Speaking of matters I will not give breath...

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

Parker and I were unable to sleep yet again. I wandered in and out of every room in the house. We rested in the library diving into books and through poetic verse. We ridiculed all the sleeping soldiers for missing out on the bliss that comes when the moon is this fat. We dabbled in Dickens and wandered through Shakespearean settings. Played with the imagination of Pullman and then finally we came to Blake. My Favourite of all the honoured masters. Parker and I spoke with Blake for many a moonlit moment. We discussed the future, the reality of emotion, the universe and our beliefs. We discussed love. He spoke of his wife Sophia and the drawings he made of her. We discussed how love can make a hero out of dust. Parker and I learned how important it is to take a chance.

I wrote this for you:


Note to a Lover

May forever this passion flare,
Even as Time himself, steels all but our last gasps of air.
‘tis for you and only you, this aching heart beats true.
May forever such an ache be whole,
Even if circumstance may take it’s toll.
May you know my love, ‘till your dying day.
Within your heart for eternity; this passion stay!


By Spirit de la Mare aka Li’l Literati. London 2009
C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2010.

Above: Photograph of William Blake's stone at Bunhill burial ground in London. He is actually buried under a tree not far from this marker. 

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

One in a series called 'The Sickness'.

C. Spirit de la Mare 2010.

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

The Missing

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

I was rudely awaken by those without morals or understanding. I was torn so furiously from the page of an epic dream and catapulted into reality with brute force. I was annoyed to say the least, for the dream could have become a story, and the story a legend. However I shall never know the ending, the story now lost into a spiritual plane of imaginings and wishful thoughts. The same place where all the ‘should have been’ moments hover, together with the ‘whish I had done’ actions. A place so riddled with regret and disappointment that even the most poignant of stories may wilt and die all together.  In this case the dream did die. As I was torn from the world of pillow and ponder the remnants were thrown into another place altogether. Forever forgotten, lost in the place I call the Missing!  Where the strongest of souls undergo a deep process of scarification, as sadness and loss are engraved into their skin. It is not right to miss someone or something this much.  The Missing is always prepared for a new arrival, may your loved ones never be a guest within this domain.

So that we never forget the Missing, I wrote this for you:

Billet-doux


Without you, there is but barren land,
An arid desert of coarse dry sand,
A lost lake, the bed cracks with the strain.
A bird without feathers dies within the rain.
You are my truth, that never becomes lies,
And without you here…
Everything dies.


By Spirit de la Mare aka Li'l Literati.
C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2009.

Page taken from a book by Spirit de la Mare, aka Li'l Literati.

The book:

'Poetic Justice'

Politics- Pride- Purgatory.

A selection of nursery rhymes for adults.

C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2009.

Also 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/

Velvet hills

I stayed up way past Parker's bed time last night delving into yet another incredible book. This time I was to explore the parallels between modern physics and Eastern mysticism. I can’t sleep at the best of times but this was ridiculous! I thought about waking Parker several times. I resisted until about half three in the morning, by which that point my head had reached near bursting. I took parkers hat off and we began to talk!

I relayed my new discoveries and philosophies of physics, using unusual diagrams and ink blotches to explain my findings. Parker stared at me in total confusion. The noise outside my house was incredible, London never seems to sleep! The tide of party goers woozily gadding home didn’t help my train of thought. In the distance a thousand speeding cars sounded like an ocean, even beautiful!

I half heartedly scribbled some words on my page…something about a missing step. At that point I must have fallen asleep at my desk.

I woke up abruptly to the sound of chaos. The East end of London stank of mischief  as usual. I was still clutching Parker in my hand, which was now adorned by a black inky glove. Feeling like a drunk waking up after a stag party; I fumbled my way through the hills of  velvet cushions to the bathroom. I stared at myself with an expression of utter distain. Parker had decorated half my face with thick black ink, I was not amused. After shouting words I cannot repeat here, I decided not to let this get me down. Besides I resembled a super hero. I even considered maintaining said disguise for the rest of the day.

After dithering about in some vain attempt to prepare for the day I finally had an idea that was worth perusing.  Ignoring all that I had jotted down in my half sleep state, I danced with Parker around  the page and this is what happened:


Coal 


There, embedded within the vastness,
The concept picks worm holes into my skull.
Like a snake of truth lost within its own faults,
I wander through heaven in search of another hell.
A creeping thought, a concern or a cell?
A daunting love, an insistent urge, 
A promise to a melody that no one heard.
A persistent hum, relentless in such aggravation.
The world seems to starve without creative notion.
And I too would die.
There is no controlling the narration.
To a tale repeatedly well served.
The story teller evolution, and the pillow time.
Growth and enlightenment bloom.
Gods within the most mortal pantomime. 
One day within the bustle, and again within the folly, 
A piece of coal enlightened; a diamond of all things holy!
Before Moment embedded his head in the pillow,
A leaf of the deepest green, twisted its logic and nourished a dream.
This time his growth grew not green but a velveteen red.
And in place of the leaf, a rose grew instead.

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

Above:The Rose (unfinished)

 Work in progress. I will post the finished article soon!

Illustration 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/