[untitled]

Hello, hello.

a pretty digital flower

This is the newest in my wee verse slash poetry collection. 

Without a title, as yet, she is an angsty number full of wonderful description. I wanted to try something different, in my style of writing. I decided I was only allowed to edit two things when I was done, no refining as I went [even if things didn't always make sense as far as content and vocab went] 

What became of such restrictions, I think, is quite interesting. Enjoy, and don't read into things too much.. Find pleasure in the words as they are, don't contextualize, read in search of colour, shades and temperature. Find yourself immersed in a thousand words without implications and intended significance.

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hanging above what seems heaven
streams und creeks of absolut
but I don’t know God
intellect tells of fiction; sagacity conquers

this is a rope, not your hand
do not attempt a saviour’s position now
you’re far from late, so overdue you’re on time
in time for standstill, to smile and see the fallen

tunes play, only.. i see them now
i am beyond audible vocals
i envision chords, orchestral sensation
you begin conducting and i crave atonality

i require shades of turquoise
the ultimate in green on rivers
will flow without boundary or course
but on sentiment and nostalgia

if curves present, you turned away
and lost sight of me in peachy bliss
for now, rapture compells me
my rope is taught no more as i plunge 

into consummate elegance; peachy and turquoise

-----------

Thomas A. Bradley.

Jan 14th, 2010.

summerboy

Summer of twenty ten; wow, what a way to chill out after a massive year overseas. 

It was lovely to come home and  relax into country life, despite missing the city atmosphere and general acceptance of such an extrovert as myself. I found myself a little lost, again, returning home. Almost like crawling back into a shell; so cliché.

Here's a, somewhat, fictional taste of my summer days.

6th january 2010

hey you can be my summerboy

play toy, bracelet ‘round my wrist

feel me twist and writhe in bed at night

no fights in spite of unknown light

lay next to me, the morning coming, 

dawning soon, monsoon; it’s raining

tears of sweet bliss, kiss and lips

hands and feet, that swerve and curve

with minds of own,  golden throne

sit down, I’ll wait for royalty

to come to me, sickly sweet melody

you sing, from chest my chest

polystyrene, mean machine

cracked and floating away from me

on train, waved into eve 

"~makes bird bath/zoë sound~ one more little chest kiss.."