the town crier say you all is good this is my hood and locks are prone my pennies are well and you cry my name as night is known by name of the lamp lit dark and all is well beat’s reclaim about your business the establishment will claim along these street’s in a year of a month our villagers know of the name chosen this guardian of the village of one you birthed this town crier they behold exclaiming too hold logic now cognitive the town crier A crow of one and all is well: I know not of this crow yet this crow knows of me and does not reside in order of caged calamity of hours night, an all well of this lonesome town that grows employed of patrician and this voice i know and you know them and all is well.
© Adam Blewett 2017
Enter my world of imagery or all of the arts, if you have a bias to a particular eclectic or arts medium, there belongs a place of negativity, not a negative apprehension of an image, our ridicule of the art, but a stencil of negative imprint, and within the capture of the visual art there lies a response of emotion, whether that be a collective response or a personally subjective one.
Here I have ‘pinned’ this image below to a pages post at top, in monochrome, and of this image below, depending on mood or the pending day, your impression might very. Say, saturated with colour to enhance in vibe or monochrome to relay in seclude of mood. Either way this will always be subjective, so choose some colour and keep a mood.
2018 Adam Blewett ©
Colours belong to our everyday living; if a product is to be multi-colour it needs to stand out alone….technically definition of a colour is as it is to a individual of various needs in abode. As of favorable colour it can define us individually, this translates to various demands, such as remembrance: with key words, or the help in accumulating a selection when in the retail institution.
To redress a fabric or the colour scheme of a house or article of address, as multicolored, could provide with a confliction of emotion or statement. As the individual of choice in a marriage of ideals, could receive a different emotional intake from one colour or many; when sharing the provided atmosphere, with another, a example colour might relay in conflicting results. If I am to relate to an object as ‘multicolored’ this could provide technically correct, and also bias in definition.
My conclusion to the variance of colours, is that each of a single colour to that of many, has a shared uniqueness, and in contrast, I should refrain from reflecting to an object as being multicolored; as to the individual their onus of my view, in this shared pretense, will see an inert value to self in representation. You are of individuality in colour: myself as one in respecting value of multitude.
2018 Adam Blewett ©
Then from spectacles length
The crow turns pink
It has become a fish
Falling towards the lake
A cry is sounded
And changes to fly again
Wings spread it soars off
Never will it land
Unless its feet beset proclaim
Adam Blewett © 2015
Relevance, of this photo, relevance to the poem; on the occasion of travel, and residing to the great outdoors, my vagrancy with a wandering mindset, I had an up turn from a domesticated lifestyle and some of my thoughts at the time, of aplenty-ago, where scribbled to poems sake. Relevance, today I’m rereading ‘The Crow Road. by Iain Banks.’ and happened upon the madding of ‘Prentice McHoan’. Throughout the novel Prentice is somewhat of a loner, yes relevance, and with this poem above I’m connecting to a passage from ‘The Crow Road’. Where prentice believes that he can provide interference to a TV reception by a deep humming from within his throat. What appears is not madder then. His reaction to the hum has a reaction throughout his vision, distorting the TV reception.
Within this poem I had written a similar distortion, whereas the poem takes on a optical illusion, the reader, becomes either the Crow or the voice, and within there are many other subtleties that I won’t go to, but in the due course, you the reader can see the allusion from the distorting Sun or with the poetic license from the poet, receiving the illusion of a Crow with many tears to fill “one
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starry one should you be mine the concoction of minding mine the mind a placement into lofty words of love means making in relent to a shoulder tender of his wrongful cup of ages first kiss; fifteen and knowing that last impression would rain with the stable stream of petrichor leading in way to remember in love a wistful page to gesture the taste before of fleet
2019 Adam Blewett ©
Mood food grace this wren for blue them pangs, I was deep with hollow, encased with a meld my colour, be it tastefully so troublingly eatable.
This love never tasted so desirable, a chirping wren. Superb you’re colours aperture of phosphorescents, full of love, with pangs so deep. My troubling a holding mood of caressing blue wren.
2018 Adam Blewett ©
Writing in the first person, knowing they will read this in the third person: for a year now i have inscribed a thread.
Reading what you read writing what you read, I say they because mathematically their knowledge of you is of me. This second person conundrum i for you alone, for in the third person, you are the second person I write about the first person.
Writing for myself is a chore not that i belong to be a bore. It’s just that I told you, now you are you and me i am.
2017 Adam Blewett ©
late mist of missing you there this path well worn regiments our fond ado: As this heavy skies descending your lanterned heart is for the quest; thoughts bespoke and rolling memories coiled as lessoned my beaten fall: at arm’s length you’re searched and felt demanding to find kept key to a soul’s lost door
© Adam Blewett
2016
martyrdom
Today’s lotion, soothing a companion of well wishes; if embodiment has an out come, give refrain from releasing them words of substance. It is a time within a frame, when the natural inhibitors strongly freeze over, releasing the imprint, reflecting through. Question is boundless with your non speaking way, feeding on a grave injustice, of it cannot be about yourself, for you are his enemy, the guilty one. Rehearsal collapses only in wealth, winding the analogue genocide, as the worldly years reappear, with answers to all lost wording.
The pores seeps her heart bleeds, for an emotional contribution to wake his arresting demure, console in recoiled energy, from foundation you don’t reside to. The tears chocking forth, youthful seasons of abandonment in trust, her purging core, trusting you in a living chamber of hope. The one how you love small.
2018 Adam Blewett ©
anomaly
My heart of you I love
Jealousy i read your pain
the anatomy of whole
drinking him love’s protean
his words are my country
a life for abandonment
you quail my see damaged bird
it’s blue spelt you
your nest feathers in blind beauty
his war is at one with two
for he rewrite the borders scoring of you
a land beyond the poisoned heart
you fill my rude to and refuse cake
twentynine candles it makes to bake
saving the last word an invisible heart
clause today’s no tax on wax tomorrow
you can’t eat matrix it is not delicious
gentle on the palate myopic dream
lemon juice from lemon tree’s
succulent one drip at a time
a land of plenty abandons of love
garnish sea salt and ice water
baby beets lessoned not to taste
for its inebriation my kingdom’s swimming pools
I voted you here to share my word’s
protean an cherry cola?
2018 Adam Blewett ©
Love’s Wicket
Both had her love, and her recital gave to them a feel of being prepared, the aging theatre grew to a golden warmth. A child wrapped the stage, and knowing in task her hour had come, the nervous wait as hesitation held my girl’s name.
Like most of us at the healing hour, the journey, had begun with intel. Only the members could rehearse. And I remember those seasons all to well, it had the recourse of every foretold betrayal, then the only decision to be made was your place or mine.
The opening quail the sombre hearts, the chill of theatres friend. Those pages lay bound with smitten sound, for her song played to wisdoms purging heart. My hours turned and ferocity bailed, her dance was tremendous, sailing from seen to be sound.
We had met at sea, with this this girl in confidence, a prince, of her armour this captive pleasure, her seduction of the brightest stage New York. New York. Astounding, she brought down both of us, a gift to be held with merci of our Terra Firma, a land of hope and ice-cream.
2018 Adam Blewett
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