Monday, 2 February 2009


OK. I promised schnoogen to post some poetry. Anyway, I've never considered myself a poet and I don't really have any ambitions at all. I just had to write some stuff for my acting class with a visiting English professor & he recommended for everybody to choose two pieces - one by poet (I choose Sylvia Plath, whom I love! I love the film as well - may be the one who loves it!) and one, that's something personal. I wrote two. I didn't like them actually, so I wrote another one for the second session. Its subject was supposed to be "Emptiness", so I think I at least accomplished that. Anyway, reading Sylvia Plath has too much an influence. And I still think that it works better as a visual thing rather than poetry. I'm no poet.

This day is dying in its red fire agony.
With smoking lips, with hungry eyes.
For more. No peace, no need at all.
The day is dying. The lips are cracked.
The eyes are yelling. In a bloody, wasted silhouette of time.
An empty room in a full-size house.
Pissed voices in awkward silenced arms.

1 comment:

  1. Hey mate,
    I can't believe I didn't reply to this sooner - I'm really sorry.
    It's a beautiful piece.
    I think you're being modest about it.
    Anyway, hope you're doing well and you receive this message kindly.