Till you can’t walk
Till you are sore,
Yet still smiling
from the thrilling experience,
Till you are sweating pleasure
from every pore.
Genre: Relationship, Love
Beautiful things
by NuBlaccSoUl
Till you can’t walk
Till you are sore,
Yet still smiling
from the thrilling experience,
Till you are sweating pleasure
from every pore.
Till your breath murmurs
my first name with every inhale
Till my voice is the only sound
your ears want, need to hear.
i would
rest my head on your bosom
and listen
Enjoy the sweet tunes composed by
every noted word you harmonise
Tales of your life stories before they became entwined with mine
Narratives about your dreams
About who breaks your glassy heart
And what tickles your eye-ducts
into opening a flood of tears.
an inner world of wishes
she deserves beautiful things,
The Nubian Queen, Flower Child.
People should respond honestly, which in my book is that initial gut reaction to something heard, done, or witnessed. That is their true discernment speaking. We tend to push that little voice aside, and find ourselves saying, If only I would have listened to my instinct. That is our inner voice, discernment if you will; leading us away from erroneous decision…. Allow their gut, to speak their truth.
Watch ASSIGNATIONS OF THE HEART:
Get to know poet Fayton Hollington:
What is the theme of your poem?
Pensive love provoking the heart, while boggling the mind.
How would you like people to respond when they read or watch your poetry reading?
People should respond honestly, which in my book is that initial gut reaction to something heard, done, or witnessed. That is their true discernment speaking. We tend to push that little voice aside, and find ourselves saying, If only I would have listened to my instinct. That is our inner voice, discernment if you will; leading us away from erroneous decision…. Allow their gut, to speak their truth.
How long have you been writing poetry?
I’ve been writing poetry for twenty years. I have never actively sat down to write poetry. I was either inspired by something I witnessed, or heard. Most of my poetry comes to me in a dream.
Do you have a favorite poet?
Maya Angelou and Langston Huges, are the two who has most intrigued me. After a spoken word performance, an audience member, told me I was the male version of Mya Angelou. Quite the compliment.
What influenced you to submit to WILDsound and have your poetry performed by a professional actor?
Becoming a winning novelist of WILDsound writing competition, I was waiting for our paths to cross, and us being able to sync up at the right time. Being self-published, I put myself on deadlines, and stick to them. I had just completed the final tweak of my next release, when this came across my email. The timing was right.
Do you write other works? Scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?
My literary accomplishment includes all genres, self -taught in all. Award winning Actor / Novelist / Poet. Three completed novels, using rough draft screenplays as templates, two sitcom pilots, and a host of poetry; round out my literary accomplishments to date.
As a novelist, I challenge myself by writing within a box. What tighter box is there than the screenplay format. Yes, for me; the working template of a all my novels, begin with a solidified screenplay. This makes the novel a breeze to construct, and fun to watch, as the characters, locations, and subtextual nuances in a screenplay, come to literal life in the novel. This is my process, and I have never experienced writer’s block. Before the first words are placed on a page, the outline has to be thoroughly flushed out in my mind.
What is your passion in life?
My passion is to enlighten, unearth, and serve up reality, unfettered to society. As an artist; one on a mission, this is coming to fruition.
__________
Screenplay for my novel “Conception of A Dialysis Patient (the untold truths)” now completed in Los Angeles.
Pick up a copy. Like all books to movies, not everything can make it in. Let the reviews, and ratings speak for themselves. Also on ebook. Please see the publisher site below.
One early morning as I slept, I heard a distant sound,
And coming wake, I stepped outside, and gasped at wondrous sight.
For there below in sparkling sea, touched here and there with gold,
Swam a Labrador, and aft an fore, a herd of porpoises.
Genre: beauty and inspiration
Kindred Spirits
by Inis L. Fal
One early morning as I slept, I heard a distant sound,
And coming wake, I stepped outside, and gasped at wondrous sight.
For there below in sparkling sea, touched here and there with gold,
Swam a Labrador, and aft an fore, a herd of porpoises.
Take heed all ye on land and sea, in calm and deep blue bay,
A Labrador, gleeful and gay, the porpoises did chase,
As long ago his ancestors, had often done before,
In the salty seas, of histories, and olden times afore.
Many a sun has set and done, before the Labrador,
When Spanish galleons floated o’er, Atlanteans of lore,
When land and ocean first began, and man did sail the sea,
Of mystery, and history, and porpoises did play!
The starry night announced a magnificent day tomorrow. Everything around me spins like planets orbiting their stars. So much to learn and so little time to make it. The alignment of these five planets brings some strange energy to me. I feel one with the Universe. One with the cosmos, indivisible.
Genre: Life, Society
DIARY OF THE ÜBERMENSCH
by Juan Antonio García
DEC. 17th. 1957
The starry night announced a magnificent day tomorrow. Everything around me spins like planets orbiting their stars. So much to learn and so little time to make it. The alignment of these five planets brings some strange energy to me. I feel one with the Universe. One with the cosmos, indivisible.
JAN. 9th. 1958
Sometimes I think life imitates literature. All these books in my living room are but elements to transcend reality. A distorted reality. Nothing is real but in its essence. And this essence we cannot reach. Thus it is its own nature, that it doesn´t exist in our known dimensions.
I imagine multiple dimensions waiting to be discovered. Reality has its own limits.
JAN. 27th. 1958
My wife, Andrea, is more beautiful than ever today. Her smile illuminates the whole house. I feel like a king by her side. Her nervous looks when we make love. Her infinite kisses. Her eyes flooding desire.
I´m a prisoner of her world. I live for her. Without her, my life would be empty. Love spreads all around. And it is this love for Andrea that fulfills my days, my nights, my dawns…
Love spoke and made our blue earth, not to be the center of the universe, but its muse,
Love spoke and made our blue earth the third rock from the sun, Terra, solid, drifting, with vibrant, exploding life,
Genre: Life, Society, Love
Loving Our Blue Earth
By Betsy Brandt
Love spoke and made our blue earth, not to be the center of the universe, but its muse,
Love spoke and made our blue earth the third rock from the sun, Terra, solid, drifting, with vibrant, exploding life,
Love spoke and made the third rock spin and circle around the sun, with a tilt Terra spins, making seasons abound, arrays of colors bursting,
Love spoke and made Luna, dazzling sister to our blue earth, tugging, teasing our waters, one declared we’d often visit, just because,
Love spoke and made our sun, stunningly rise and fall peacefully for our blue earth, but no, Love gently spins and turns Terra to the East each day,
Love spoke and made our sun, Helios, our brightest Hero Star, one we could ever follow, never floating away, like Love itself,
Love spoke and made our Star give our blue earth, light, life, our sight, warmth- just right, boundless energy, gratefully received,
Love spoke and made our blue earth ride in the Galaxy of Milky Way, majestic spiral,
glowing band, heavenly teeming of kinship,
Love spoke and made Love to be written in the Sky, never alone, designed, evolving,
sustained harmony, loving our blue earth, gracefully conceived for Love.
They sat facing one another
Inside the shoddy bar
Swarthy figures
Like in American cartoons
Their visages waxen
Looks distant
Cadaverous blank
The figures of Jesus On The Cross
His pain lighted
By a low watt crimson bulb
Smiling Lord Ganesh
Granting boons
With burnt-out incense sticks
Before him
Presided over the scene
Each had a burden
Perhaps the dejection
Due to cruel rejection
Of the past to bury
Or a long-lost love
A broken wedlock
Death of a sweet-heart
A broken heart of some sort
They sat
Puffing at their fags
Or beedis
Or whatever they had
The glow at the tip
Of what they smoked
Said it all
The burn that rued their hearts
Aches of the like
The winds of the plains
Could hardly hope to soothe
Angst, the wisdom
Of the silent mounts around
Could ever undo
They sat puffing and drinking
In silence at the cacophonous bar
Shoddy, dilapidated
Infested with flies
Flying insects and mice
Dreaming they could once again
Sit with their kids
Under hurricane lamps
Late into the night
Helping them with their lessons
As the clouds rumbled
On distant mountain tops
As their wives garnished
Some favourite dish
In smoky kitchens unlit
Wiping burning eyes
With greying sari tips
Later to return
To their late night beds
To grant midnight warmth
Of sweat and love
That made the nights
More odoriferous
Than the incense burnt
Before indifferent Gods
They longed and longed
As every drink sank
Into their burning core
To return to the shores of love afar
As the world outside brimmed
Calling them drunkards
Refusing to grant
There are addictions of sorts
Religion, power and fads
Women, avarice, greed
That ruined humankind
More than the drinks
The entire humanity drank
With their glasses emptied
They would now decamp
Like moths fleeing a dying lamp
Into the night’s waiting arms
To the big bar under the shimmering stars
Where the cups are full again
With tears frothing in grief and pain
Where they would lie wide awake
After a fitful nap past midnight
On their unkempt beds like dried-up twigs
To roll and roll alone in pain
Sob and cry again in vain
And sing to far off receding plains
Where their solace hidden, remains
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