Poetry Writings Artwork and stories from Neil Furby

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. 

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 

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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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....

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

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.