Wheatfields
she hitched her
shorts the cleft
appeared
and in that moment
all tides surged
today had become
brighter.
Ukrainian girl in wheat field Painting
Ukraine
Painting, Oil on Canvas
Size: 25 W x 35 H x 1.4 D cm
Wheatfields
Tag Archives: psychology
ACTION: How Britain’s most brutal comic laid the real ’70s bare
AGGRO! In the long, hot summer of 1976, ACTION comic’s blood-crazed sharks, spy thugs and football yobs warped young minds across Britain. Creator Pat Mills tells JOHN NAUGHTON about the comic The Sun called the Sevenpenny Nightmare.
In the recent trend for publishing books based around specific years, no-one has yet laid claim to 1976. Like visitors strolling past a boss-eyed mongrel at Battersea Dogs’ Home, prospective authors have failed to see the appeal of a year that began with 15 people murdered in Northern Ireland before the Christmas decorations came down and continued in grindingly grim fashion with front pages dominated by endless tales of industrial aggro or Cod and Cold War stand-offs. Civil war raged in Angola and bombs exploded throughout London. Is this the MPLA, is this the IRA? Yes, on both counts, Johnny.
Action’s most infamous cover, as seen in High-Rise.
Listen closely and you can hear the tectonic plates…
View original post 4,199 more words
Issa Lopez -Tigers are not Afraid of the Dark
Issa Lopez delivers a film , now streaming on Shudder that will in parts crawl inside or just be absorbed , a young cast who are accomplished , honest and natural Estrella played by Paola Lara makes you feel each strand of loss and abandon , and El Shine she meets who is so succinctly played by Juan Ramon Lopez each and every cast member gives something , so much so that there time on film is not wasted.
When it comes to production I don’t think you could ask for more, Juan Jose Saravia handles the cinematography in a way that like in a documentary you live it fully, underpinned by Vince Popes score that steers , aligns but but never overwhelm.
This truly is 10/10 film and I look forward to what Issa does next
Mystery Apex
Concussed by mornings
sharpened light
grasping cotton silence
each breath was tentative
alone
without the other
that shadow fragment
of a once upon a night
recalling synaptic responses
she knew
he had departed
but to who
or where
tears where of no consequence
why shed them
fuck memories
and fuck those
who fucked them
James Wan – Saw (short film )
Where Have I Not Been
Hi everyone , sorry if the fluidity of this blog has been intermittent , i have depression anxiety and stress a trypitch of confusion words halt before they have been written etc i will not go on too long as i know i am not the only one and some of you folks have struggled in a similar way.
Focus is a funny word as is motivation neither i can give definition too at the moment , but i wanted to be honest with you all and keep you in the loop , poetry will resume after this brief intermission as will other writing of mine, the blank page will be a friend again but be assured i love you all and will be posting things that catch my distracted mind, so i go and look at words mix them up and hopefully ….. well you know , so long as i do not choke as they go down
Take Care
and all the best
Chris
transparency of natural endeavor
her indentation a pressure point
to suppress dreams
that did not belong
in the vocabulary of her sleep,
sheets hid insecurities and ideals
naked form foetal curled,
an easy stereotype of an agitated mind,
face creased as much
as cotton pillow cover,
reclusive cave to that
twenty eight year identity
and hide it,
vodka bottle an empty on it’s side,
unable to rise
some piss had escaped
lemon floral bloom
washing microscopic secretions away
drowning them
a noah flood,
some clung
to droplet coated vaginal fur
where other bugs feasted
on what he had left behind
jellied semen being consumed
by eager ticks and bugs
not those that live on deer
roaming a frost bitten forest,
rolling cigarette
finger stubs stuffing tobacco
strands into place,
sat up thinking of the tensions
of the night,
looking at balled up blue panties
god she needed new ones
fabric had small holes
from fingers and eager pulling
to expose that vulnerability
not hers theirs,
sentimental erect rigs of flesh
to drill,
find rich seams of expendable fossil fuels
gasification of the soul
for we are carbon
and can be exhausted as quick,
the restoration of vision from thought
so relentless was her life
in reality could not cope with the debris
it remained as she continued,
bic lighter sputtered for a second
cigarette taste washed with cold dregs
of coffee as mug became ashtray,
inhaling
toilet flushed in other room
the drench of his fecal smell
filled the room before he left
a sour note
yet one she accepted,
she was a historical condition
and redemption would not come
with glowing analysis
finding place in biological and physical realms
and stepping away
from a climate of
frustration
long night after flesh (world poetry day)
fog
a thick rope about my neck
tethered me to harbor wall
goat to oceans sacrifice,
behind obscured
lights and windows of those
who do not feel this way,
having taken the bus
found myself here,
bagged empty bottle
at my feet,
if any cigarette’s remained
i would of lit one
tasted toasted tobacco
tongue on teeth
chin to chest,
dark swirl foam
nymphs invite embrace
no fear in my heart
not the the fear i had felt
before she touched
fingertips before stepping
out of the door
with him,
closed my eyes wished to fall
forward and accept that
deep fate,
yet i flew
leaving behind the wall
and those if they had looked
would of observed
me leaving
World Poetry Day 2014
obliged to function
[create a dream]
repetitive symbols and allegories
a habitual state of mind
within the complexity
of a certain strangeness,
it was a kiss/
significant to the external world
and not the four walled habitat
[interior body]
hearts and ideas created verses
spontaneous kiss
and delightful flesh
without absent things to deny,
music filled the simple sense
isolating the event
captured in his mind,
temptation a language of it’s own
an act of kiss/
[pure,impure]
moment cracked with resonance,
her eyes had claimed the
measurements of his passion,
without verbal matter to form
a leaf litter sheet
[fell upon her]
you discover in a kiss/
all named sciences describe
needs and imaginings ,
and in ache of after limbs,
aesthetic conditions
and those rules of attraction
will provide possibilities
for them
fictive beat
W/O/M/A/N
gone into abstraction
gitane smoke before the rain,
cello case velvet interior
soft and firm
W/O/M/A/N
breasts and silk once seen on canvas
could not concede to his kisses
or arch of bow
he had to wander
W/O/M/A/N
no more companion
than those strings he manipulated
with fingers callused,
she will not tremor
W/O/M/A/N
as absent as the background
waiting for a taxi,
rain effective conduit
to her misery,
he sheltered the cello
with umbrella
heading to a jazz club
W/O/M/A/N
is the beat
is the tender thrum,
a cello’s true heart
and poets calling,
absinthe and kisses
parted stocking thighs
he had found another
W/O/M/A/N
Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau
velvetmedia 