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Literature Text
Adrift on a brown paper swell,
I found myself a castaway
In the waves of a corrugated ocean
Of my own making.
Packages flooded the floor--
In blocky and rocky outcrops,
Sticker-coated surfaces smothered
In parcel tape and postage stamps,
Proclaiming warnings in red type.
Perhaps I need to be wary - more cautious
Of the many irksome paper cuts--
A glimpse of a white here and there,
Another angled fin corner.
The envelop mouths of sharks
lurking beneath packing tissue sea-foam
My origami boats became shipwrecked
(I still missed the mailman!)
I found myself a castaway
In the waves of a corrugated ocean
Of my own making.
Packages flooded the floor--
In blocky and rocky outcrops,
Sticker-coated surfaces smothered
In parcel tape and postage stamps,
Proclaiming warnings in red type.
Perhaps I need to be wary - more cautious
Of the many irksome paper cuts--
A glimpse of a white here and there,
Another angled fin corner.
The envelop mouths of sharks
lurking beneath packing tissue sea-foam
My origami boats became shipwrecked
(I still missed the mailman!)
Literature
The Old Jetty.
The Old Jetty.A poignant memory, trapped in the echoes of photographs,
Entrenched in old memory slowly eroding like the last of its supports,
They dreamt in timeless wonder at simple lines and simple dreams,
An old player stuck wandering in his old play.The boys we lost playing on the dock became men who became lost in emotive seas,
for there were many lost between the sunrise splash and the sunset drip,
and the jetty held those precious souls to its bosom as it cracked slowly,
I can think though that they never wanted for anything more
Then to see the colours fade and the shadows wander once more from sea to shore.Once it straddled the ea...
Literature
Le Corbusier
Le Corbusier is the Sculptor here;
lucid
translucent a crystalline gaze is
Pacing back across~ the Indian summer sun
making the skin under my Choli cool
The Architect, My beautiful and terrifying
Chandigarh. You mean too much to me
As you built up on top this landscape,
Im looking out from behind this artisans glass.Without any means
.but to keep watch
Out over Sukhna Lake in your direction
But
Ive lost track
Of my spirit
and my eyes
Are dusty
tinted dark and dim to your light.And, closer is the water. you have a choice to swim,
All to hopefully opened handed in my direction.
I have neither food, nor water,
nor ai...
Literature
roots
like drowned men who have lost their
clothes and faces, they lay suspended
facing the sun and grinning without
eyes through the ripples of the water.those passing by wonder how they got here,
these homeless men without fingers or toes
long spindly stumps twisting into lost roots:
reaching to the east, to the south,
to the homes they have forgotten.
Featured in Groups
Far too many things to pack up and post out.. 
All images and literature/written work in =rockgem's gallery are © Gemma Hart. All rights reserved. Reproduction and/or retransmission of all or any part of this gallery are prohibited under copyright law. Users desiring to reproduce or retransmit all or any part of this gallery must first secure in writing the appropriate copyright and other authorization from the copyright owner. My work is not public domain.
Thankyou.
All images and literature/written work in =rockgem's gallery are © Gemma Hart. All rights reserved. Reproduction and/or retransmission of all or any part of this gallery are prohibited under copyright law. Users desiring to reproduce or retransmit all or any part of this gallery must first secure in writing the appropriate copyright and other authorization from the copyright owner. My work is not public domain.
Thankyou.
© 2011 - 2026 rockgem
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