Excercise 1 and 2

Excercise 1 and 2 - student project

#1

 

A smooth sip from the mug: taste homemade, it isn't quite right

Fingers mould into warm curves: clay 

Weighed gently in the hands, a neutral touch

The same crackling bubbles, coffee tang

Lightning smile, the chatter of voices, the joy of change: no

 

One is its own and the other

A vague sense, monotonous tone: home

 

Outside it is pleasant. Gentle running water: a fountain, a hose

Suburban birds (tits, sparrows, jays) mutter in the barren trees

Round and round the sounds loop

A broken tape lulling away the day

 

Enclosed hands: that dull gentle presence

Summing emotions, all passions, all joys

Take another sip, watch the empty street away

A flickering scene from a broken projector

 

Chattering acquaintances: disembodied song 

The softness of skin: porcelain 

Breath, relaxed: fluid murmur

 

Sipping the coffee to fill the day

Above, the blank sky turning



#2

 

I’m the driver for our four-hour trip to Southwold. Kat mans the aux in the hope of appearing useful, we sing to Lana Del Rey as my right arm prickles and burns at the window. She makes us feel like the LA summer is here. Laughing, we take photographs of ourselves at the lake behind the dated motorway services. We thought it beautiful. Highways became country lanes, with town name straight from fiction and endless wrong turns - her fault, not mine. The tatty Corsa that was our ride - it was only six years my junior - grumbled but still didn’t break down. Its aircon had never worked and failed to come to life even now. The music hadn’t started, so we went to the beach. Small, idyllic sands - miniaturised seaside attractions on a sparse coastline. It looked like a watercolour painting in an inner-city cafe. Populating the scene, we donned sunglasses and stepped out, vinegary chips on the shore. Sweet air blew down the pier. We didn’t really know Jasmine and Amanda, but they joined us on that strange buddy double date. At its conclusion we reenacted Titanic; Kat was Jack, I was Rose. The bands played, and we dressed up as fairies to dance under the canopies. But my wings and sparkles didn’t stop the sun. Heat crept across my body. I sipped water before falling. Kat gasped as I undressed, red and blistered. You can’t sleep here, the doctor told us, after the steroids and antihistamines hit my stomach. The storm lashed the car roof, the lightning illuminating our little bodies tucked into the car front sleep. Woozy and uncertain, nobody could come to help us. That night I feigned sleep as I tried not to panic, maybe she did too, space between us. I arose to a hangover of medication and stress in the morning light. I drove, no wrong turns and slept on my left-hand side in the tent that night, she on her right, even when the music stopped.