From the city of Liverpool in England , comes a an epic tale from Peter Sinseeya and his studio , featuring a stellar cast that I am proud to be a small part of .
I look at the trailer again and marvel at the depth and scope of the story , a Liverpool fable or dream with deep undercurrents anyway watch the trailer follow Matopulas on all social media and give Peter a follow he will appreciate
this voice of the river
pressed wavelets to the hull,
kisses gentle
as the heat of day waned,
there is an island
he took himself to
and revealed not to many,
his sister stretched her hand
to the surface,
his obsession that yellow obsession
of scrawled canvas
becoming painfully light
each coming and passing day,
his work confessional
to a degree that
his lips where bitten into scabs
and fingernails worn,
absinthe stained his teeth
and confounded the workings
of an already fractured mind,
he wanted to show
one person the accommodation
crooked walls hung with works
salons would faint at,
not his usual pastorals and portraits,
this was a diminished reality
with a lot of truth
his sarcasm would not yield
afraid of her reaction
progressed slowly
yesterday still had a grip,
he could not release
approaching jetty
tremors worked in his arms,
breathing quickened,
when the moon set
he would be revealed
and her pain would be no loss,
when the rains came
he would return alone
clouds would cover the moon
and deny reflection and illumination
there was a lot more to be done
John Singer Sargent – Autumn on The River 1889
we are myth
we are legend,
behind fences we are found
bred and sacrificed on all hallows eve,
generations past
gutted and carved in celebration,
so misunderstood seen only as decoration
as human skulls on poles once where,
unlike my wild cousins in mexico
scattered over landscape and mountain,
they do not suffer the tampering
of our genetics
79 loci,
phenotypic slides for frankenstein,s scientist
altered , inbred,
not realizing our beauty
in shape and color
palmate leaves , long tendrils
unisexual flowers touched by gentle bee
curling about stamen
stroking with long legs
collecting pollen my yellow stain
peponapis body thrumming
resonant on my petals,
10,000 years of domestication
treated worse than dogs
compliant in nature as man knows best
our flesh substance forgotten
as gourd display incised and flensed
to amuse and terrify
projects of another’s nature
that is more disturbing and cruel
trees doused in solar gasoline
flaring cinematic glow
radiant crawling into eyes
and eventually the heart,
it is beyond the four day rain
so no use writing a haiku,
what will you say to moments
missed out by heaven
and only mortal seen,
air as with light has cooled
leaves and pine needles
penetrate the body,
someone will hunt a deer
stripping carcass on the ground
flies on blood crust,
crows clack and dance on branches
high,
in summer your sea washed hair
fell in curls,
now damp hung onto shoulders
as you move off the porch,
eyes with a carnivore hollering
look at those trees
axe slips in hand
thudding only in the mind
blood trail on boards
not yet dry,
those beings who creak at night
have cheated you into thinking
that cutting laughter out of a
throat was better seen than smelled
footfalls soft blue dress swish
night will crawl back into the moon
and phase out its glow,
taking with it memories
no longer imprinted
fragile in the innocence of
aftermath began to feel
that summer had gone
like an abrupt lover
and everything would be felt
with a frost
of reality
he shot a hobo
alas a hobo
my lover shot a hobo
it was love , so love
i was the most insane stripper
lost on a winters eve
he was a bookkeeper with a gun
we wanted to run together
passion and breast in flames
he tried so much to please
with bunched up bloody nose
another fight over me
he started to kill
for pleasure that winters eve
police would call
and i would deny
through a packards windshield
his face a policeman saw
once run down
no going back
mexico and jazz
we where on the run
but my passion waned
with his bloodstained hands
and made a call
to a deputy
our villa surrounded
he felt betrayed
as to the chair
he fried
my lover alas my lover
who shot a hobo
and broke my heart
dVersePoets
wanderer rolls in half soliloquy
sick heart and eastern sky
death’s fair strokes to guide,
dull pain brings him alone
heart a charnel cave,
crushing cigarette in thumb twists
till nearly ground to nothing,
love once lit and believe
as it was then
snow now hated
broke about the house
fathers silver face tribute to strength
went from kitchen warmth to boathouse,
breast no longer sleeps
coronal shine through window,
gunshot one pause enough to vow
gunshot two now white marble will tell,
should i be penitent kneeling praying
wrestling with tears,
i saw his return crimson and gold
shotgun on shoulder,
mother has gone away he said
my laughing brow could not find a way,
i wished for nothing but hair golden
to weave light to the day
police came lights kaleidoscopic
around ceiling and stars
with my uncle i grew,
now back in this timbered and brick town
to see what remains
house now fallen into decay
this heart of man
was now my peace,
lay flowers in silence
remember my prayer
shadows have now moved underground
and will stay
the tablets where there
as societies protection,
as the waves in my mind
know no shore
to wash upon,
crushed i did not take them
scattered as broadcast seeds
that would never yield
a crop,
impulses long dark strangers
that occupied all living
space of my mind
tainted by coppery blood
that was not my own,
cities had corners
without lights
where i would stand
unnoticed and silent,
i watch you
i know you,
and i will wait
for you are my focus now,
before i move to the
next
knot natures fingerprint
indelible in oak,
next to hinge
human bracket
attaching forms together
so they opened,
upon the garden,
a garden that was
a need to her,
amongst earth and plants
removing weeds,
she worked
perspiration moistened brow
alone now and happy,
a wry smile edged the corner
of her mouth,
remembering that other garden
of medicinal herbs,
that she grew as a hobby,
her husband could not understand,
till he encountered
the lethal deadly nightshade,
regrets where few.
http://www.threewordwednesday.com/ hinge , lethal , need
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