I be like a moth;
absent of attraction
in a world of avid beauty,
much unlike the butterfly
who skims across the air by day.
When the night arises
I hide beneath a waterfall of shadows
in the hopes that you won’t see me,
and to save every other person
from having to look upon my form.
But maybe I be beautiful
in a way that has been judged unfairly;
matter this does not no more,
for never shall a pair of eyes
fall happily upon myself again.
A time there perhaps was once
when a photo could have been snapped
of me and hung upon your wall of hatred
as to remember me by,
but how could one ever forget
a creature, unloved and hideous?
The answer to this question
is irrelevant as I write these final words.
Farewell sun; hello moon,
I am your servant now,
and as long as judgmental eyes
avoid my features forevermore,
I will remain humbly yours indefinite.
I am standing on the eve of something glorious,
your radiant glow upon me feels so fabulous.
You are several thousand million miles away,
you are beautiful no matter what they say.
Don’t you believe a word about the stars,
you are so much more beautiful by far;
you have shining hair and a silver face,
you are so absolutely irreplace-
able. I look up towards you and I wave hello,
bring down transport and abduct me in a UFO
so I may have a closer inspection
of your beauty, you have my permission,
and as I rise up through the Earth’s atmosphere,
my love will not wane nor disappear,
for in the depths of outer space, a million miles from nowhere,
I will be close enough to my God for Him to hear my prayer;
I wish to stay up here by my moon’s side forever,
and nothing alive will keep us from being together.
I will seal our relationship with a gentle kiss,
no other love affair could ever feel quite like this,
and soon everyone will no doubt talk about both you and me;
the two of us shall become a regular bedtime story,
and don’t you dare fret for I will be with you so very soon,
for never was there a romance, like me and my gorgeous moon.
NOTE: Sorry I haven’t been posting as much poetry lately. I just came up with this on the spot and thought it would be a good idea to submit this to prove that I am still alive. Thanks for reading!
Indefinite was the longevity of time that I had with the Melbourne Poets Union. From the moment I began to work alongside their organisation I knew that my time there would soon be at an end, and now, I can feel it like perspiration upon my skin.
After the event on Friday the 30th of November, the amount of duties that are left for me to achieve within the organisation is minimalistic at best, for all the work I had been doing up until then was leading up to the event in question; helping to market it; to get the word out to those who might wish to become involved; to co-ordinate with other like organisations and people to further strengthen the knowledge base; to develop flyers, posters and certificates, and many other organisational endeavours.
But this post was never meant to be a sad reminiscent piece on what has been and what has now ended. This is a reflection piece on what happened on the night in question.
The event was the International Poetry Competition which for the past three months I had been working upon with other staff members. The location was a seemingly unknowable site in Niagara Lane, right in the heart of Melbourne, Australia. Unlike other places, the location was one that could be seemingly overlooked due to its size, with passer’s by almost going about their day as if it was not there at all; not a part of their great city; for this rare gem blended in so well with the background as if to conceal its secrets.
The Gallery it is called.
Positioned in the basement of building 31 in the thin alley that is Niagara Lane, the small café/diner has a wide variety of delicious beverages, and although it is, as already mentioned, relatively small, size is not nearly everything as this place will prove to you, for it is the perfect little venue to cater for an event like the one we had going.
Often used for poets, writers and other like artistic personalities to perform their pieces to a small audience, the venue was perfect for our needs. I would like to thank the Gallery and its owners for allowing us access to such a sweet venue. Additionally, I would personally like to thank Randal Stephens, the MPU Vice President for finding such a beautiful little accommodation.
Apart from being the VP of MPU, Randal is additionally a poet in his own right, and his many fabulous pieces can be found at his blog here:
The event in question began at 7:30, on the dot almost. The man selected to preside over the event as judge, Dr. Homer Rieth, opened the event with a beautifully written and incredibly captivating speech that artistically, intelligently and fabulously described the relationship between people and poetry; why we write it, and why we love it so. This was, in but a sentence, the reason why we had all chosen to become a part of the Melbourne Poets Union, and why we were there to celebrate it that night.
Immediately after the speech, the thirteen individuals whose poetry had been awarded made their way up to the stage one by one and gladly read out their winning piece, before accepting the award that was presented to them. The few people who were unable to attend had others read their pieces out in their stead, and should be receiving their awards in the mail soon.
Congratulations to all those who won that night.
A break was issued immediately after, and by this time it was approximately 8:45 in the evening. It was now that the raffle was drawn, the two prizes been Santa’s Seduction Sack, which contained a number of interesting beverages and morsels that looked unbelievably delectable, and a small crate containing additional pieces of delicious loot. Although I bought nine tickets over the course of the night in regards to the raffle, I am rather ashamed to admit that I was unsuccessful. Due to how I had won a prize in the last raffle held by the MPU, I believed my luck would still favour me – an assumption gone wrong indeed.
After this, those who wished to perform pieces they believed deserved to be heard over the course of such an evening were happily listened to by the audience, before the President of the organisation, Wendy Fleming, and Secretary Di Cousens closed the event to thunderous applause.
It is to be considered ironic that setting up an event is usually easy, and putting everything away is a task that is long as it is tedious, but after everything which had happened, the hardship of putting everything away was well worth it when in contrast with the excitement of the night.
Thank you to all who participated in the event on Friday night, and thank you to all who submitted. Hope to see you all again next year!
Photo credits – Di Cousens and Nicholas McKay
SYNOPSIS: A stereotypical love poem? About the want, no, the need, to unlock the heart of the one somebody loves to ensure that both parties have mutual accessibility to the feelings within themselves.
On a rainy morning, I reminisce on how a soul as gentle as yours
could possibly unlock all that has imprisoned me throughout the many years,
from the metallic cages around my heart to the hidden trap doors
that I have been forced to share through the laughter, the hardship and the tears.
I hope the one I am looking for is you, for if you could give me your life
I would take you on one last romanticised, interstellar eternal flight.
On an epically bright wondrous day
I satisfy myself with your love.
There are constant obstacles blocking my way,
the final being the cage containing your heart.
If only I did hold your hearts true key
which could unlock my dreams and fantasies.
On a stereotypically cloudy afternoon
I happily hold you tightly in my loving arms.
I fear this feeling will be over soon
and that I will soon be severely harmed,
and with every beat in my pounding heart
I never want to ever be apart.
On a dark starry night
I cry those tears of pearls,
there is not a soul anywhere in sight
and I am cursed to be forever yours.
If only this dream could come true,
my only dream in life – is you.