Ode To Brett

brett1brett2brett3brett4

Dark fringe askew over insolent eyes,
hooped earrings and outrageous fashion
that could only have been borne,

Of Neptune- kissed charm and
some damn fantastic amorous skill –

Man or woman,
boy or man?
Wildly Dionysian,
or coldly Apollonian?

Pianist fingers, long and slim,
fine examples of fluted lily stems;
what could be even more inappropriate,

Than that ridiculously magnificent
specimen of an arsepiece?

Phallus? Microphone? Whatever it is!

My helpless mind yelped,
cursing itself while hiding behind
the half-hinged door of my petrified self

as you kept hitting your buttocks
with that knowing smirk on your face –

Gothic lace, peeling jackets,
flouncy blouses and horrible moccasins,
always playing that damned game during
those sweaty, wanton gigs –

Oh, my – what should I reveal today,
my wolfish, covetous dah-lings?

An endless torrent of snowy skin?
Or a sliver of flesh beneath the tightest top

No, perhaps!
That deceptively timid nipple,
this solitary peach blossom nestling
in a brimming sea of milk,

That soon sheds its lack of shame,
along with these frankly terrible clothes…

Your face, your face…!
but it only seems the most natural place
to start a shameless investigation –

Wintry eyes that turned to
indolent savages in summer skies,
save for the ghastly chic of your eyebags
(which nobody could ever carry off that well),

Or the irresistable droop that adorned
both corners of your sad-puppy smile,
stars winking silently to casual observers –

Which I think
is much rather like that hidden dimple,
this invisible little beauty mark that chooses
to present itself at wholly unexpected moments…

But sweet Jesus –
That indelibly exquisite smile!
Whoever saw your usual expression
would have assumed that you were
a complete nefarious grouch

until the grin broke through that surly façade,
like some stray, unfurling miracle
which inevitably lit up your dour visage –

And behold…
the sunniest of all glorious springs!

A violent bursting of cherry blossoms,
granted by some sun’s benevolent kiss

Stretching skin that ran the deepest channels
over the brightest beam of that smile,
exposing some rather fine genetic makeup
with regal cheekbones as the final product,

Which thankfully did make up
for your most unfortunate nose –
not that it matters, of course

But this aesthetically-inclined
happiness of mine wasn’t to last,

Because – alas!

Like some salacious prankster,
you loved changing that romantic image
on some wild, fantastic whim

And we had to reclaim our fragmented hearts
from this corrupted altar of beauty –

Vases, odes, dahlias!

That were so cruelly rejected
by your impish sartorial farces

Frankly I feel like I should list them here,
but they are just too deeply distressing for me –

Though in our sinful hearts,
we’re still very glad to see you
happy, healthy and still delightfully lanky,

Even if your nose
isn’t exactly wonky-free…

(This resulted from a joke with a good friend, that somehow became real within the last couple of hours. Happy 49th birthday, Brett Anderson! Librans rule.)

Blog post – Blogger Recognition Award

This will probably turn out to be another rambling post again – I’m sorry! – but I’ve been nominated for this award by one of my favourite bloggers, Sailaja. This is my first award, so I’m still in awe that this blog is actually worthy of a mention. Wow.

Thank you, Sailaja! :-*

She runs a fantastic blog at Sangfroid in Furs which features thought-provoking pieces, all challenging readers with the fist of justice, or with the feather of wit, to think for themselves as all good writing should do, or attempt to do.

So…well, before I go ahead, here’s this shiny thingamajig:

bloggeraward.png

 

Wowsers. So here goes.

Rules for The Blogger Recognition Award:

  1. Write a post to show your award.
  2. Give a brief story of how your blog started.
  3. Give two pieces of advice to new bloggers.
  4. Thank whoever nominated you, and provide a link to their blog.
  5. Select 15 other blogs you want to give the award to.

So how did this blog get started?

Hilariously enough, it started as my first feeble attempt at creating a writing blog. I was already running a blog before this, but I wanted to give my frustrations a creative outlet…so here you go.

Through words, I feel with my mind’s fingers. I like certain words because they invoke powerful emotions. To me, words are living, breathing entities – they have highly distinct personalities and characters. You know how handwriting analysis supposedly reveals a person’s character? For me, reading someone’s poetry or story is exactly like that. A proper, no-nonsense man (“For perhaps, this was the cause”) to someone who’s highly excitable (an over-usage of !!!!), all these little unconscious clues, unravels intriguing tidbits about the person. When I speak, my mind trips itself up, but when I write I am free to conjure fantastic visions of Bacchus; the shaman’s cry, to lead a thousand different lives like the Trickster, to spy on my characters like a surveillance camera.

What do I write about? Beauty, wonder, yearning, the bittersweet emotion of fleeting moments, the darkness. Sometimes my snarkiness at society pokes out like a sore thumb. Things that make us human, things that people have overlooked, or passed over. When the proverbial spade has dug so deep for the truth, that it finally hits something solid – that is one of my writing goals. Love? One day, maybe.

Advice for new bloggers!

Ulp, I’m not really old either! But I’ve found these to be the most helpful.

  1. Good, genuine writing will prevail in the long run, it outlasts follows and page views.
  2. If you’re an aspiring writer, do try to set a schedule to write frequently. I know this 99% hard work and 1% inspiration quote is horribly cliched, but it’s very true.

Nominees!

The bloggers whose writing I love, and wish to see more of!
*pours streamers down*

Nominated bloggers, there is no obligation to accept this award – if you’re not keen on it, it’s okay!

  1. Fruslera
  2. The Rantings Of A Bookworm
  3. Cirque De La Nuit
  4. trailingsomething
  5. The Poetry Channel
  6. Antoinette Prescott
  7. Woven Eclipse
  8. Sonderwriter
  9. thesingersgirl
  10. Adrenaline Aneurysms
  11. Beth Tremaglio
  12. Unbolt
  13. Ayoka
  14. Allison Marie Conway
  15. namrataspeaks

Fynwigans Wreck

Words that
break down
gradually
into
meanings,

and morph into
“things”;

shape-shifting
slowly
into half-formed
entities;

sludgy
writhing
formless

little worms
squirming up
silken threads,
these last
lifelines
to the
former reminders
of
what they once were,

future promises
to what
their misshapen
conformations would
resemble –

and the glorious
moment arrived
as they

finally
shed
their princely,
serif script chrysalises –

petty forms
forced
on helpless
beings,

by arty
publishers.

One can see them

sleep

breath

slowly
stir…

Look!

See them open
their huge mouths,
exposing
neat serrated
teeth,
new-born
literary piranhas –

and hear the
pages shiver
in anticipation
as they emit a giant

ROAR!

You could practically
hear them scream
in frustration,
as they unfurled
their wings,
these
huge, gothic beauties –

“We are so much more
than these grotesque
shapes!”

As the reader tries to
examine
these
soaring
curiosities
with
a magnifying glass,

they scramble to hide
in the shadows;
expertly
evading insight –
these furtive,
winged ninjas
of the night

But the ever-patient
reader steadies the
butterfly net, and
catches them all

as they finally burst out
in an inky explosion,
leaving a trail of fairy dust
on the conscious mind –

rapidly growing
nimble fingers
cheeky grins
and the fastest feet
in the literary kingdom

that elbow
the surprised brain;
patiently prod the psyche –

A Japanese word?
An allegory to a Greek myth?
Or some cunningly sly
sexual euphemism?

But as soon as
curious eyes
travel to the
next sentence

they
craftily
vanish into
thin air,

taking the nearest
cum-ulo-nim-bus
at the nearest
fluffy stop-

where enormous
cat-buses also
slumber
in wait for
busy minds

that wander off on
their own accord.

(I can’t do wurd puns lyke Jaimes Jooyice. Welp.)

© Zelda Reville