Poetry Writings Artwork and stories from Neil Furby

Feb 27, 2007 at 09:04 o\clock

Kiss

A long, long kiss, a kiss of Youth, and Love,
And Beauty, all concentrating like rays
Into one focus, kindled from above;
Such kisses as belong to early days,
When Heart, and Soul, and Sense, in concert move,
And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze,
Each kiss a heart-quake-for a kiss's strength,
I think, it must be reckoned by its length.

 

Feb 25, 2007 at 18:54 o\clock

Good words in crazy times

One thing we as poets can do is build stronger intercultural bridges. The better we know and talk with one another, locally and internationally, the more difficult misunderstanding becomes.”

“Inasmuch as our work demands the reinvention of ourselves, we must also thereby reinvent our country. And the world. Imagine a world without war.”

-- Sam Hamill

Feb 25, 2007 at 18:49 o\clock

Starting to miss the Rain

RAIN 
when nothing else is going on 
rain is a big event but when some event 
is happening 
rain becomes background 
some remember it, some don’t 
years later, when everything’s in the past 
the rain comes back to us once more 
pattering as it falls 
nothing happening
 
©  2007, Han Dong 

Feb 17, 2007 at 21:46 o\clock

And the lock that creaked

thin red line
Just silence

painful silence,

the cold
masochistic fear,
So icy cold

mortal life mirages

now appear:


Intangible they tear.

 

@N Furby 

Feb 12, 2007 at 04:56 o\clock

Fringe Theatre My Story and Comment

For me it was many years ago when Wellington Fringe was in its infancy.

My partner of that time Lynella was performing a monologue called Duty written by Alan Williamson at Bats Theatre.

 

Funding for Fringe events just was not around at that time so late nights were spent in town pasting up posters pre the Phantom and Sticky Fingers era.

Every free space was covered with A4 black and white posters.

 

Publicity stunts where the order of the day .

We carried a coffin through the market after tipping off the newspapers to get publicity for one of our productions

 

Family was used to carry out production tasks on Theatre night

 

My daughter aged 13 was our lighting person who got the train into town after school to get to the 6 pm show

 

One evening towards the end of the season when energy was starting to flag we had finished the play and was clearing the stage when my daughter Rebecca strode on to the stage

 

She looked out at the empty seats and then to our complete surprise she performed the whole twenty-minute play word perfect

 

Yes this was my most memorable moment

 

Next year I am starting a Fringe off the Fringe Festival with a “back to the roots flavor”

Any starters out there??

 

Hello Joshua

 “What is your most memorable Fringe moment”?

 

For me it was many years ago when Wellington Fringe was in its infancy.

My partner of that time Lynella was performing a monologue called Duty written by Alan Williamson at Bats Theatre.

 

Funding for Fringe events just was not around at that time so late nights were spent in town pasting up posters pre the Phantom and Sticky Fingers era.

Every free space was covered with A4 black and white posters.

 

Publicity stunts were the order of the day .

We carried a coffin through the market after tipping off the newspapers to get publicity for one of our productions

 

Family was used to carry out production tasks on Theatre night

 

My daughter aged 13 was our lighting person who got the train into town after school to get to the 6 pm show

 

One evening towards the end of the season when energy was starting to flag we had finished the play and was clearing the stage when my daughter Rebecca strode on to the stage

 

She looked out at the empty seats and then to our complete surprise she performed the whole twenty-minute play word perfect

 

Yes this was my most memorable moment

 

Next year I am starting a Fringe off the Fringe Festival with a “back to the roots flavor”

Any starters out there??

 

Feb 7, 2007 at 10:44 o\clock

No 73

@ Shove it in

Shove it out

Hair grows up

Hair falls out

Bones grow brittle

Joints go stiff

Minds that sparkle

Minds that snap

 Pop goes the weasel

Around and around

Life makes you dizzy and daft

Need a life raft

On this sea of insanity 

Look up an albatross

Circles around and around

Wing span shadow

Flash across the eye

Dark light blink

Or did God wink 

Or did he clench his fists

Pound them down

On this 21 st century

His man now mutates

Build it up Crash it down

History slops

 Blood lust shouts appeasement

Did a baby cry

Born to die

Red flash in the panic station

Waiting for the train to eternity 

Future shocks

A smoking Orb all askew

We pulled it in

We pushed it out

Slowly wormed the moon its twin

Double bluffed

Puffball eyes

Bent bones

Davy Jones Locker gone forever

@ Neil Furby 

Feb 7, 2007 at 10:23 o\clock

Ode to a Duck Shooter who had 10 shot ducks hanging upside down over his bath

Hold a feather lightly

Move it with your heart

 Hold a feather softly

let a magic start

 

Brush the down against your cheek

Feel the exquisite balm

Softly stroke the quivered soul

Let there be a calm

Forget the blood and body base

Forget the plunder of the chase 

 

@ Neil Furby

 

Feb 7, 2007 at 10:14 o\clock

The Telephone is Silent

The telephone’s silent, as if murdered.

There’s no war on but they’re asking me to surrender.

I’m sure I could run uninjured

through the bullets, but I wouldn’t get any aid.

 

But what’s actually happening to me is a bit different—

I’m growing from the earth, dawn’s blood pours over my head.

I’ve been many things in this life: a fish pulled unwillingly from the sea,

a tree, a wind gust….but I’ve never yet been trampled grass

     

   @     Anzhelina Polonskaya

                                                                                      

Feb 7, 2007 at 09:55 o\clock

Yorkshire England Where I was born

 

Feb 2, 2007 at 07:41 o\clock

Ode to Butter Chicken

Poesy - Poems Wanted

(Received in a notice from the NZSA): Poesy, a quality focused wholesale company producing gourmet food products, requires poems.  As our name suggests, as well as being about food we are about poetry. We combine the two by placing small cards containing poems inside the packets of food we produce. We have the potential to publish a large amount of poems in this way and are welcoming submissions. *We pay anthology rates. *The poems need to be 10 lines or less."For More information contact Alex, E: alex@poesy.co.nz

 My food love poem

Ode to butter chicken 

It’s not just your smell

But the sight of you

 That makes me go

Yummm

The yellow wash across your chicken leg

A sly hint of underneath

And when the spoon goes in

The picture distorts but then

Your taste hits my mouth

And I am transported into bliss  @neil Furby