Category: Poems

Poetry Collection

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FE in Creative Writing, Poetry Assignment at Leicester University

I’m going to share this with you, it’s going to take a while to put together, but I want to display this carefully. One page at a time, apart from the essay, which I shall include last. This is so you can form your own opinion about my work before I explain the background to each piece and inspiration behind the Word Art.

I’m not neglecting my ‘evenlongernotsoshortshortstory’ my characters wouldn’t let me anyway! I just want to focus on a different form of creative writing for a short while, while I plot and plan various fantastic adventures in my mind.

 

Anne Harrison 28.06.17

 

 

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I’m at War with Myself

and i am not alone…

 

i see friends and strangers purge their deepest sorrow on line

i see a world where we strive to be perfect

but have no energy or motivation

i read through endless contradicting articles

and find inspiration for mere moments

 

i am told i am imperfect

i am told i am inferior – that i need to be something other then me

i am expected to carry this self loathing in my soul

and be grateful that ‘they’ point out my flaws

 

no one sees my talents my skills my passion

these are hidden with shame

hidden from sight

 

inferior – we always fight comparison

as we fight to be something we are not

 

pretenders on our own thrones

 

 

Anne Harrison 26.06.17

Midsummer Awakenings

 

night sky – barley lit by a thin crescent moon

ink black and alive with sound

a deep darkness hugged the ground under the thick canopy of full summer trees

mist lingered brushing the tips of tall rich grasses

 

grasses swayed – mist swirled

disturbed by the lone woman – clad in tattered layers

this was her time – night time – moon time – dark

the mist hung to her form as she appeared to float from the trees into the clearing

the boy laid near the centre – yet he was not there

 

his journey was in the inner realm

he would struggle

he would cry

he fought

she watched over his journey – a silent guardian

this was something he needed to face alone

 

a strangled sob escaped his form

sparks – dancing fae drew close

imps curious – drawn by the raw magic

they surrounded the boy – dancing on moon beams

the hag – noticing the father – ushered him away – sent him back to the shadows

 

somewhere a wolf howled – calling to his mate

as the thin moon circled low atop the tree line

night relinquished its hold upon the forest – a pink light grew in the sky

it was time for travellers to return from the inner realm

 

the boy stirred

the hag knelt by his side

offered him water – laced with herbs

he shook – he trembled – he cried

hung his head and wept – the painful truth laid naked

 

he killed the guardian did he not

my own father

the father of the guardian

as the sun rose early upon that midsummer morn

it lit the path before the boy

the guardian reborn

 

 

Anne Harrison 21.06.17

 

 

 

Broken Words

 

you can stare at the screen for as long as you like and still it remains blank…

 

the words are there

you know they are there

they have been running around your thoughts for days

you can picture the scene

hear the voices of your characters

they push into your dreams

they play in your daydreams

lingering on a long bus ride

 

but

 

sat before the screen

the words flee

the scene fades

words slip from your fingers

their voices silent

everything is distracting

focus scattered

 

sit

 

i have an hour

i had an hour

time dwindles

still i stare at the keys before me

qwerty mocking me

another lunchtime escaping creation

 

confused

 

even non fiction is fuddled

a change of direction

failed

im still sitting here

still sighing hard

 

watch

 

half my time is lost

and these words

are all i have

my fiend

 

im using the delete key more than i care too

words are written

then deleted

gone

 

i know the scene is there

i know what happens next

i know what i want to write

i know ill be on twitter instead

 

giphy

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Anne Harrison 09.06.17

 

 

 

 

 

 

Questioning my Confidence 

I am feeling lost a little unfocused. 

I see all that accumulates upon my ever growing to-do list 📃 and bury my head.  

I know exactly what I want to do in order to do what I want to do 

But I’m frozen from action 

I sit… Lost… 

I bury myself in chores 

I invent excuses 

I know I can do this,  so why can’t I start?  

I’m frustrated,  sat in class I’ve not studied. It’s always one day,  next day, next week,  month… Year… Never… 

How can I let myself down? How can I discard my dreams?  Lost in an endless circle of scrolling,  getting annoyed at myself for being frozen. 

The inability to start is clouded by a fog of insecurity.  

And I end up questioning my Confidence 
Anne Harrison 30.05.17

This Weeks Inspiration

All the wonderful thingies which inspire me to write and while writing… 

 

 

Pallid man in the tall hat whose pale flesh is crimson stained with the remains of your last meal. I want to play with you. In the dark, in the bone yard.:

The teeth of the vampire are a phallic symbol. I wonder how big his uummm, teeth are?:

Blood< why does it have to look so pretty when it's blood pouring into water? That's like against the rules:

 

 

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

by Frank O’Hara

 

 

“Red Right Hand”

Take a little walk to the edge of town
and go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms,
like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires,
in the humming wires
Hey man, you know
you’re never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge,
past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm comes
a tall handsome man
in a dusty black coat with
a red right handHe’ll wrap you in his arms,
tell you that you’ve been a good boy
He’ll rekindle all the dreams
it took you a lifetime to destroy
He’ll reach deep into the hole,
heal your shrinking soul,
but there won’t be a single thing
that you can do
He’s a god, he’s a man,
he’s a ghost, he’s a guru
They’re whispering his name
through this disappearing land
But hidden in his coat
is a red right hand

You don’t have no money?
He’ll get you some
You don’t have no car?
He’ll get you one
You don’t have no self-respect,
you feel like an insect
Well don’t you worry buddy,
’cause here he comes
Through the ghettos and the barrio
and the bowery and the slum
A shadow is cast wherever he stands
Stacks of green paper in his
red right hand

You’ll see him in your nightmares,
you’ll see him in your dreams
He’ll appear out of nowhere but
he ain’t what he seems
You’ll see him in your head,
on the TV screen
And hey buddy, I’m warning
you to turn it off
He’s a ghost, he’s a god,
he’s a man, he’s a guru
You’re one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
Designed and directed by
his red right hand

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

 

 

So, basically, more music, vampires (again) music lyrics, poetry and art…  What a delicious cocktail of inspiration… I’ve also kinda delighted in re-discovering Marina Abramovic again…

So, as something different from killing characters, I’m including a little of my work that I dedicated to her performance piece ‘rhythm 0’

I really should add vampires (maybe) I keep finding vampires inspiring me…

 

***

‘6 hours’ By A. Harrison

to remain passive for 6 hours

     at your command

manipulate control with their hands

random strangers members of public

which items will you use

will you be tender or abuse

       a gun a knife

tears stain your face

they explore with delight

naked flesh drawing a mess

whips and chains

         a soft caress

velvet touch of a crimson rose

steel thorns pierce your veins

cutting skin

sticky plasters

        baptise you from sin

a loaded gun

would you shoot me in the head

would you want me dead

when I stand will you run

      pleasure pain

my art your actions photos remain        

***

 

Anne Harrison 07.04.17