Poetry Writings Artwork and stories from Neil Furby

Jun 29, 2007 at 05:04 o\clock

Love is ....

 

 

Love is a state of Being

Your love is not outside;it is deep within you.

 You can never lose it, and it cannot leave you.

it is not dependent on some other body,

some external form. 

Jun 28, 2007 at 01:38 o\clock

Park benches bangs and bird

We walked up the steps to the bench sat down to a 20 gun salute out there behind us in the harbor the big bangs echoing around the steel and concrete buildings in front of us in which the scurry of feet  the tap of key boards and biz speak went without a look out of the windows A pigeon its head moving jerk back and forth walked towards us across the carpet dross manicured green stopped and edged left  Then a coldness fell down on us on this 2 pm time so we walked the pad of our feet and a secret silence into the crowded streets

 

@ Neil Furby 

 

Jun 26, 2007 at 06:12 o\clock

Poppies Szinyei Merse

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Jun 26, 2007 at 06:07 o\clock

Szinyei Merse

The artist who had an unbiased and humble approach to landscape attempted to create a clear and simple composition. He soon found diagonal composition which best suited his character and gestures, which kept on returning in a lot of his works in a number of variations. The picture shows again a slope, as in Picnic in May, or Thawing Snow. As another compositional bravura, the artist placed figures walking uphill in the focus of a semi-circle of flowers. However small those figures are, they dominate the picture.

Szinyei Merse started painting landscapes with poppies in 1895 which continued the colours of his youth. Like Monet of the impressionists, Szinyei Merse also noticed that the contrast of red and green in the field full of poppies produced a fantastic vibration in the eyes of passers-by. The vibrating air around landscape and figures in the sunshine does not allow details to unfold. Thus, all elements of the picture merge with the harmony of uniform vision in spite of its intensive colours. The picture with poppies painted in Jernye in 1902 is the subtlest of all versions and expresses best what the Hungarian landscape looked like on a bright summer day.


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Jun 26, 2007 at 05:58 o\clock

Plug for my Nephew Gareth

Hi Uncle

This is a message from your nephew Gareth.
It looks like I am about to see a debut CD released on the Folkwit Records label.
Remember how you played stuff when I was young? I think it had an impact - or it runs in the blood.
I go under the name of "IF" (nickname from school - they used to call me F for obvious reasons and then someone said call him if) and you can hear a preview of the stuff at www.myspace.com/ifsinger.
Dunno if you'll like it - it's pretty miserablist....

Jun 19, 2007 at 06:54 o\clock

New Zealand wood pidgeon

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Jun 15, 2007 at 03:12 o\clock

Shadow in the mud pool

j

Jun 15, 2007 at 03:05 o\clock

New Zealand Fern

n

Jun 7, 2007 at 12:17 o\clock

A Pink Room Experienced

The sun flickers into the pink room , the white flecks of patches stand out and waltz around the room in a fantanical dance of bliss , the trodden carpet sings of a thousand foot steps of dreams ambition and human flotsam , the ceiling looking down slowly getting closer and closer and we duck and dive into another grounded space where time stands where ?, heart beats slow and the light turns dark out side and the wind sounds out calling us down the thousand steps into the giddy town night .............................


@ neil furby

Jun 6, 2007 at 02:04 o\clock

To Fishermen Carol FROST

To Fishermen

No more savage art: filleting: a deft pressure along the backbone

from tail fan to the red gills: fighting mystery with a honed blade

through the small bones: salt and scales on face and hands:: the Greek god,

as well, found flesh unmysterious, but in anger and disappointment: -

seagull cries, your music, are all about you: Apollonian but hungrier: nature is hungry::

the brave fish dies the birds swoop for the insides in no lovelier spirals.

Carol Frost
The Queen's Desertion

Jun 5, 2007 at 01:20 o\clock

New Zealand Post Office Arthurs Pass South Island

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Jun 5, 2007 at 01:07 o\clock

Season of Love on Earth Udaya Narayana Singh with Rizio Yohannan Raj

Season of Love on Earth
There’s a season of love on earth
made specially for you and me:
one which begins
when raindrops dry on rooftops.

I cast a net
to spellbind words –
wild words that scamper
like children in the neighbourhood,
and, in the end,
yield to the invoking poet.

I return to the riverbank;
my morning chant
turns water into sky,
plays on its pain and poise, and
flags off a rare pilgrimage.

In this parched land,
I am the rain god
who makes the sky weep
with the century’s most sordid tales
where ghosts wield wands and dance,
princes fly balloons of classless dreams,
and the hapless live with
the din that drowns their voices.

Listen to my tearful tales, Sky,
and roar; I need
the sound of thunder
to believe that
the monsoon has arrived.

I long to touch her
with my loving brows
moistened by raindrops,
so that I can read my words on her,
ask for her hand, and
remind her of the promises
she had made the last season!


 

© Translation: 2006, Udaya Narayana Singh with Rizio Yohannan Raj
From: Second Person Singular
Publisher: Katha, New Delhi, 2006
ISBN: 8189020579

Jun 3, 2007 at 08:47 o\clock

Prey by Emma lev Australia

Emma Lew

Prey

I was daydreaming about wiping out the whole school
I was rehearsing and perfecting the ‘gentle giant' approach
Rebellious and defiant, had no ambition
Death is a beginning, it's beautiful

I swore I never shot at a windowless wall
I was calm and denied, and was allowed to drive away
And killed a young bride, inconclusively
It's sad, but I don't live there any more

Not like you'd expect - real dark, red blood
Humid in the city known for its beer
I was wrestling with a list, perhaps posing as a cop
And I wrapped my fingers around your throat. Did you panic?

I'm not an expert, I don't know the terminology
They were looking for a guy who was ghoulish or foamed
It's a slow road with a lot of curves
Maybe I should have toyed with her more

 

© 2002, Emma Lew
From: Anything the Landlord Touches
Publisher: Giramondo,