Please Support our Film Project

I don’t like pestering people with requests, but this time I need to ask for help. I’m working with a film company, and I was asked to raise funds for our next project. I would really appreciate it if you could help us out in any way. We are an independent film production company, and we are planning to shoot a cutting-edge biographical movie based on the fascinating, yet sadly overlooked life of vagrant Victorian poet Francis Thompson. We have found an amazing location for the movie, but as an independent company we lack the financial resources to give the project a truly authentic feel. Any money raised through these sites will enable us to buy or order period props and costumes. We don’t have a lot of time left, and that’s why I would like to ask everyone to donate or simply share this link or spread the word through any other means, because the more people hear about this, the more money we can raise. We are very grateful for any support! Thank you!

Here’s the link: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/an-avant-garde-biographical-movie

P.S. We are offering a range of cool rewards for our supporters ;)

Kensington Kiss (The Tube Poems)

This is a quick poem inspired by an experience at a tube station. I have written a similar one a few months ago (https://dommiesart.wordpress.com/2014/07/29/poem-ette-composed-in-a-tube-carriage/). Maybe I could start a series called The Tube Poems?

 

Tonight

I saw a couple

Kissing

Under the arcades

 

Of High Street Kensington.

Oddly, they were alone

In the otherwise always full

Station hall.

But this couple filled the arcades

with more love and warmth

Than the hundreds and thousands

who rush through from dusk to dawn.

The Tale of the Two Flowers

A gardener once planted

Two seeds of the same kind

Under a bush, side by side.

 

But he planted one in a spot

Shaded by the leaves,

While the other, an inch away,

Stood free under the sky.

 

So the selfsame sun

Lavished one with golden rays

While the other received nought

But a few stray beams

 

When spring came,

Two flowers sprang up from the seeds

But the one favoured by the sun

Grew tall and bright.

While the other became weak

And faint in the shade.

 

When their time came to release their seeds,

The tall flower was aided by the wind

And its seeds landed on fertile soil,

While the seeds of the smaller flower

Only encountered a feeble breeze

And fell on barren ground.

 

So one flower, admired by all,

Blooms in glory to this day,

While the other is but the prey of decay.

 

What is the moral of this tale?

Do not blame a flower

If it’s not tall enough,

For a flower cannot grow

If it’s hindered by circumstance.

Love (My Newest Painting)

This is my newest painting, entitled ‘Love’. It is a simple concept that has a lot of deeper meaning behind it. I chose a human heart instead of the typical heart shape as a representation of love because it expresses how love really is, as opposed to the fairy tale illusions that many of us have about it. Love is messy, not always beautiful, physical, always in motion, intense, and, despite all of this, vital for life.

 

LOVE

 

The Lily

I watch the lily on my desk

Lying silently in a plain glass vase.

I gently touch the striped petals,

Their whiteness stained by a hint of red,

And their redness paled by shades of white.

Not quite pure enough, not too passionate.

And lo, a streak of green is creeping up.

I marvel at the robust stem

As it floats just below the water’s edge,

Bending to no earthly force,

But broken by any hand.

I sniff into the air,

Lured by the faint perfume

At first so charming in humility,

And yet guarding poison at the core.

I watch the lily on my desk,

And the more I watch,

The more I recognise myself.

Somewhere/Someone Else

Tortured by tedium,
I oft long to be somewhere else.

In a place where work is pleasure

And not Sisyphean labour

In a place of smiling skies

And caressing sea-waves

Where the wind doesn’t chase me,

And the rain never assaults.

In a city where love is king

And indifference is extinct.

In the midst of luxury

Instead of an unheated attic.

Or just sheltered from the world
And free to cry in my own room.

Seized by sorrow,

I oft long to be someone else.
Someone who talks without inhibitions
Someone radiating confidence
Someone for whom food is a friend
And not a cruel enemy.
Someone who flies to the mountaintops
And makes her dwelling there.
Someone who never blushes,
Never blunders,
Never despairs
And never falters.
Someone of resilience
And resolve
And a solution
To every problem.
Someone taller
Blonder,
Prettier
And smarter.
Or I just wish to be
Someone who can love me
Because that person must be
A saint or an angel.

I sometimes wonder
if people ever long to be me.
Then I wonder why it is
That I can embrace an enemy
And forgive a criminal
But I can never learn
To love myself.

I Have a Question (a poem)

God,
Mirror Mirror,
Sweetheart,
Mother,
I have a question.
Who am I?
And what am I?
And where am I?
And where’s the way?
And can I turn back?
Why did you,
And how could he?
For how long?
And why not me?
Where were you then?
And where are you now?
Will you come back?
Or are you too far?
What have I done?
Can you forgive?
Why do you ask
What I can’t give?
What’s your purpose?
What’s the reason?
When will it end?
Or will it ever?
God,
Mirror Mirror,
Sweetheart,
Mother,
I have a question.
But each question
Breeds another question
And there’s no time to ask
All I want to know.
So to condense every question
Into one that covers all,
I just ask:
What the fuck?