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Gaby Lemin Nov 2015
Sitting
in high places.

Windowsills,
balconies,
Roof top terraces.
The Eiffel Tower,
branches.

Looking
down as if
I am God.
Or just a crow?

Feeling
and looking
like art. Poised
to be observed.
Hang me.

In a gallery.

Climbing
through mud and roots.
Breathless
just to be higher.

Or I'll lean
over a balcony
and try
not to
fall.
Mayra Sep 2015
You're my center piece at the gallery
All of the other pieces focus on a detail of you
Your eyes creates a window into your heart
The hand sculpture gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling just like when I first held your hand
The heart is a surrealistic painting with locks all over protecting it from intruders  
The background music is the sound of your voice
Everything goes back to the center, you
Terry Collett May 2015
Ingrid finds the crowds of people overwhelming the West End of London is busier than she thought it would be theyve just got off the bus at Trafalgar Square quite near from here the National Portrait Gallery he says as they walks through Trafalgar Square past by Nelsons Column its a 170 feet high he says looking up Ingrid looks up too I bet he can see for miles up there she says its been there since 1843 he says walking on howd you know? she asks Mr Finn told us in history the other month Benny says I never heard him say that Ingrid says following behind Benny you were probably asleep Benny says smiling no I wasnt she replies just dont like history I find it bores me they climb the steps into the National Portrait Gallery and spend an hour or so looking around at the various portraits afterwards they come out and Benny says what about a glass of milk and cake in Leicester Square? is it far? she asks no just around the corner he says so they walk around and into Leicester Square my old man brings me here sometimes Benny says usually Sundays and we have a look around then we have a drink some place and have a go on the machines in the pinball alleys  my dad doesnt take me anywhere Ingrid says taking in the bright neon lights and the crowds of people passing them by I came with Mum once when she did evening cleaning at one of the offices up here Ingrid says remembering my mum works up here too cleaning some evenings Benny says they go into a milk bar and sit down at a table a waitress comes over to them and asks them what they wanted to drink or eat Benny tells her and she walks away he looks at Ingrid sitting in the chair he noticed she winced when she sat down whats up? your old man been hitting you again? he asks her why how did you know? she says looking at him blushing slightly saw how you sat and winced he replies he was in a bad mood and said I was too noisy and now that my brother and sister have left home he finds it easier to pick on me and Mum too Ingrid says you should tell someone Benny says Ingrid shakes her head Mum says Ill be taken away and wont see her anymore and I dont want to go in a home away from her so I say nothing and you mustnt either she  says eyeing Benny anxiously whod believe me he says looking at her wishing he could save her from the beatings she gets but he knows no one would believe him the waitress beings their milks and two biscuits and goes off after putting them on the table I saw your mum had a back eye the other week and my mum said she told her she walked into a door some ****** door that must be Benny says she must walk into that door on a regular basis Ingrid begins to sip the milk through a straw the waitress had provided she says nothing but looks at the glass and the sound of other people talking and laughing Benny sips his milk also thinking of the last time hed seen Ingrids old man passed him on the stairs and her old man eyed him coldly but said nothing after he had gone downstairs Benny gave him the ******* gesture Ingrid is glad to be out of the flat and the Square but shes anxious about his return that night after work and what he will ask her and she finds it hard to lie to him and if she says shes been to art gallery and the West End hell whack her for going and for going with Benny and Mumll say nothing then hell thump her for letting me go off and Ill feel guilty for getting Mum into trouble you let a nine year old girl out into the West End with that Benny kid? thump thump Ingrid can see it all now as she sips her milk Benny sips his milk eyeing Ingrid opposite looking anxious her mind on something else her eyes through her glasses enlarged what are you thinking about? he asks she looks at him nothing she replies its impossible for the human brain not to  think about something unless its died of course and I assume your brain hasnt died he says smiling Daddy says Im brain-dead sometimes she says but I wasnt thinking of anything in particular she lies looking at Bennys hair and the quiff and his hazel eyes and that way he has of studying her you dont lie too good he says lying about what? she says trying not to look too guilty Im not lying what were you really thinking about then? he asks she looks away from him and sips more of the milk I bet youre worrying about your old man finding out about us going up West and you know you cant lie to save your life Benny says I wish I could lie but I just blush or my eyes give me away Daddy always looks at my eyes he says they give me away before my mouth does then Im for it and he knows it and Mum gets it also then whether she knows about me or not its a matter of creative truth telling Benny says she looks at him and she frowns whats that? she says well keep in mind something who have said or done and put it in place of something you have done or said which you know you shouldnt have done he says but we have been here she says how can I put anything in its place? we will Benny says where? she asks well go to the church on the way home and you can go in there on your own and pray or something look at the coloured glass windows and flowers and then tell your old man that if he asks where youve been and done they finish their drinks and biscuits and go back to Trafalgar Square and get a bus back to the Elephant and Castle and Benny and Ingrid go to the church at the top of Meadow Row right now you go in on your own and sit and pray and have good look at the things inside like the coloured glass windows and the altar and then if your old man asks you can tell him the truth Benny says Ingrid goes in the church and Benny waits outside and as he does so he spots Ingrids old man go by on the other side of Meadow Row but he doesnt see Benny he just walks down the Row his features grim and Benny thinks of tiny demons following him.
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1958.
Individuality
Crescens

As a riping
Moon cheeks
Blossom

At the Infinite
Cosmic Winds
Caressing

Your Particles

Sometimes
I see She winks
At me reminding
Myself of Others
Who percieve
The same
Sensations

You're not other than me
I have touched the
Astronaut's Space
Suit

My beloved
Neverland
Was intrigued and
Fascinated with
The Exhibition

And one
Sputnik
Was a Cute Cat

And The Real One
Was dangling
From The Ceiling

Surprisingly
Awesome at
Dimensions

As Children's
Antigravital
Balloons

Are
Destined to
Take off

Sooner or Later

These Beautiful
Reminders For

Artists's

First Lessons
in Projection
Ad Infinitum

A
Precise
Pretty
Focus

On
Flying Objects
Restored
On the Canvas
Of Our Conscience
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic Love
Theodore Bird Mar 2015
Closing time.
     Cold marble steps, brisk evening air.
Small cappuccinos,
     hot chocolate with cream you didn't ask for.
The Canadian Embassy
     casting glittering lights across the fountain waters.
Faint indigo sky,
     laughing about the Renaissance,
falling asleep on the Bakerloo.
Theodore Bird Feb 2015
I see you, now.
Anxious, thick-skinned man; and his
     jumped-up, bird-***** boy.
Wet feet sloshing on lazy floorboards,
     footprints of a ghost.
Devoted eyes, devoted hands,
     flecked with aureolin and azure.
Wild eyes, shaky hands,
     speckled with blood and dirt.
Why have you dragged him here to see me,
     yet again?
Endless Horizon Aug 2014
I came to an art show,
where a friend stood proudly beside his painting.
Many people liked it,
and it made him genuinely happy.
So I tried making a painting of my own,
and I hung it beside his.

Seeing all of the other artists’ paintings.
Beautiful palettes of color and hue.
I could see why flocks of people
were huddled up in front of it,
praising the artist for his tremendous work.

I made it my goal to improve my painting.
And so I did.
People liked it, huddled around it, praised it.
And I genuinely felt happy.

My other friends saw how lovely,
all the paintings were.
So they decided to make their own,
all of them, three.

I was astonished…proud…happy
to see people huddled around each of their paintings,
praising them for what they did.
And they felt genuinely happy.

All was good, until one day,
when one friend said,
“Hey, let’s make this fun and interesting, and play a game,
whoever gets the most praise at the end of the year,
wins.”

I didn’t want this to be…
I never wanted this to be just
another competition.
Just another stage,
to brag how great they are.

I hope,
that this will never come to that.
You are all artists in your own special way.
You don’t have to get all the praise,
to know you’re good.

Continue making those awesome paintings.
Never stop improving them.
Because one day, I know,
people will start huddling
around yours.
Sorry if it's long guys. This is something thats happening to me, and the thought would be lost if I cut some stanzas down. So sorry again :)
(you know who you are students, peace yo)
Kason Durham Jun 2014
The slits of glass give way to light,
Which cuts through the air and sun leeched curtains.
It falls weightless on warming skin,
Breathing life into stillness.

A gentle caress, a sultry glance;
Statuesque, they cast shadows on the wall.
Shadows that illuminate and contour,
Express and entrance.

Longing rapture in eyes, incandescent and iridescent;
Loveless yet sensuous silken skin that tells of life well lived.
Your broken heart rests on shoulders, colored and vivid;
A world is painted in timeless elegance.

What horrors has she seen? Said the looker so enthused.
What grandness has passed her eye? Says another just as true.
Oh the colors so earthen tell of pleasures and sorrows, yet whisper of frailty.
They speak in tongues that can never be trusted, only pondered.

The intricate oil work from a badger’s fair coat,
Show delicate and smooth,
All the features of her roistering frame;
Passions of the heart now told by passions of the brush.

The life is still, but forever infinite.
Amitav Radiance May 2014
If the world’s a stage, we are the poorly rehearsed actors, who are expected to, always play to the gallery.*- Amitav

— The End —