theglobalarts.com » Creative Writing

Silver to Blue

admin — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 15:32:09 +0000

Not my favourite colours but:
I love blue, like,
Cobalt, cerulean, royal, bright
The flame produced by arsenic oxide,
Turquoise, cyan, reflection of the sky.
God’s paint palette sketched across night-time
Spider veins across my skin reminiscent of life lines
Blue like indigo, blue like sapphire
Lucid translucent waters in Windward Isles;
The dominant flag colour of my Helen of the West,
The same icy, frosted eyes of those who oppressed- my ancestors
Blue like pastel powder and baby blue shades
The stripe in my aqua fresh, that ocean mist and spray
Like looking into the sun too long,
So painfully bright but simple
Blue like childhood crayola memories of crayons periwinkle
Blue like royal and poisonous frog spots and forget-me-not petals
Blue like spray painted metals for V12 engines that never settle,
Mixed with silver,
I love silver, like
Silver hair highlighted when melanocytes die,
A glittery silver snowflake, glinting blessed from the moonlight
Silver like ripples that kiss the waves of a lake at night
Silver like platinum, aluminium, metals blinging bright
Like when snow carpeted ground that early morning,
When we watched it from my Wood Green window enchanting us and falling,
Like glitter at Christmas, mascara, theme colours for I-Pods
Like Damien Hirst’s almost-exclusive ‘For the Love of God’
Blue and silver like colours of your cars 06’ Plate
In that 06’ shape,
Indirectly, blue and silver are also the colours I hate
From blue to silver, from silver to blue
My heart heightens, head turns when a blue-silver car’s in view
From blue to silver, from silver to blue
Blue and silver are the colours that remind me of you.

Author: La-Donya Henriquez

Fully-Functioning Woman

admin — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 15:23:27 +0000

I am your Mother, sister, niece, fiancé, wife, girlfriend, chick
Quickest of release, sometimes quickest of quick fix,
Your inferior, rival, subordinate in business
The Mrs, one you do or don’t miss or moral-less Mistress,
Your ‘fun-time’, your ‘sometime’,
Sometimes only your ‘one-time’
Secret tears silenced strong, yet
The one who’s kept you in- line,
The Venus vigilante you fail to pay respect
The responsibility your ego enforces to protect,
Your comfort zone, home from home when both our owns’ connect
Who encases all of your concerns yet accused of an overly emotional wreck,
The backseat to your pass-times, testosterone, fellow brothers
Defined as significant other,
Female who fulfils the function of Mother,
The who you condemn but lust for as a vision of vanity
You crave and love it but refer to private parts with pure profanity,
12 periods a year, subjected to pain blamed as menstrual
We’re yours and our own warriors; whether in pain or sentimental,
Expected to be submissive, voiceless, yet head of the house
Bounds to being emotion-less when angry, agitated or aroused,
You cheat, lie to, and disregard, yet take offense at assumption
Regardless of the short-comings- I’ll always be a woman to fully function.

Author: La-Donya Henriquez

London Town

admin — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 23:16:57 +0000

Cracks in the pavement,
In the gritty city where love hugs hate,
Where ‘by chance’ rushes by fate,
Primal poverty and finance ‘mate’,

Foreign naïve natives, look down on the influx
From six other continents
Where this cold weather’s too much,
Where flowers are crooked, lop sided from the concrete
Litter, dirt, dust on every street
Corners shared when criminals meet,
Politicians, pimps, prostitutes are beautifully ugly alike
One mask worn in daylight versus the other worn at night

Timetables are nocturnal, yet convenient to me
My small town couldn’t comprehend half the things that I see
One street is a fruitful fountain, opposites’ a desiccated well
No consistent weather, train times, faces or smells

A human dutchie pot of nations,
Twisted mother tongues in a terrine,
Shopping streets named after universities, roads after kings,
Palace of a part nazi ‘queen’, who benefits from these royal things,
Overlooks my forced foreign ancestors finance the revenue she brings

Some call it a vacation,
Some call it run down,
Some call it the money capital
I love- hate London town.

Author: La-Donya Henriquez

Soapy Water [A Hoe’s Woes]

admin — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 23:05:59 +0000

Soapy water, soapy water
Let your bubbles console me like I am your daughter
Silly girls always forget what mama taught her
I’ve put my heart, body, mind and soul through slaughter

As I hand-wash, and clean my dirty laundry,
Memorising the unmentionable events before me
The memories of each man that owned them haunt me,

New panties for each new man is a new story
Soapy water, how I wish it would cleanse
My dirty spirit tainted by numerous men
They come and go, they came and went
No afterthought, cos after their thoughts weren’t heaven-sent

We share a bed; share semen, share sleep,
A part of my soul and my underwear they keep,
Under my skin is worn out, invisibly cheap,
A different man, same sentiment, a different week

May the soapy water swallow slackness down the sink?
Scrubbing my silkies from powder blue to pretty pink,
Watched as I made men grow, after I watched them shrink
Helplessly watched them go- without a trace or blink

Wash the dirt away, wash it deep
Rub it deep like they did when they went into me
Felt it in my arteries, to my kidneys
Temporarily filled so deep, so how do I still feel empty?

Can this natural resource clean the soul that I have left?
Can it ignore and provide for my loneliness,
Can it replace the high I receive from each caress?
My heart, soul, body, conscience is under arrest

Dear bubbles and steam, so warm and soapy,
Grip every unclean molecule like they did when they groped me,
Panties may appear clean, but undercovers need a cure
Will I always be far from pure, owning panties of a whore?

Description: was based partially on a character from a favourite book (White Lines- Tracy Brown)who had been through prostitution. I also envisioned what it would be like to tell a story from a perspective that is different to mine and my morals. Soapy Water which is used to clean clothes and dirty things is symbolised as a way to hopefully cleanse her soul.

Author: La-Donya Henriquez

Feelings = Confusion

admin — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 22:35:08 +0000

We’re here, we’re friends
Almost were lovers, back then
The politics, will never end
We said bye before we began

Saving faces, ego’s strong,
History deep, his-story’s long
Our unintended story could compose a song
Then write an album; and go on and on
Pride is passion, yours is power
Defences got weak, by love- devoured
You frequent my thoughts, several times an hour
Feelings= Confusion, explains ours.

We’re here, we’re friends
Almost were lovers, way back when
The politics, will never end
We said bye before we began

Danced around the bush, feelings were hidden
Your fingers danced around my bush- forbidden
Emotions high, lust impending
Should have stopped pretending- more needs than befriending
You have her, I have them
You have issues, you were my problem
Drifted away, went off track
But you know, I know, we needed us back.

We’re here, we’re friends
Almost were lovers, back then
The politics, will never end
We said bye before we began

I like what it is now, pretty poker faces
‘Friends’ is what we call this situation which where placed in
We reminisce as we communicate,
But opening that past door will complicate,
Even further into our years of delusion
Our thoughts and feelings- we can’t elude them
Almost past lovers, present friends under an illusion
You + Me are: Feelings that equal Confusion.

Description: written about how feelings can complicate a situation, contrast with your thoughts and can happen without reason or sense- ending in confusion.

Author: La-Donya Henriquez

Echo

admin — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 18:28:43 +0000

From the land,
From the sea,
Girl, I hear your voice,
Full of pain,
Full of desire,
So intense,
So full of rage,

From the sky,
From the forest,
Girl, I hear your voice,
Full of joy,
Full of gratitude,
So soft,
So full of peace,

From your heart,
From your soul,
Girl, I hear your voice,
Saying clearly:
“I need you in my life.”

Author: Joseph Masanga

Cre8

admin — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 16:30:56 +0000

From nothing to something,

From spirit to matter,

This is how it goes,

When creation is on fire;

Every move is a step,

Every moment counts,

Inspiration taking control,

The mind is the only influence,

Either it accepts it,

Or it does not,

From an idea to an action,

From the invisible to the visible.

Author: Joseph Masanga

The Alibi

warmae — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 00:02:56 +0000

My mind was racing.
It was some years from now.
We were together again in our old flat.
You were admiring yourself adjusting your hat.
“Oh of course I was mad then,” you said with a forgiving smile,
“Something snapped in me and I was mad for a while.”

But this madness of yours disgusted me,
This alibi,
this gorgeous madness like a tinkling sleigh,
It carried you away
Snug in your fur, snug in your muff and cape.
You made your escape
Through the night, over the dry powdery snow.
I watched you go.

Truly the mad deserve our sympathy.
And you were driven mad you said by me
And then you drove away
The cushions and the furs piled high,
Snug with your madness alibi,
Injured and forgiven on your loaded sleigh.

James Fenton

Like a Beacon

admin — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:44:21 +0000

In London

every now and then

I get this craving

for my mother’s food

Symphony In Yellow

admin — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:13:08 +0000

An omnibus across the bridge

Crawls like a yellow butterfly,

And, here and there, a passer-by

Shows like a little restless midge.

Big barges full of yellow hay

Are moored against the shadowy wharf,

And, like a yellow silken scarf,

The thick fog hangs along the quay.

The yellow leaves begin to fade

And flutter from the Temple elms,

And at my feet the pale green Thames

Lies like a rod of rippled jade.

Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900)