Just wanted to share this poem before I slip off to sleep tonight. It was inspired by a friend and a little bird who sits outside my bedroom window most days.
Hope you enjoy it:
Bird of Mine
Today she came and sat upon my branches to sing a mournful tune
With Her feathers ablaze
Her heart beating softly
Her tiny claws curled round.
She set my leaves alight with sorrow
and my bark aflame with fright
But her tune stayed strong and nought could steal away her melodies not even the early summer breeze.
Wednesday 10th June
I don’t feel like I need to tell you too much about this one; I watched a short documentary on Jackson Pollock this evening whilst supping on a glass of red wine. I only knew what I had been shown of his in art class aged 13 and I knew him to be an influential artist in his time. The main thing I took from the 24 minute insight narrated his friends and fellow artists was that a dark shadow came from this man’s spotlight.
Hope you can appreciate if not enjoy it:
The Myth of the Man Who Was
Destruction: the only course for his smatterings.
Let’s light a candle for
the All American Cowboy
whose tragic end
saved him from a pickled liver
That fiercely drunken
painted night gave nothing
that led to the woollen hat atop his 44 year too old brow and a long open night
The light shone so bright
it sunk into the cells that stumbled around the veins that watched as he crumpled his own Life.
© LE Purse
Thursday 28th May 2015
I have just ventured over to Instagram. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about; I ended up with an account and some inspiration for a short.
Not overly sure how Instagram works in terms of using the photos so have instead providing the link. It is an wonderfully creative girl’s account who I met in Goa. See here.
Hope you enjoy this little bit of my mind:
Splashing Hope in My Path
You’re the purple drops of hope
that land in my smeared blackened path
when I’m surrounded by the arms of people reaching out to take a piece of me
Ah to be the closed cupped daisy of the football field
Unfurling to the light of the sun, hiding in the shade
Perpetually springing back under foot.
© LE Purse
Tuesday May 19th
It would probably be predictable of me to write something political tonight on the eve of a (hopefully) new party in power but I figure I’ve got tomorrow to do that. Plus there is only so much I can take of thinking about David Cameron’s bullsh**. Apologies to those who support him or have a weak stomach for swearing.
Back to not talking about politics!
The poem I want to share tonight is one I wrote for our Couchsurfing host, Lottie, in Gothenburg. She has a wall where her surfers do some art/write some words. I wrote a poem for her and Matt illustrated it. It is such a lovely visual thing and it gives you an insight into other’s creativity and into Lottie as a person. Hopefully my poem does that too.
I tried to firmly put politics to the side for this post but in honesty I probably shouldn’t have tried seen as Lottie is an active political member of society and stands up for what she believes in by campaigning about it at rallies and writing songs about it.
So all that is left to do is hopefully enjoy my words:
The Flower of Göteburg
The burned orange edges of her petals
are hues of every colour
her brothers and sisters
her roots forever searching
for the watered
sunlight to feed
the earth on which she stands.
19th April 2014
© LE Purse
The last one I will share this evening is about my morning walk to work. My walk is split into three parts and this is how I want to present this next poem.
Even when the sun doesn’t shine I love the first section of my walk through Hove Park. I like the part that the park plays in the community and how I see so many people running and walking and scooting (adults not just children) around the paths and the casually placed druid stone.
Anyway, here it is:
I can’t resist it, this dewy field of unopened daisies yet to feel the sun on their tender inner petals.
I march on through with my cheap plastic biker boots/leather brogues/holey canvas shoes
As the dogs and people of Hove attempt their morning walk rituals
The blackbirds calling to one another as I gaze across the newly transformed tennis courts and untouched picnic benches
Now the scent of blossom trees mingles with acrid exhaust fumes shocking me out of my reverie like an ice cold bucket of water.
18th April 2015
© LE Purse
I started this post back in March and it is well overdue. The poem was written back in March when I was inspired by the simplicities of nature and the complexities of people and relationships.
Here are my Spring sunset words strung together into sentences:
You extend your open hand towards mine
Your fingers stretching, reaching towards the light as it streams through the window
The cold words hold you back
The warm of the sun pulls you closer
Day to night you open and close your palm
Teasing me, you show yourself.
At the most tender, fragile stage you reach for me again, drawing me in to tend and care for you
I give you space to bask in the purple of dusk and the shimmer of moonlight
As you breathe in and out
My heart sighs with yours.
© LE Purse