"I especailly love 'in the spaces of death' - extraordinarily evocative!"
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A blog post by Victoria Curtin was featuredwhen Keats dies
A ribbon slips,unravels hair-a satin cry,and all in blacka river spillsawash his face:the morning star;with silver bladesshe spurns a fieldof pretty hair-that lustred grief.So crippled howthe pieces layin the spaces of death.See More
Dean English commented on Victoria Curtin's blog post In my bedroom"hi victoria, I like the lines from 'elongated...to 'hours' and I hope you don't mind, but, with the arrogance of a personal edit to your poem, I then read ' I watch them spread the day to your lovely door. I also skip…"
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In my bedroom
In the rose
of vacant morning
I miss you and yawn
over time over there
to ever, my thoughts;
elongated felines,
tracing the flues
of your sunny roof
I am placed
at breathing hours,
I watch them in thought
over glass in my face,
no less the view;
a long, still life,
spreading the day
to your lovely door
of vacant morning
I miss you and yawn
over time over there
to ever, my thoughts;
elongated felines,
tracing the flues
of your sunny roof
I am placed
at breathing hours,
I watch them in thought
over glass in my face,
no less the view;
a long, still life,
spreading the day
to your lovely door
Posted on April 16, 2012 at 14:21 — 1 Comment
random lines in the sky
I
There is more to sky
than a selfish moon
who makes her marrow white
in the cold of the black
in the deep of the deep
insoluble night
II
I lay with Mars
and stirring there
him again
his nightness
a reverse cave
shaking me down
in the diamonds
III
It came to its close
in the bleary sun
of its morning bed
teased the back…
Posted on April 10, 2012 at 13:17 — 3 Comments
In the shade with Sylvia (Plath)
Would not take long
to obsess of her, Sylvia
and the dry sickness
of careless leaves
trampled, impaired
or made shadows
to the wet stone.
Flat are shoes
that find the path
a new gloom, riddled
with ephemeral flowers
and conquered by giants
of idle trees.
And shades that quiver
hollow the over-done agonies,
harass the chills,
or lead a poet
to easy, naked words
impinging
the right mind
with their restraint:
the mute of eyes,
haunt of birds,
or quiet pain.
A voice can ripen…
Continue to obsess of her, Sylvia
and the dry sickness
of careless leaves
trampled, impaired
or made shadows
to the wet stone.
Flat are shoes
that find the path
a new gloom, riddled
with ephemeral flowers
and conquered by giants
of idle trees.
And shades that quiver
hollow the over-done agonies,
harass the chills,
or lead a poet
to easy, naked words
impinging
the right mind
with their restraint:
the mute of eyes,
haunt of birds,
or quiet pain.
A voice can ripen…
Posted on February 27, 2012 at 21:00
when Keats dies
A ribbon slips,
unravels hair
-a satin cry,
and all in black
a river spills
awash his face:
the morning star;
with silver blades
she spurns a field
of pretty hair
-that lustred grief.
So crippled how
the pieces lay
in the spaces of death.
Posted on February 25, 2012 at 20:00 — 5 Comments
baby poem
it falls
like cotton,
a feathery skin;
a baby sky
petting limbs,
alive in the grass
Posted on February 13, 2012 at 16:51 — 2 Comments
A Kiss in February
Her lips drained
among the dryly kissed by grey,
until that February spray
felt them pink again;
splashed against the wall
of earth in perspiration
There was him
in all relief from hot decay,
and that which cooked the summer day
could exhale again;
an engine in a thirst
that dragged itself to death
His lips played
inside the patterns of the rain,
aside that imbecile train
oppressive all the day;
then quite above the steam
she closed her eyes to kiss
among the dryly kissed by grey,
until that February spray
felt them pink again;
splashed against the wall
of earth in perspiration
There was him
in all relief from hot decay,
and that which cooked the summer day
could exhale again;
an engine in a thirst
that dragged itself to death
His lips played
inside the patterns of the rain,
aside that imbecile train
oppressive all the day;
then quite above the steam
she closed her eyes to kiss
Posted on February 11, 2012 at 15:27 — 5 Comments
The Memory of Florentino's Violin
The black and white day
has older blocks
that speak in the park,
a wall that leaks;
she lays there cold,
to pay for a snatch
of the violin wheel
he’d moved on the street;
untempered he’d snowed
when other sound aged
and all had slept;
but she, in…
Posted on February 10, 2012 at 17:56 — 2 Comments
For Evan
four small hands
it took;
they brought him
for love
holding.
placing.
bracing.
Evan darling
silver one,
a button,
I dream your eyes
your Mummy’s eyes.
ah little boy
our grief!
your silent hours
across the breeze
of summer
leaking
went your utter soul
on the night,
its wings
and stars that blew
for love.
he said
he need not give
the blessing,
for the child
was already so
Goodbye, my little cousin. "Evan"…
Posted on February 7, 2012 at 20:00 — 3 Comments
Comment Wall (21 comments)
- At 19:05 on January 10, 2012,
mark thomas prisco said… I love your moon painting: beautiful
- At 17:00 on January 8, 2012,
Kayla Collingwood said… I started writing songs when I was 7 years old, I am now 19. I only just recently began letting anybody see my work! I am planning on calling my book "Reverie" as one of poems is called that, and looking back over my work I can see how much I have grown as a person and as a writer. Thank you so much! I would love to get my work out there more and more, so I also hope this is the first book of many! I see you have just commented on another of my poems; thanks so kindly! Haha I agree about the time thing, I won the ScribeWithMe competition that you may have seen something about on my page with a 10 minute poem, but some of my other poems take much longer to get "just right". Thank you so much, have a good one :D
- At 16:40 on January 8, 2012, Kayla Collingwood said…
Hi Victoria, same to you. I have finished my manuscript, but I felt to wait a bit before jumping into self-publishing, so I did. I have sent inquiries off to a number of publishers. If none of them take it then I will self-publish. Either way, it should be in my hands within the next couple of months :)
- At 10:44 on November 24, 2011,
Leanne Rattray said… Hiya Vicky. You are writing beautiful poetry as always. I'm coming back up to Auckland for the next LIVE at the Library bar on 30th November & staying until Saturday morning, so it would be awesome to try & make it third time lucky? My cellphone is 027-283 5282 if you get a chance to text. Cheers Leanne XX
- At 15:32 on September 28, 2011,
Peter Le Baige said… Hi V.
I was amazed to know that you've only been writing poetry for such a short time. It took me around 10-12 years to join the words, the form, and an aethestic together in a way I really wanted. You seem to have done it in the space of months! All I can say, is if you progress at this rate you should be publishing something soon, and not electronically. Regards. Peter
- At 14:17 on September 18, 2011, Peter Le Baige said…
Thanks Victoria. I'm one of your fans on this site, and I feel such an identification with the aesthetic that runs its thread through your pieces. I always look forward to your new postings.
- At 15:25 on September 6, 2011, Leanne Rattray said…
Awesome Vicky. I am looking forward to catching up with you. You have been writing such good poetry - with very interesting depth. Go girl!
Cheers
Leanne XX
- At 16:22 on August 1, 2011,
K Davis said… - Hi Victoria...thank you heaps :)
- At 9:17 on June 30, 2011, Leanne Rattray said…
Hey babe I'm shy too - but I guess I conquer my fears by facing them full on, which is why I like to perform my poetry. That way, the emotion & feelings behind the poem are expressed, heard & seen. I just pretend to be someone else. LOL xx
Take care till then Vicky
- At 8:42 on June 29, 2011, Leanne Rattray said…
- Cheers Vicky - it would be really cool if we could gather as many of the poets on NZ Poetry together as possible & have a sorta launch for the Winter Edition that Alexander has done...there are a few of you in Auckland. We could maybe even Skype him over there. Michelle put a post up for discussion, so what do you think?
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