Purgatory Manifest

Parker is my pen and trusty side kick, together we will change the world.

With the weekend came a tide of illness and exhaustion. For nearly a week now, Parker and I have been stranded within the world of slumber. The exhaustion turning our limbs to lead and our heads to stone. Time herself swallowed the days and refused us the rest that should come with nightfall. At least when insomnia dances for the stars, the time that you are given can be utilized. With a body made of stone and a mind as cloudy and confused as a drunk at Christmas, I was left both physically paralysed and mentally delinquent.  I lay with nothing but a muddled cacophony and a sense of panic. Parker didn’t feel any better. In our half sleep state of despair and self concern, a worry crept into the forefront of my aching mind. Imagine if I couldn’t write!

Horrified at the prospect and in refusal to except the sorry state I was in, I took hold of Parker and made the rest written. In my more than aching muddle, my head swirling with incomprehensible pain and confusion I wrote of purgatory.

I wrote this for you:


Purgatory manifest


Here; birds hunt hard and bitten fruits fall.
Blooms entwined with horror, with serpents I crawl.
As pests quiver silently oozing poison from a plant,
Living within such hell, it is claimed that you can’t.
Where roots are strangled with branches of their own,
Leaves wrap cunningly, as the wind is blown.
Where creatures of the darkness move erratically with shame,
And seeds of flowering hatred are fuelled by the pain.
Where piercing screams are swallowed and hearts of love consumed, 
Hands collect the downfall and buds of rage are bloomed.
Where nothing and all is falling, life not what it seems,
 Death curdles sweetly and the sun without a beam.
Heartless creatures wander as venom stings the air,
Bitten and hate ridden, a life that seems unfair.
As serpents crawl beside me, I feel just the same,
Drowning in the downfall of poison in the rain.



By Spirit de la Mare aka Li’l Literati. London.
©Spirit de la Mare. London 2010.

Above: Bird 1.

 Photograph taken by Spirit de la Mare aka Li'L Literati.London 2009.

c.Spirit de la Mare. London 2010.

Just an echo of events past

Parker is my pen and trusty side kick, together we will change the world.

At first there was silence, my body as still as the air. However one by one the thoughts marched in, polluting the calm and robbing me of the quite. With a Fagin taught, pick-pocketing perfection they came and they went. The thoughts; they marched like soldiers on a mission. I thought of flower beds and how much damage a booted foot can do! The air began to feel thick, like an invisible syrup pouring into lungs that are already full! The lights became bright and the frustration became whole! There was a storm gaining considerable momentum outside. The rain hit my paper thin windows, sounding as though it were doing so within my own head. The wind mocked me for even believing that silence can co exist with creativity. My mind began to spin with a thousand words shortly followed by a flood of questions. The questions then multiplied like bacteria, the concepts bred and fed them still. I leapt out of bed in a somewhat panicked fluster, only to find Parker already waiting at my desk. I furiously scribbled and blotted and sketched in an attempt to ease the chaos, to which I had now become so accustomed. This ritual had now become medicinal, working as a sleeping aid. The process inducing sleep far more adequately than valeriana officinalis ever could.
 I got to thinking about time…

I wrote this for you:




Tick Tock


An ever ticking clock.
Orbits like cupped hands filled with abounding treasure.
Each orb; a note within a symphony of inspired dedication,
Rotating in harmonious splendour.
Surely more than a series of chance encounters?
More than a haphazard mistake, that birthed an accidental perfection.
Within such an epic rendition; a union of minds,
A marriage of thoughts, within this ever blazing furnace of time.
But how this solace becomes superfluous,
In comparison to such enormity.
Just an echo of events past,
Rebounding off the invisible mirrors of fate.
For as I drown in moments of my own,
Great oceans shift and alternate worlds align.
An ever ticking clock, or never ending time!


By Spirit de la Mare aka Li’l Literati. London 2008.
C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2008.

Above: A page showing Tick Tock in print.

Taken from a collection of poems called:

 'Poetic Justice, Politics-Pride & Purgatory.

 By Spirit de la Mare aka Li'L Literati. London 2008.

C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2008.

No rest for the wicked

Parker is my pen and trusty sidekick , together we will change the world!


The tide of rush hour traffic ensures silence is forever at bay. The noise comes to be in time with your heart beat. Or is it your heart that keeps in time with the city? The fury and the rush of the soldiers outside, pounding to the beat of  the streets, and so the beat of my drum. Heart in tune and brain in gear. Parker and I ventured into the swamps of sorry drunks that use the park benches as their beds. Every day I pass the same group of  fallen soldiers, repeating their actions day after day. For them the fact that another day has past seems irrelevant for next will be exactly the same. They never question why, or seem to wonder how it happened. They just do what they are told by this great city. The ghosts of who they once were now devoured by the war. The war that they just were not strong enough to win! The brightest flowers of all grow beside the benches they call home. It is as though Mother Nature herself places them there to commemorate the men they once were! Parker and I find it hard to watch. The poor souls devoured by their demons.

A key


There were 33 in the air that day,
7 more in the park.
There were 21 on the bus today,
And 20 more in the dark.


I met him twice before,
On a strip of gravel lit ground,
I knew others from the past,
And some from lost and found.


I’d seen most of the worst,
At the worst possible times.
I knew the best of the worst 
And the worst of the best crimes.


I heard them chatter often.
Boils burned in midday hate,
They ridiculed love for names sake,
For there comrades they sit and wait.


For never do they come alone
But as a troop or army would.
Burn the mind’s land like fire.
Like only the demons could.



By Spirit de la Mare aka Li’l Literati. London 2010
C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2010
(Please note the numbers are for use later!)

Above: A photograph by Spirit de la Mare aka Li'L Literati. London 2009

From a series: 'War in Allegro'.

C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2010.

Also of note:

 www.bringontheink.com

www.spiritdelamare.blogspot.com

It is never Monday that hurts.

Parker is my Friend and trusty sidekick, together we will change the world.

After a weekend of passionate soul searching, mischief making and inspiration seeking; Parker and I are grateful to be home. By home I mean a state of mind. On occasion this beautiful city of London, as with any place can swallow you whole. It is relatively easy to disappear and even forget who you are yourself.
Mondays normally drift by, blanketed in a misty fog of questioning as you are thrown back into the work force with such intense brutality. This may sound a little dramatic to some but Parker and I fully plunge into our own secret world at the weekends. With no obligation to conform to routine or timetables, we are free to wander the city as poets in motion.

The state of mind I have called home, only comes with the clarity of another urban Tuesday.  The city is back to being exhausted and the children are back to their friends. The warriors are back to fighting and the heroes are back to their myths. Parker and I are back to writing, back to drawing board…back home!

I wrote this for you:


The warrior philosopher


A warrior within a war of your own,
A philosopher but only when at home,
A hero within your own twisted myth,
An army lost within the thickest of mist.
                         
Once upon a moment,
Life; he rushes by,
Memories of senseless madness,
No bed for you or I.


A warrior within a war of your own,
A philosopher but only when at home,
A hero within your own twisted myth,
An army lost within the thickest of mist.


Once upon a day dream.
I caged my heart in blame.
No more you and me.
Just loss in place of fame.


Bankrupt within a war of your own,
A philosopher without at home,
A tragedy within your own twisted myth,
Alone and lost within the thickest of mist.

By Spirit de la Mare. aka Li'l Literati. London 2010.
C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2010.

Above: My Desk where I work every day.

Photograph by Spirit de la Mare aka Li'l Literati

C. Spirit de la Mare London 2010.

Also of note:

www.bringontheink.com

http://spiritdelamare.blogspot.com/

The Horseman of the apocalypse.

Parker is my pen and trusty side kick, together we will change the world.

Like the horseman of the apocalypse they charged down the fire escape with blatant disregard for my heavy head and paper thin windows. The family that live next door do not speak a word of English, so there is very little point in trying to communicate with them. I have waved hand gestures, raised eyebrows and conjured words in about as many different accents as you can imagine! Fact is I do not speak Polish, and they do not speak English. I was also unaware that children these days could choose whether to go to school or not. Parker and I became firm friends whilst at boarding school on the coast! If it weren’t for all those intense English classes the Li’l literati that you know and love may never have made it onto your computer screens today. ( I giggle a scholarly giggle)

Parker and I had a chaotic weekend seeking inspiration in the city. After three days of adventure and mischief my inspiration came in the form of a cigarette! I inhaled a large sooty gasp and came out with this:

My Marlboro red


Inhale a Marlboro, always red.
Inhale a thought and keep it within your head!
Inhale the rage,
Keep it all contained.
Take in the trouble and the demands,
Take in the chaos, the noise and charm.
Take in the hatred and waste the time.
On the floor drunk, pretending your fine.
Inhale a Marlboro, always red.
Inhale a thought and keep it within your head.
Inhale the story and the page,
Close the book and keep it contained.
Take in the lust and wishful men,
Take in the rage, ‘cause they’ll do it again.
Take in the poison, and the lies.
Be surprised by nothing, but show your surprise.
Inhale a Marlboro, always red.
Inhale a thought and keep it within your head.
Violated by a world,
That assaults and demeans.
Inhale that Marlboro,
Inhale your dreams.


Spirit de la Mare. London 2010.
C. Spirit de la Mare 2010.

Picture by Spirit de la Mare aka. Li'L Literati.

C.Spirit de la Mare. London 2010.

Also of note:

www.bringontheink.com

http://spiritdelamare.blogspot.com/