Poem written by Luke Downing
Spoken by Katie Greenbrown
Shot by Luke Downing today, and his ancestors 60 years ago.
Dust from Luke Downing on Vimeo.
Tag: love
Lost toys and broken wings
They placed them there.
Where they should never
have been.
Blind broken toys,
searching,
searching,
searching.
Crows can become doves,
under the right light.
Where moths swoop,
and swoon:
The summer’s death-kiss.
Where hate replaces
lies.
And the body
frames.
Impossible projections.
Where imagined potential
overcomes.
The truth,
of broken toys.
One fixed,
one forgotten:
Left dancing.
Alone with autumn’s butterflies.
Your Decay
Your walls stand weak against shadows that spread,
Warping your contents beyond all meaning;
The flakes of your past feeble from leaning.
I see it amongst you; within the dead,
It makes and becomes you like pure black dread.
Your floor starts to creak like heavy lungs heaving;
The wild echoes seamlessly convening,
Till darkness fills all of where you may tread.
But I will be there and forever stay,
Fighting your shadows with all of my light;
I came for a reason to gently lay,
Rest your fear and ease your darkest of blight.
Shadows become lucent; your night to day,
I’ll give you that hope, that passion, that fight.
Phase
It’s just a phase she’s going through, they’d whisper in their bed.
but she seems so happy, he said.
It’s just a phase she’s going through, proclaimed father to father.
but she feels so free, they said.
It’s just a phase she’s going through, they’d tell the family at tea.
but I’m in love, she said.
She watched them watch her, in their disapproving scorn,
This, she knew, was not the reason that she’d been born.
Maybe she felt different,
like she didn’t quite fit.
A fly on the wall in the game of freedom,
Daring to swoop amongst it,
where the family couldn’t see.
Well, they saw the phase, that’s true,
but they forgot to look at you.
Extract from Something we hadn’t forgotten
For weeks the heat has built, with the sky a permanent pale wash of blue. It’s as if the earth is storing all of its energy and taking in one long, deep breath before it rages. Today this long summer seems to rest on the edge of a precipice and, as the sun crawls lethargically across the sky, the trees begin to stir faster and the wind pulls and pushes the cooling air. There is an energy that can almost be grasped. The storm is coming.
I step outside, breathing in the moment. I’ve always loved days like these. Memories of running barefoot into the street, arms aloft under heavy August showers. Spinning wildly, becoming increasingly dizzy with ecstasy as soaking clothes cling to my skin. Before I had even begun understand it, this summer rain had always held a promise of new possibilities. Today is no exception…[CONT]
Luke Downing 