place has become his second home,

The hospital full of doctors and nurses,

With their fixed smiles,

So not to worry the children.

 

But I can see the worry in their eyes,

In the eyes of his parents,

In my eyes,

In his eyes.

 

Life goes on,

Yet this little boy is not so sure,

As he asks his mother,

If he will die.

.

by

Grace

 

*

 

Year 12

 

London

by India

 

The Thames snakes through the city

Like a vein running through the body

The underground rumbles beneath the pavements

Like ants beneath the soil.

Ferraris, Bentleys, Porsche’s hug the pavements.

Homeless desperate tramps sit on the pavements.

Wealth seeping through Harrods, Selfridges and more.

Poverty around the corner at soup kitchens,

The hungry hang by the door.

A city of extremes, of laughter, fun and

Love, of hate, jealously and death.

This is my home, my life, my energy

My passion.

Go forward in London but always

Remember to look behind you.

 

*

The definition of home is divergent.

To a sailor;

his mansion is a wide, wavering ocean

with a nightlight that is brighter than no other as the stars shine, sparkling and broken.

To a pilot;

his palace becomes the azure as he overlooks it through the reflective,

gleaming window wandering the world endlessly.

To a soldier;

his castle is the feeling he gets when he accomplishes protecting his country

on the front line, for the ones he loves.

The explanation is boundless,

but home is nowhere without the ones we cherish.

 

by

Ragini

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