Colorful Times » Poetry

This Night Love Deeply

Vera Kufuor — Wed, 12 May 2010 09:19:33 +0000

In the crevice of a falling star yet to touch the ground, be seated. There is so much to see, so much to do but that façade should wash away as a subtraction is beginning to take place.

Enter into another reality….

SLIDE OPEN THE SWAROVSKI GLASS SHUTTER SO LIGHT YOU CAN BEND IT BUT SO STRONG ITS UNBREAKABLE.

It is like magical beauty burning my birth name and yours in the midst of Heaven when your hands start to search the whole of me. Together forever sprawls across the way where there is no starting point and no end. Suddenly, a heart for a label, so small it is like a birthmark lights up the nape of our necks.
If only for this, would it not be a sin if we never met, never conversated, never loved in a day, in a night, so strongly, and yes, so so deeply.

FREEZE THE STARLIT FRAME.

Trembling as though touched for the very first time, every time we interlock fragranced bodies. Lillies have bloomed here dropping their last colour for the hour. Only he can create this. With my head tilted back, repeats of physical and spiritual sensations, as Angel wings dust me over and over and over again as I wrap my mind around his love.

Sheets of candy become amateur fixes as time slips away.

FREEZE THE STARLIT FRAME.

My love can see into my heart and I can see into his heart at the height of intimacy. Streaming as though we are about to become the next Michaelangelo inspired centrepiece. We may never, no never look at anything out there again.

THE STARLIT FRAME HAS REFUSED TO CONTAIN ANY MORE FLICKS. THIS IS A FADE OUT. TAKE OUT THE STARS, MAKE THEM INTO A BED FOR TWO. SLIDE CLOSED THE SWAROVSKI GLASS SHUTTER SO LIGHT YOU CAN BEND IT BUT SO STRONG IT IS UNBREAKABLE. TUCK AWAY THE TUBE AND PLEASE VIEWERS IN LOVE, THIS NIGHT, LOVE MAJESTICALLY, LOVE DEEPLY.

As you allow your bed to quietly sift away into skies above with you both unmoved as though the bed remained in its place, your Garden of Eden should burn traces of your love as incense, a homage to the beautiful unknown that is yet to re-new your worlds.

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Vera Kufuor

With a background in Media, I have a passion for the arts. I also write poetry and curently have a short feature film in working progress. Other works in progress: Project 2011 Fragrance bottle designs and fashion collection to include a comic strip.

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Enigma

Shawn Adderson Forde — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 09:15:07 +0000

I am a carpenter
Sawing to shape
Planing to smoothness
Hammering into place
Nailing to secure
Pieces of wood
Placed strategically.

I am a potter
My wheel re-evolving
As I shape and caress
Mother Earth’s bounty
Into forms I desire
Or maybe vice-versa
I am moulded by the energies
Of hillside excavated harsh.

I am a painter
My canvas stretched taut
Flashing strokes hither and thither
Vision taking shape
Imagination beckoning reality
My brush birthing masterpiece
Repeatedly.

I am a dancer
Holding my form
Through flights of fancy
Across gilded stage
A thousand flashing fireflies illuminating
Propelled by unseen force
For almost an eternity,
I almost become an Angel.

I am a songbird
Singing sweetsongs
“Of melodies pure and true”
Transfigured and transformed
By voice and musical direction
Produced and packaged
For the masses.

Constructing realities not yet conceived
But like trace elements
Hinting at a bounty undiscovered.

I?
I am the Uni Verse!
But you call me a poet?

Shawn Adderson Forde

A prostrate prostitute is the Protagonist of this Piece

Shawn Adderson Forde — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 17:08:52 +0000

Lying there,
Barely conscious of the act -
Her mind turned to other things:
De two pickney dem,
(Smiles to self)
De big boy learning real well,
And de second one…He coming long too…
Too wuffless doh,
Have to stop him spending time pun dat corner.

Note to self: Go down to dat block and embarrass the
Shit outta him.

Hurried dismount!
Over?
Thank God!
Hand over of crumpled bills without eye-contact,
Clock ticks over to the bewitching hour.
Dun wid dat

Have to get home before Claryss kick up a fuss.
Last look over the tiny room…
Got everything?
Ok, then.

She heads for the door –

She heard it before she felt it:
The first blow;
The second one she neither heard nor felt.

Shawn Adderson Forde

Triumvirate: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Shawn Adderson Forde — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 11:35:18 +0000

I – The Good

Routes to self realisation
Sprout from roots of alienation,
The self finds form in isolation
Essentialist constructs are deprogrammed.
Pitter-patter…
The foetus of my self re-birthed.
Thanks Derek.

The spiritual midwife delivers
From a previously barren intellect,
Consciousness,
Bereft of comprehension
Of supremacy and resistance.

II – The Bad

Do we discuss the lingering stench
Of rotting guavas overlapping
The fetid odour of fallen breadfruit?
Is differentiation possible
Of the me in you and
The you in I?

Can a formula be established
To extract pi from the cosmos?
And thereafter reduce it to
A thick gravy-like consistency?
A collision of form and context
Ignites a glimmer of elucidation.

III – The Ugly

Internalize – assimilate – replicate
You sad parody of a sackman
Eat, drink, fuck.

The pleasures we take
Only borrowed from the next recipient.

I cannot touch, feel, taste
I banish re-images of psychosis
And portraits of un-being
To a land beyond imagination.

Shawn Adderson Forde

Consett Bay

Shawn Adderson Forde — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 16:05:00 +0000

I too
Wanted to Experience
That interminable agony

That they felt
So I sat
And sat
And pondered.

How does one measure?
Is it in years?
Seasons?
Congealed blood, salt-less tears
Or wrenched intestines
Forming an unbroken link across
The belly of the Atlantic?

I followed their gaze
And saw what they saw,
I hoped
Lived and breathed and laughed
As they.
Inhaled and Exhaled
And learnt;
I thought.
Listened and listened…

As sunlight and shadow chased their tails
Over crest and trough
At my fingertips
And over Hills and valleys
In the distance
Early one clear, sparkling morning
That God had truly made one of the gems
In his crown
I heard and saw and felt and smelled
All that creation had ever known.

It was then I knew
What they had
Intuitively perceived from boyhood.
The sun adjusted its grip
And pulled itself up over
Another horizon.
A lone migratory bird
Of unknown species
Deafened the silence in an operatic warm-up.
It came on the wind
Cool and clear
Sweet to my understanding

Of myself as well

I knew.

Smiled in my complicity:
Bowed head and aching back
Returned the present task
Of mending the dream-catcher’s aspirations.