Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
tangshunzi Aug 2014
Ci sono matrimoni ti adoro e poi ci sono i matrimoni ti adoro .drop-dead cose bellissime che sono così assolutamente bella .siete quasi a corto di parole.Questo è uno di quei matrimoni.Una serata italiana mozzafiato con una splendida attrice sposarla focoso produttore musicale sposo .il tutto circondato da familiari .amici e momento dopo momento di "Miss Havisham incontra Florence and the Machine " pretty ( SI ) .E 'il tipo di giornata che sarà quasi certamente passerà alla storia SMP e si può vedere tutto catturato beauitfully da Matthew Moore nel pieno galleria .

Condividi questa splendida galleria ColorsSettingsHistoric VenueStylesRomanticVintage

Da Sposa.Come attrice e sceneggiatrice dal commercio in Hollywood era destinato fin dall'inizio che il nostro matrimonio sarebbe stato una produzione.Invece del matrimonio norma mio marito ed io stavamo cercando di creare il set di un film che sarebbe davvero trasportare i nostri ospiti in un altro mondo .

Oltre al fatto che siamo entrambi persone molto artistici in generale .Zach ed io sono piuttosto contrario.ehm.voglio dire gratuito .Zach è più di un ragazzo jeans e t -shirt .E sono più di una Jimmy Choo e vintage sequined vestito da cocktail tipo di ragazza .Così.quando è arrivato il momento di sposarsi .volevamo trovare un modo per fondere i nostri due gusti : lui .casual e me.fantasia .Lui .rilassata e me .drammatico .

Entrambi abbiamo subito concordato un matrimonio di destinazione perché sapevamo che volevamo che il matrimonio sia intimo.E abbiamo voluto l'evento per essere più di una vacanza collettiva di una sorta di omaggio al nostro coupledom .E non posso dirti quello che una decisione perfetta che fu.Abbiamo optato per l'Italia .un piccolo paese vicino a Lucca chiamato Borgo a Mozzano dove avevo trascorso del tempo in un college di canto lirico .( . Te l'avevo detto che ero toity hoity ) Borgo a Mozzano è in Garfagna - i monti selvaggi e selvagge della Toscana .

Sono ossessionato con la grandiosità sbiadita si possono trovare in Italia - e la villa che abbiamo scelto per il matrimonio (Villa Catureglio ) incarna proprio questo - edera a crescere senza di pietra antichi .ulivi dappertutto .quella luce splendida che sembraesistere solo in Italia .Per noi .non c'è niente di più bello di patina e abbiamo voluto fare che l'attenzione estetica del matrimonio .

A tal fine .i colori del matrimonio sono



tirati direttamente dalla decolorazione della pietra dal salmone al grigio al blu al verde .C'è un intero caleidoscopio di colori solo nella pietra .Volevamo la decorazione di nozze per avere un tatto organico ad essa come se fosse parte della villa .
Il tema per il matrimonio è stata Miss Havisham incontra Florence and the Machine .La descrizione mi piace dare è il matrimonio dovrebbe apparire come se fosse istituito un centinaio di anni fa e poi solo dimenticato .Nel corso del secolo gli elementi ha assunto l'edera e muschio ha cominciato a crescere nel l'arredamento .l'età sbiadito la tovaglia .E ora il matrimonio è quasi una sensazione spettrale ad esso .Per me non c'è niente di più romantico della storia Havisham di un matrimonio congelato nel tempo .E mi piace l'accostamento di bellezza e decadenza .

Abbiamo ovviamente avuto un po ' di una sfida tirare fuori questa visione dall'altra parte del mondo .Inoltre .abbiamo voluto utilizzare uno stile più eclettico decorazione di solito si può affittare da fornitori di nozze ( in particolare in Italia .dove l'estetica matrimonio sembra essere per lo piu vestiti da sposa ' permette di trasformare la villa in un club di Miami ! ' ) .Così abbiamo dovuto ottenere creativo che è dove abbiamo avuto così tanto divertimento .Io e mia mamma .insieme con i nostri wedding planner .pettinate attraverso diverse Thrifts negozi a Firenze di raccolta ( ad un prezzo abbastanza ragionevole) antiquariato favolosi che abbiamo usato per decorare il tutto .Abbiamo trovato splendidi vecchi specchi che abbiamo appeso nella limonaia .Siamo andati in un vecchio magazzino di tessuto a Prato e aveva le tende fatte per la cappella e altrove.Abbiamo anche trovato il tessuto lì per fare la nostra bella pizzo tovaglia di tela !La sua incredibile come se siete disposti a caccia .si possono trovare cose incredibili ad una certa sconto .Pettinatura attraverso depositi di risparmio italiane potrebbe non essere il paradiso per tutti .ma per me e mia mamma è stata veramente !

Zach .ovviamente .a condizione che la musica .che era un misto di corrente di musica indie con musica dal 1920 per la cena per riflettere il nostro desiderio che il matrimonio si sentono sia d'epoca e indie .Abbiamo finito per avere 55 dei nostri amici più cari e familiari .e non avrebbe potuto essere più perfetto .Abbiamo tutti trascorso alcuni giorni insieme prima del matrimonio .

Il matrimonio è iniziato nella cappella privata in loco : una splendida .piccola cappella di pietra abbiamo trasformato in una scatola gioiello etereo .Abbiamo comprato un po ' di velluto stupendo e tessuto di seta floreale da un magazzino a Prato .che abbiamo trasformato in tende romantiche per vestire le finestre .La cappella era piena di Kartell Louis Ghost in armonia con l'atmosfera un po ' spettrale del matrimonio .

Le damigelle d'onore camminato lungo la navata nella splendida marina .1930 ispirato abiti da David Meister come il nostro indie amico musicista rock ( mio cugino ) ci serenata con le versioni acustiche delle nostre canzoni preferite ( "C'è l'Amore " di Firenzee la macchina ." primo giorno della nostra vita " di Bright Eyes .ecc ) e 'stato così incredibilmente speciale per avere mio cugino cantare per noi .

** indossato un abito di Reem Acra ( Olivia ) che scorre in avorio con maniche argento cappuccio bordato .Mia mamma e mia sorella e ** preso a Kleinfeld in un trunk show .Il look era molto presto Grey Gardens glamour del 1930 .Pensate Poco Edie quando era giovane e bella e piena di promesse .O signorina Havisham in gioventù .

Una volta sposati.ci siamo spostati nel cortile della villa per cocktail e antipasti .Qui abbiamo avuto una splendida sorpresa in programma per i nostri ospiti .In lontananza .hanno iniziato a sentire una band che suona celebrativo della musica tradizionale italiana .La musica gradualmente si avvicinava sempre di più fino a quando attraverso l'ingresso alberato oliva villa apparve una marching band di 30 elementi ( concerto bandistico ) !Tradizionalmente .in matrimoni italiani .la banda del paese suona dopo la cerimonia e quindi abbiamo avuto la band Lucca locale non solo per noi !Sono un gruppo favoloso composto da tutti.da 8 anni a 80 anni di età che suonano musica tradizionale popolare italiana con una perfetta imperfezione .

Il look del momento dell'aperitivo era stupendo !Le bevande erano servite nella Limonaia (dove sono memorizzati i limoni durante l'inverno ) .La limonaia è onestamente da morire - è così Giardini di Miss Havisham / grigio con bellissime porte francesi che si aprono in questo spazio magico coperto di edera e altri vitigni appesi .Inoltre abbiamo decorato le pareti con un miscuglio di bellissime .specchi antichi d'oro che abbiamo comprato a diversi negozi di spedizione intorno a Firenze tutte in diverse dimensioni e forme .tra cui un gigantesco specchio antico ( 6 ​​metri di altezza ).che poggiava sul pavimento .Abbiamo chiesto il fiorista per portare ancora più edera da aggiungere alle pareti e tessere intorno gli specchi per farli sentire come se fossero lì da secoli .Sono sicuro che io sono l' unica sposa che ha chiesto il fiorista per rendere il luogo un aspetto più decrepito .ma onestamente .hanno fatto il più magnifico lavoro .Fiori Toscana ( il migliore !) Hanno fatto i fiori .

decorare l'interno della limonaia sono stati sedie antiche e divano acquistati al mercato dell'antiquariato di Lucca .Abbiamo finito per trasformare la limonaia in una grande e formale salotto che era stata troppo presa dagli elementi .La vestiti da sposa giustapposizione di mobili antichi con la limonaia rustico e il suo pavimento sporco di terra è esattamente il tipo di contraddizione abbiamo giocato con tutto il matrimonio tutto .

Dopo le bevande è venuto a cena.I nostri ospiti hanno camminato attraverso la villa - su un altro bel cortile alberato con alberi di ulivo decorati con centinaia di candele appese .Tra gli alberi .c'era un lungo tavolo coperto da una tela di pizzo splendida avevamo fatto in una tovaglia di tessuto che abbiamo comprato da un magazzino all'ingrosso a Prato .Il tavolo era decorato con candelabri e vasi antichi .pieni di arrangiamenti romantici e selvaggi fiori traboccanti sul tavolo .come l'edera salì i candelabri .Kartell sedie fantasma linea la tabella interrotto solo dalla sedia antico occasionale alle due estremità - e un divanetto d'epoca al centro del tavolo per la sposa e lo sposo .Veramente il tavolo era un capolavoro .E come gli ospiti mangiavano .abbiamo avuto 1920 riproduzione di musica che ha appena aggiunto all'atmosfera .

Invece di una società di catering .siamo stati fortunati a trovare ( grazie ai nostri wedding planner ).un famoso chef per cucinare il pasto per noi .E ' fondamentalmente la Paula Deen d'Italia e che ha fatto un lavoro impeccabile .L'abbiamo presentato con un po 'una sfida .perché volevamo un pasto completamente vegetariano .Ma lei tirò fuori splendidamente !

Dopo cena la torta è stata istituita nel grande salone della villa circondata da splendidi muschio e posto su una base antico con una splendida patina - abbiamo acquistato da un vicino cantiere di salvataggio .La torta è stato ispirato da Wedgewood con intricati avorio dettagli su ogni livello completo di cammei fatti a mano dal nostro artista torta maestro .Melanie .e sormontato da una corona di ispirazione vintage .E ' stata veramente mozzafiato.(E assaggiato incredibile come bene ! )

Dopo aver mangiato .abbiamo camminato lungo una passerella a lume di candela .giù la proprietà alla loggia ( una veranda coperta di sorta ) - in pietra antica .Abbiamo trasformato questa sala in sala sigari / grappa .Abbiamo voluto contrastare la pietra semplice e maschile con la decorazione femminile e morbido .Abbiamo drappeggiato le finestre aperte con ricco tessuto in velluto .E abbiamo acquistato un assortimento di mobili antichi da negozi di spedizione per vestire lo spazio come lampadari splendidi pendevano dal soffitto .

Poi sulla danza .Abbiamo convertito abiti da sposa on line il vecchio fienile in pietra in una pista da ballo / club - completo di photobooth !Qui abbiamo avuto la più divertente giustapponendo il moderno con l'antico .Una barra incandescente con avvolgono una delle colonne centrali della stalla .come il barista ci ha servito bevande.Lampadari di cristallo appesi alle pareti .Abbiamo decorato la stalla con decorazioni semplici e moderne - divani moderni bianche pulite - tutto arredamento bianco contro la pietra - come abbiamo ballato nella notte .Uno dei lighting designer premiere in Toscana illuminato lo spazio in blu e viola per aiutare a completare la trasformazione.

nostro matrimonio è stato davvero la notte più magica che mai.I nostri fotografi .Matteo e Katie hanno fatto un lavoro impeccabile come catturare la bellezza e l'atmosfera della manifestazione .Fotografia

: Matthew Moore Fotografia | Fiorista : Toscana Flowers | Abito da sposa: Reem Acra | Cake: Melanie Seccaini | Coordinamento evento: matrimoni Internazionale | Hair + Trucco : Katie Moore di Matthew Moore Fotografia | Luogo : Villa CatureglioMatthew Moore Fotografia .L'Arte Della Torta di Melanie Secciani .Toscana Fiori e matrimoni internazionali sono membri del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .Matthew Moore Fotografia VIEW PORTFOLIO L'Arte Della Torta di Melanie ... vedi portfolio Toscana Fiori vedi portfolio Matrimoni internazionale VIEW
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=211
http://188.138.88.219/imagesld/td//t35/productthumb/1/498535353535_393159.jpeg
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1
Romantico italiana sposa di destinazione da Matthew Moore Fotografia_abiti da sposa corti
katie Dec 2013
To be a Mrs Joe
or become a lady
Havisham?
I weep for him
I weep for him
I weep for him and me.
I lose tears salted with his stress
or his concealed thoughts plugging up
his brilliant mind
i weep
about him, about me
about us

there's no shame in being pure
we're all pure at once
there's no shame.
To him there is.
in the doubts of his voice and tongue
there is shame.

i love him.

i love him with everything i have
everything i see
everything i believe or know
i willingly give to him but
he loves me not.
ill slip him some purple petals
dipped in yellow stigmas or become
a ghost of a girlfriend.
a ghoul of a lover.

one insignificant link in a long shackled chain of
exs
forever bound in his vast memory and mind
as
"*****" "cow" "****" "ungrateful" "unworthy"

Am I Cleoparra?
Mrs Joe? Havisham?
Estella?

I have no twinkling green eyes
i have no slender waist or
vast, indefeatable wit
i have no enigmatic undeniable beauty
That would quake the heavens and make angels sing and string Apollo's lyre
or beam such light that would Diana's breast
i am insignificant
.unspecial.
he is special.

i believe in no such god
but he would be my proof
my tear of hope
a small ray of belief and defiance
tearing apart a black unbelieving universe

i am a passing pair of peepers
he'll see a million as insignificant as i

ill only know a love like this
once.
For him.

he should live forever
he will
if not this world in a wasteland

am i Estella?
Cleopatra? Mrs Joe?
Miss Havisham?
abandoned at the alter--
or just abandoned.
I have nothing to hold on to
except the tatters
of this deceased
laced satin, this crumpled
veil, covering hope and covering light.
one shoe, its matching partner had scuffs to
begin with--what a fraud.
white is supposed to be the color of new beginnings
and black is for funerals--
but I guess white is the new black,
I'm left to fend by myself, nothing
to celebrate--
the cake was too pretty to be eaten
anyway.

and don't you know it,
we're all in our wedding dresses,
looking abstractly at broken watches,
dust-filled corners,
waiting for the groom
that will never
come.
how hopeless
Donall Dempsey Dec 2015
'SO....THE DAYS HAVE WORN AWAY...HAVE THEY?"

Mrs. Havisham
ran from her dream

and into the arms
of her husband.

She was trembling
like a dying bird

held in the hand
tears falling on it.

"Dearest...dearest!"

Mr. Havisham tried to
cajoled her back to

some kind of
reality.

"Oh, Mr. Havisham sir..!"
she palpitated

"I drempt I was on fire
and my world

was all cobwebs and dust
cobwebs and dust!"

"And, that...I was never
married and that I was

but a character in a book
by that Mr. Dickens!"

"Shhhhh...shhhhhh!" her husband
shushed her

and she slept in his embrace
as real as real.

A ray of sunshine
entered their room

bowing before them

announcing in a loud morning voice

"Your world....
....awaits you!"
I like fictional characters as they can be even further fictionalised! One can then give them other various possible possibilities and invent other futures...other lives for them and see how they unfurl themselves into whoever you make them be on just a passing whim. I've just wrote another called ROMEO &...MARY.
Donall Dempsey Dec 2021
SO....THE DAYS HAVE WORN AWAY...HAVE THEY?"

Mrs. Havisham
ran from her dream

and into the arms
of her husband.

She was trembling
like a dying bird

held in the hand
tears falling on it.

"Dearest...dearest!"

Mr. Havisham tried to
cajoled her back to

some kind of
reality.

"Oh, Mr. Havisham sir..!"
she palpitated

"I drempt I was on fire
and my world

was all cobwebs and dust
cobwebs and dust!"

"And, that...I was never
married and that I was

but a character in a book
by that Mr. Dickens!"

"Shhhhh...shhhhhh!" her husband
shushed her

and she slept in his embrace
as real as real.

A ray of sunshine
entered their room

bowing before them

announcing in a loud morning voice

"Your world....
....awaits you!"
Violet Jan 2014
sadness and heartache
we can both relate
pain and blood
we both feel
the coldness
swallows us whole
broken mirrors
reflect a
brokenhearted soul
a person crying
for help night and day
there's no one
to release this
never ending pain
no escape
you feel trapped inside
as time stands still
nothing will
ever be the same
Donall Dempsey Dec 2018
'SO....THE DAYS HAVE WORN AWAY...HAVE THEY?"

Mrs. Havisham
ran from her dream

and into the arms
of her husband.

She was trembling
like a dying bird

held in the hand
tears falling on it.

"Dearest...dearest!"

Mr. Havisham tried to
cajoled her back to

some kind of
reality.

"Oh, Mr. Havisham sir..!"
she palpitated

"I drempt I was on fire
and my world

was all cobwebs and dust
cobwebs and dust!"

"And, that...I was never
married and that I was

but a character in a book
by that Mr. Dickens!"

"Shhhhh...shhhhhh!" her husband
shushed her

and she slept in his embrace
as real as real.

A ray of sunshine
entered their room

bowing before them

announcing in a loud morning voice

"Your world....
....awaits you!"
Sophie Herzing Dec 2014
Back in 2003 I found a piece of me
buried, like a shard of pottery, in the sandbox.
A Hot Wheel’s car, little rusted with one tire missing
that I used to shove in the little zippered flap
of my Powerpuff Girls backpack. Older, fifteen,
I carved another piece of me out and pasted it
to a vanilla letter, sliding the envelope through the slits
in his locker door, and I lost it. I’m not even sure he read it.
Nineteen, faded and little stolen, I threw another piece of me
into my mother’s grave. Plush petals, rosary beads, crystal
liquid drops infused with microscopic memories. I cut
myself in slivers and jammed uneven edges together
just to gusto the void, compact the space, walk solid.
And now, twenty-three, I press my face against a mirror
and slide my arms into a flannel, grandpa, hammy-down.
You took the last piece. You crawled into my guard, tore the lining
and spit your black blood on the blank memoirs I had hanging
next to the split.

Take me, now, if that’s how it’s gunna be. You wanna live
with the dust bunnies in my baggage? Feed off my insecurities,
my staggered breath, or my mercury dreams? I don’t want to be saved.
I’ve made my own maze with only one way out, so you’re trapped
in the Miss Havisham model I’ve made, rotten cake. Build yourself
a new girl from my discards, suckle the marrow from my bones,
and blow, like a glass ornament, a pretty replica of who I am.
Isn’t that what you wanted? Wasn’t that part of the chase?
The sweet idea that you could pull some perfect women out of the rubble?
I bet that’d be nice to show off, you *******. But here’s the catch,

I know I’m broken. You don’t need to remind me. So take
the smiles I’ve learned to draw on my lips for two cents,
and give up the **** fight I know you won’t win.
judy smith Feb 2016
Fashion rarely looks to the Brit awards for style inspiration but somehow fashion finds its way, in dribs and drabs, to its red carpet. These awards are the unwanted stepchild of the red carpet and generally, this means it’s a bric-a-brac of high-end and high street looks. For every Rihanna in couture you have a Little Mix in Asos.

Such is life, though, and there were legitimate trends, aside from the James Bay/Kylie double hatter. First, in the spirit of Angelina Jolie’s 2012 viral, there was a Right Leg – as flashed by model Lily Donaldson and singer Lana Del Rey. Nightwear came in a rather lavish Miss Havisham-esque form via Florence Welch (cream slip, eiderdown wrap, bed-hair) and Rihanna (a lilac slipdress covered with seashell patterns), and which unexpectedly preceded Alexander McQueen’s autumn/winter 2016 collection. Finally, there was a definite nod to The Wizard of Oz’s Emerald City via Jess Glynn’s sparkling green jacquard suit, Kylie’s backless heels and Jack Garratt’s toned down double-breasted suit.

There were the half-successes, too: Adele’s cascading liver-red dress and matching lipstick was grownup, but compared to her memorable 2013 Valentino hit at the Grammy’s, it felt par-cooked. Singer Charli XCX has been a frow regular at this year’s London fashion week, so she went predictably designer in pale green Vivienne Westwood. But she was let down with her slicked-back hair, a styling addendum that somehow overegged the overall effect. She also looked stiff and uneasy, probably because, at 23, she was too young to pull it off.

The menswear was far more experimental. To wit: Labrinth in a blue and pink orchid-print suit which, unaccessorised, had just enough humour to work (it looked like a box of Cadburys Roses). Mark Ronson did his usual trick of pepping a cleanly cut suit with the odd flourish. This time it was a monochrome dogstooth suit covered with a static print. Even JLS’s Marvin Humes, in a Yves Saint Laurent bomber jacket, epitomised the modern man. And what Carl Barât lacked in pizzazz he made up for by wearing a Hedi Slimane suit (although less said about the James Bay hat, the better).

The misses, of course, were plentiful. The mullet dress is the trend that refuses to die (see Cheryl Fernandez-Versini and half of Little Mix in various synthetic horrors). Alexa Chung rarely puts a brogue wrong, but here in a velvet bustier dress, was fairly forgettable (lesson: don’t step out of your style lane). Then, of course, there was Keith Lemon, who pillaged the misses of awards seasons gone (the Pharrell hat, the pseudo-Gucci blazer … everything really). What did you expect from Keith Lemon? The Brits then: a series of blind taste tests on the red carpet, none of which gets full marks.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses
Micah Morse Nov 2013
jet of bitumen,
a relaxed snaking coils
in the seeking hand.

tiny galaxies
b u    r s  t
and trinket words
shatter
all across the torched-glass plain----

frigid smouldering.
honest candescence--insulation,
clarity where the freshly birthed meet senex
and ashen widows dissipate
into thin air

I find Havisham in the glow.
Donall Dempsey Dec 2017
'SO....THE DAYS HAVE WORN AWAY...HAVE THEY?"

Mrs. Havisham
ran from her dream

and into the arms
of her husband.

She was trembling
like a dying bird

held in the hand
tears falling on it.

"Dearest...dearest!"

Mr. Havisham tried to
cajoled her back to

some kind of
reality.

"Oh, Mr. Havisham sir..!"
she palpitated

"I drempt I was on fire
and my world

was all cobwebs and dust
cobwebs and dust!"

"And, that...I was never
married and that I was

but a character in a book
by that Mr. Dickens!"

"Shhhhh...shhhhhh!" her husband
shushed her

and she slept in his embrace
as real as real.

A ray of sunshine
entered their room

bowing before them

announcing in a loud morning voice

"Your world....
....awaits you!"
a day spent in shades of gray
of Havisham wedding cakes
and once untattered lace
of some eighteen-thousand yesterdays
of both ****** and present hair
and a never-again tie
"not unless you bury me in one"
Fun fun times in the now and here and in no man's land between the lines where everything that's anything and no one who can be anyone or any one who can be everyone goes.

The weasel may be popped, but the shop's open the whole year through, fun fun things for us to do and who'd have thought that they only bought to keep up with the next door Jones.

Rags and bones and pony carts, Napoleons and Bonaparte's all come to them asylum men who in their white coats, stethoscopes at hand lead the madness of the marching and who'd have thought that they were mad, one and all of them asylum men.

Work they said will cure the blues, but I choose not to take advice, they look twice and shake their heads, Supermen in lockdown wards on lockdown beds with locked in minds find Lois with the golden hair, she's watching any someone over there and it happens to be me, what glee, one more Nero on the deck to fiddle things, in my neck of the woods, goods in, goods out and that's what madness is about, absolutely pointless drivel dribbled by the 14th Earl of anywhere she's just a girl, not allowed the umpire shouts, not PC get out of here and in no man's land the band lays down, Napoleon marches on one more town, Havisham sits in her wedding gown and dust gathers in the corridors.
It's Wednesday and a workday,  sanity is in short supply and insanity is a bit like being inAsda or inHarrods.. or so they say.
brooke Dec 2014
2014 started with
Brett's car breaking
down on I-25, 45 minutes
before new years, and me,
giving the bird to everyone
on the shoulder of the exit
ramp, mad that Joe ditched
us to smoke, (but we didn't
know you'd be so hurt)
(I almost kissed you)
(then told you)
and April was barely
a thought, February a
single sentence, a moment
of silence for the love I still
had for you drowned in 8oz
of milk and espresso
straight into October,
November, December
there's still no tree but
this house couldn't
feel any less empty
nobody notices but
I've tied my anchors
to the construct of
time and we're
weighed in at
6pm, stopped
the clock like
a Havisham
where do I
begin, where
do I begin?
(c) Brooke Otto
Tara India Feb 2015
Miss Havisham has nothing on my decay
I’ve lived a thousand years in this state
In stasis my hair tarnishes grey
As the eyes behind which I deteriorate
I’ve been trapped by my old ways
Habits die hard and the twists of fate
Have deserted me to go and play
With other mortals who don’t retaliate

In frosted silks and velvet capes
Spiderwebs frame my wrinkling face
And beside me all laid with lace
The remnants of my life wither away
With a forlorn smile I greet the day
The visits lessen as I fall ever more prey
To isolation and the soft sway
Of my mind as it disintegrates

You smile politely and start to say
You had heard I was once rendered great
And good but I am no saint
I am nobody to emulate
I am frozen as a winter’s day
Stiff and still and never to change
My dusty breath will suffocate
And I beg you to turn away

Leave me in this slumbering daze
A relic of another age
Long-passed and tinged with grey
A memory inarticulate
I tired of life one summer’s day
It grew bored of me too in its way
Left me immortal and unchanged
Its cruelty can never be replaced.
The idea of this came from Great Expectations, of course, but also from the persistent feeling I am frozen in time.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2016
NO EXPECTATIONS

tiers & tiers
tiers upon tiers
of tears

like a great wedding cake
of grief

a Miss Havisham for real

cobwebbed expectations
setting one's self on fire
in a blaze of loss

by Marylebone Station she
sat down & wept
a policeman enquiring if "...Miss is alright?"

she gathers her
self together in a compact mirror
"Yes, I'm...fine. . .fine?"

but inside her
self is a. Dickens
of a tale to tell
Julie Grenness Feb 2017
He left her in the lurch,
Standing at the door of the church,
Like a senior Miss Havisham,
She'd been ****** in by his spam,
She trailed off home,
Faced her life alone,
Unveiled her black wedding frock,
Thought, "'I'm  really better off,
I'll manage great, mates,
With him I shall not participate,
As in Chazza Dickens' literary creations,
A tale of dud expectations,
With senior passion--no relations!
Feedback welcome.
Molly Hughes Oct 2013
Sometimes,
usually when I've had a drink,
(or two),
I try to remember what it feels like to be kissed,
the hot, wet, desperate pressing of lips.
This is what it must be like for somebody with Alzheimer's disease.
Pretty much impossible.
I creak open my own crumbling, forgotten lips, lined with cobwebs, filled with bats.
I think of Miss Havisham.
"Can I get another?"
Donall Dempsey May 2016
THE NOWHERE & EVERYWHERE OF IT ALL

Without a second glance
I step into the book.

I have Great Expectations.

Just pop in to be Pip
yet again.

I hide in the full stop
at a page's end.

Nip in between
the space between

word & word.

My mother's voice
seeks me out.

I leave just as Miss Havisham  goes
wooooosh!!!!

Or I step surreptitiously
into a Jack B. Yeats

becoming pigment
becoming paint.

Here being blue.
Now being red.

Thinking thick impasto thoughts.

Shape shifting from horse
to rider to sea.

There is nothing
I can not be.

"Dónall...Dónall...where...have you been!"

"Nowhere..!" I say

( and sotto sotto voce )

everywhere....everywhere.
Gabriel Aug 2020
Havisham’s hands are ******
with the half-squeezed heart
blackened by falsity,
like thick red paint,
her crackling fingertips
keep moulding something invincible;
the permanence of lying.

Altars still stand
after the apocalypse,
registry books torn
to become cigarette papers;
the ash of everything
and a child,
painting the phoenix
onto the acid soil,
until the core coils into chainmail.

The echoes of the innocent
make pews into death row,
where the absence of a void
ruminates, glitching, triumphant;
wedding dresses at funerals
brush away the humid dew
of unmown grass,
as the softness of forgetfulness
crowns each grave eternal.

Havisham’s hands are made of soot,
the woman as the pyre,
long-since engulfed
in bitterness;
one lie creating a fragile universe.
Greek chorus repeating
minor rites
until the dead phoenix
dies again,
and only the smoke
of lie-infested letters
rises.
Something I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in first year of university.
Ellie Geneve Mar 2016
Charles Dickens wrote in Great Expectations,
of a Miss Havisham, who stopped her clocks
at the exact time she was left at the altar.

We were once waiting for the elevator;
once it reached the ground floor,
it indicated that it is at the 3rd floor
Wittily, you said, "maybe he lost his love at the 3rd floor"

I don't think you understand how poetic you are.
Donall Dempsey May 2017
THE NOWHERE & EVERYWHERE OF IT ALL

Without a second glance
I step into the book.

I have Great Expectations.

Just pop in to be Pip
yet again.

I hide in the full stop
at a page's end.

Nip in between
the space between

word & word.

My mother's voice
seeks me out.

I leave just as Miss Havisham  goes
wooooosh!!!!

Or I step surreptitiously
into a Jack B. Yeats

becoming pigment
becoming paint.

Here being blue.
Now being red.

Thinking thick impasto thoughts.

Shape shifting from horse
to rider to sea.

There is nothing
I can not be.

"Dónall...Dónall...where...have you been!"

"Nowhere..!" I say

( and sotto sotto voce )

"...everywhere....everywhere..."
THE NOWHERE & EVERYWHERE OF IT ALL

Without a second glance
I step into the book.

I have Great Expectations.

Just pop in to be Pip
yet again.

I hide in the full stop
at a page's end.

Nip in between
the space between

word & word.

My mother's voice
seeks me out.

I leave just as Miss Havisham  goes
wooooosh!!!!

Or I step surreptitiously
into a Jack B. Yeats

becoming pigment
becoming paint.

Here being blue.
Now being red.

Thinking thick impasto thoughts.

Shape shifting from horse
to rider to sea.

There is nothing
I can not be.

"Dónall...Dónall...where...have you been!"

"Nowhere..!" I say

( and sotto sotto voce )

"...everywhere....everywhere..."
The cobwebs hide
from
Miss Havisham,
she dines alone
tonight.
A TALE OF TWO EXPECTATIONS

Miss Havisham
clearing the cobwebs
escapes the book

"Wot de. . " says Dickens
"I don't like the way I am written!"
Miss H has left the page

"You can stuff yer great expectations
up yer. . .! she screams at him
... "Now...now . . .language...language!"

Miss Havisham is having a spring clean
of her mind
turning over a new leaf

"I'm flesh and blood!" she claims
"Not just this thing
made of words!"

Dickens pins her
to the page
with words

"You'll read as you
are written!" he demands
"By God madam...who's the author here!"

Miss H peering out
from behind the bars
of her print

Miss H
walking up and down
the cage of her page

Miss H
haunts the words
she appears in

Miss H
demanding a different
ending

Miss H
setting herself alight
the smell of burning words

Dickens falls asleep
she elopes with Heathcliff
from that other book

Heathcliff and Miss H
break up it was
never gonna work

Heathcliff still
carrying a torch
for "Cathy. . !"

whilst Dickens snores
she has it off with
Pip

Dickens awakes
writes the final word
she's trapped within THE END
Donall Dempsey Nov 2018
BLEAK HOUSE

bride and groom figures
that smiled from their wedding cake
kept still in attic
groom’s lost his head...bride broken
mirroring their own marriage  

NO EXPECTATIONS

a tailor’s dummy
wears now her old wedding dress
like Miss Havisham
cobwebbed in attic...candle
throwing light on past...love lost.

— The End —