Monday, August 31, 2009

Photography course


Well, furthering my creative outlets and starting a photography short-course in a few weeks (for 4 wks, then after that, another one for 5 wks). As an example, the images above are from holiday snaps then composed to create DVD covers.

Love etc
B

A hot tin roof

The air is light, and carries the sound of cicadas. The just-turned-out fluorescent light in the bathroom glows surreally. Outside, through the dust on the flyscreen, light is diffused indoors.

The heat of your body is disturbing as I lay down beside you. From behind, my hand moves to your chest, my palm aware of your beating heart. Over the next few minutes, our body temperatures equalise as the tin roof creaks and groans. Lying with my lips resting on your back, our breath falls in sync and I drift into your slumber.

We occasionally meet in sleep, an impression of you in the impulses of my mind and soul. Maybe that’s not you though. Maybe you are the oddly dressed schoolgirl, or the growling lion, or the colour blue that recurs within a scene of an abandoned house my soul explores. The house is my security. The abandonment is my giving up to you. The blue, a colour that’s with me constantly in my waking life – the clothes I wear, the sea, the sky.

A possum’s steps outside cause you to stir. ‘Roll over.’ And your hand clasps at my heart, fingertips burrowing into the hair of my chest. One last complaint from the roof as sleep envelopes you again, and the tiniest vocalisation escapes you, punctuated by the squeeze of your hand.

© 2009

Friday, August 07, 2009

Is there anybody there?

So, it's been a while.

I'm going to start posting stuff again, and will start with a poem from some time ago. Hope you like!

You are here
Orbited by life
The darkness envelops my ears.
A solution, seek it,
Hurried and low.
Burning and filling, fuelling my brain.
I kiss the arctic of your skin
To stand again on legs that won’t,
Squelching to my shins
With the aura of the world around.
Fit to throw furniture,
I leave instead
With salt and sorrow on my tongue.
Gliding over the edge
To the tang I can see,
For the work there is to do.


© 2009