I drink from tulips Blog

Michelangelo

idrinkfromtulips — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 22:28:12 +0000

I’ve dreamt of a man,
A man who was surrounded by a smoke filled cloud,
who had dirty shoes and worn out shirts.
His eyes were pools of dark liquor so strong the angels wouldn’t be able to drink it.
The dust will fall, glimmering down into the air from his purple velvet cuff as he gently groomed himself in the sunlight.
His hair, it was a thick black and if you were to run your hands through it, your fingers would coat in a sweet fruit like smelling stickyness.
He was an entertainer, you could see that he had friends, or he’d been places, the kinds of places you see on post cards.
His smile, to be honest, i could think of alot of things describing how beautiful his smile will be, but nothing i could imagine, think of, or write about could tell you how much this one smile will mean to me.
But of course i don’t know this man,
Nor have i ever met him,
but if i were to,
i think he would be one of the most amazing men i’ve ever seen.

Young Hearts.

idrinkfromtulips — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 20:09:48 +0000

What shall i say to thee? My nimble soul cannot pace the speed of which your heart does gallop. what shall i do? shall i borrow cupids wings and flee with thy dreams? dreams that suck on the bosom of the sun, for cupids wings cannot fly with me, nor can my soul which will woe in substance as the air. But i shall kiss thee, and then as my lips touch yours the wind will fly from our place and turn the world in vain, and it will feel no more than a breath from the frozen lungs of the gods as i tremble from your chest to the dew-dropping soil.
Then i shall clamber back to my feet, look upon your sharp withered face and watch as the your rose coloured cheeks slowly fade into grey.
What shall i say to thee? for you have pushed me from your blessed heart and beat love down. What shall i do? Borrow cupid’s wings, And soar with them above a common bound?
I take pity for thee, and for i, for your love’s heavy burden i do sink.
So i will fly no more with you, we will part as lovers often do, for your love has passed through my chink.

Mr Mayhew

idrinkfromtulips — Thu, 05 Feb 2009 23:26:43 +0000

The chair was old and withered, there was no more the patterns of a beautiful floral garden, but the patterns of old wilted flowers. He sat here, time and time again growing old and fraying along with it. The light was no more than a dull glow trying to burst out of the thick glistening grey dust that prevented it from flowing light throughout the room. The air was thick and musky, entering and leaving his old tired lungs like old friends.

He had no age, nor did he need one, But if he were to be counted by the keepers of time, he would be exactly Eighty three years, four months, fourteen days, one hour and twenty three minutes of age. And every minute of everyday from the moment he had been placed upon this earthly planet he seemed to be nothing more but content.

I had only met him once. It was a tuesday, the rain outside was a light warm mist gently laying upon my shoulders like a shimmering blanket of tears from the gods. The air was clear and thin, it would whisper as i moved with it, my soul would flee from my body and dance along with the flowing motion of the swaying branches and wondering petals plucked from the stalk, a release of the spirit.

Thats when i met him, he stood at the bottom of the path holding a basket of new fresh fruit. He was crying.

The Journey Is Everything.

idrinkfromtulips — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 23:01:41 +0000

To you, The unspeakable notion of new born life is formed within a swirling atmosphere of colour through our words. And this, is proof that your being brings me enlightenment.

The morn was soon to be near, it was no longer a “Monday” a name that was given to the birth of a new day, it was a time and passing as every other. They sat hand in hand, and if they were to let go it would leave rose coloured marks like a shadow that has been purposely placed between the two hands for safe keeping, and when the palms seperated it would be exposed. If you looked closely you would be able to see the infatuation flowing round their bodies alike an aura, an aura so strong that if you looked too hard your eyes would deceive themselves and for a moment you would find your self in a forever reverie.

Moon passed and also its unrequited lover the sun, but they were still sat, in absolute contentment witch each other. “Four thousand five hundred and eighty four!” she whispered to him resting her head on his shoulder, “My love, The stars will not be grateful that you have acknowledged them by a number and not by their beauty. ” he replied. “I don’t need them for their beauty, for i have you to gaze upon.”

Monday

idrinkfromtulips — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 21:21:43 +0000

You take your clothes off right after. The tea is on, the flame is blue.And you hope it won’t take all afternoon. The tv’s waiting to talk to you. It’s your naked body on white velour. But there’s no feeling, just weight on you. But you get nauseous now as he speaks to you, such proper language, for acts so cruel. He says, “we all follow the rules. We can’t very well go and break them, now, can we?”

I have a box

idrinkfromtulips — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 21:06:54 +0000

I have a box,
And in this box is a feeling of sadness,
Along with dreams and aspirations that are kept there,
The shelves are coated with a grey fluffy substance, and it leaves shapes.
A man guards the door to this box,
He wears a long black coat and a bowler hat, and he sits in a deck chair drinking malt whiskey and he eats jam sandwiches.
It’s been there for many years now,
The box,
It’s a pale green in colour,
And in the other corner,
Is a daffodil, still and perched upon a children’s book.
The book says “Sky’s of violet rays”
But we all know,
The sky isn’t violet, nor has it ever been.

The Inside

idrinkfromtulips — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 21:02:03 +0000

Goblets filling not so far from the rim,
old shoes and new talk,
Speak of dreams not so far from the landscape line,
but shall never be reached,
what’s on the news?
Death triumph death and war.
it’s all the same nonsense as before,
just forget, and let the waves flow,
for colour and composition,
shall never be ceased to be polluted with the blood of its inhabitants.

The magic of the spirit and guide, through toast and jam.

idrinkfromtulips — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 20:42:56 +0000

Two Souls, Broken but Burning,
Walk the kaleidoscope on a street of broken shells and skies…

Retreat, retreat
Retreat
Retreat, retreat
Retreat
Fuck Grey!
We want the whole, wide spectrum.

Put on your walking boots,
‘Cause this is gonna be a forever journey
We’ll crash and flow awash awhile on broad and open tides;
Race through cornfields of warm honey sunshine
And breathe as one through the breeze.

The room will swarm with the smell of desperation,
you’ll sweat,
i’ll look and try to make an emotion out of this chaos.

It will be the orgasm of the heart that leads you to the truth
It will burst through your veins like rage,
the passion,
Through and throughout your soul,
and it will nest in your chest like a cage protecting yourself from telling the truth,
and it will be hopefull,
just hope
is the only thing that is hanging on to whatever the fuck you think is love.