When Cultures Meet: Reflections On Love, War and Conquest – A Short Poem

March 24, 2019 at 10:21 pm (love, Movies, Poetry, Romance) (, , )

War can conquer a man’s body and surroundings
But it is the dance that conquers a man’s heart

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A Candle Long Extinguished: A Poem

July 8, 2015 at 5:47 pm (Life, Poetry) (, , , )

A Candle Long Extinguished

A candle long extinguished
A rose long faded
A dinner never eaten
A long ago sunset now forgotten
A moonlit walk not taken
but a heart forever broken.

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Poem Written By A Castaway of Love

January 17, 2014 at 7:33 pm (History, Poetry) (, , )

Poem Written By A Castaway of Love

What am I lying on the ground
a sprinkling of blood about me?
I am a castaway of love
A sacrifice for your twisted passions
you cut me aside without a second thought
and cast me away.

Why? oh why?
Haven’t I always been by your side?
Wasn’t I always there to listen to your rantings?
Wasn’t I the one who heard your cries in the night?

I may not have seen the first woman you slept with
I may not have seen the first picture you painted
but I always knew your passion for art
your zest for beauty
your chasing after all that delights the eye

I may not have seen what you saw
but I heard
I understood your cries
your sobs
and your shouts of joy
Those exclamations you gave to the world
with your paintbrush as your exclamation mark.

Because I heard
I listened
I understood
Because I was always at your side.

But you cut me off
and cast me to the ground
like a piece of meat.

I may not have been a bosom companion
but I was always at your side.

But now I lie here
wounded and bleeding on the ground
cut off by you
cast aside by you
a sacrifice to your twisted passions
a castaway of love.

Will you now paint a picture without me?

Why? Oh Vincent? Why?

-A poem that might have been written by Vincent Van Gogh’s ear if Vincent Van Gogh’s ear could have written poetry

-A poem written by Christopher
Friday January 17th 2014

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The Painting: Where The Medium Is The Message

October 12, 2011 at 10:20 pm (Short Story) (, , , )

He looked at the woman in the painting.

The painting of the dark haired woman in the beautiful white dress.

She was holding a yellow rose in her hand and smelling the scent.

A light from an oil lamp or fireplace (not visible in the painting) seemed to cast a reddish orange reflective glow on the woman’s beautiful face.

The swirls of her delicate dress accentuated the curves of her body.

She looked sad- the woman.

How he longed to reach out and touch her.

How he longed to reach out and hold her.

Tell her that she was loved.

That he loved her.

That she was not alone in the world.

He reached out his hand towards the painting.

* * *

The dark haired woman in the white dress looked up at the painting.

The man in the painting seemed to be reaching out towards her.

He looked at her with warm and loving and compassionate eyes.

He seemed to want to touch her.

To hold her.

To tell her that she was loved.

That he loved her.

That she was not alone in the world.

She reached out her hand towards the painting.

* * *

-A short story written by Christopher Van Helsing
Wednesday evening October 12th 2011
inspired by a painting by the Spanish artist Gomperez
a painting that once belonged to my dad
now belongs to me.
My favourite painting of his entire art art collection.

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