19 year old Oliver has lived in both England and Sweden and has recently found poetry through the oldest master of mixing poetry and fiction...
"Something in the Science-fiction
area really started my interest in books in general when I was small. I used
to love to nearly swallow books. The love for poetry came after I saw
Shakespeare in Love, and Hamlet. I thought to myself that even though it was
fiction, Shakespeare must've been a really cool guy with an incredible
talent."
His thorough, creative and often intense work is an insight in to a clearly developing imaginative mind as he develops in conveying the art of expression from his escapist thoughts:
"When it comes to the inspiration of my poetry I like the nature a lot. I
usually image the place in my poem as I would be walking there myself. And
seeing from a third person's view. I can sit on buses and look up at the sky
or the sea if there is one, and just float away in my imagination.
Inspiration can pop up at any moment sometimes and I always try and find
something to write with and on. I can't understand how I always seem to
forget pen and paper wherever I go."
With aspirations in Interspecies-communication studies, Psychology and Computing as well as singing, the future looks bright for Oliver - so here's hoping he always remembers pen and paper!...
A Cold February Morning
I noticed you that morning. That windswept cold
February day. The sky was
gloomy yet occasionally clear in that purpur shaded
blue.
I remember wondering what your mind was pondering
upon, seeing you sitting
crouched, slumped uneasily.
Misty clouds of breath from you, heavily letting out
sighs gradually
disappearing as they shortly rose upwards.
Your head resting steadily on your hands, trembling
slightly. Your
tear-filled eyes glancing over the surroundings,
coming to a halt.
Your eyes met mine. The revelation of grief and sorrow
that was shown in
your eyes instantly engulfed my yet so innocent soul
and filled it with new,
previously to me unknown feelings and emotions.
I shuddered and let my eyes close to at once feel a
sense of growing
spiritual warmth spreading around my entity,
surrounding me. As I opened my
eyes again, your sight had slumped onto the ground.
Tears were falling from
your cheeks.
New to these feelings and emotions not sure what to do
I walked confused and
shaken away from you.
I deeply ponder from day to day whether walking away
was right.
I truly wish you all the happiness and peace you did
not feel that day, that
cold February morning.
Wherever you may be.
The Rich and the Snobbish
From dustbin to dustbin
I've searched them all too well
From deliburgers to cabbageheads
The leftovers which I've found
My hungry stomach sees an end
Yet a very brief one I must however add
The rich and the snobbish ones never cease to say.
"Away, away you filthy looking stray"
Occasionally
"Officer, officer, take this dog away"
I snarl, I growl, I intend to defend my right to stay.
The Imagined Images of Me
The masked man with a bright red cape, stood on a roof.
Once again he thought, I have been sought yet another time.
I have been presumed as thief, though a gentleman type.
I have broken the hearts of those I have escaped from,
during my nightly
flights.
The queens masquerade, where I have plundered the rich
to give to the poor.
Posters have been put up on all of the city walls.
With an imagined picture
of me,
A good looking image. But of me?
He laughed and nodded his head.
Imagination they have, that I must admit, but
clairvoyance I doubt.
They have spoken of me. "There he is"
they have yelled.
He is young, he is
handsome, he is the man of my dreams, the ladies have
whispered.
The men, they have growled, "He is deceiving, he is
a scoundrel, he is
stealing me woman's heart",
a drunken man had once uttered.
Nothing they can know.
Guess? Enjoyable to hear.
The man with the mask and cloaked with a bright red
cape, laughed once again
and swiftly disappeared into the dark.
Life and its Paths
Bitter and sweet, life is both good and bad. New doors
opening as life goes
on,
some doors shut some others open,
the essence of life prevailing as time goes by.
The winds that may have scarred your face, and the
storms that have bitten
and stung,
remain as a memory from the past.
The mind struggling through many disasters and many victories,
many battles won, few lost, all to be part of the woven fate.
Encounters in the mists, lead you astray, with the
feeling of being lost or
forgotten, only remaining till the sun shines through,
giving you a path to follow onto the right track.
Many paths leading forward, some leading other
directions, a sense of
righteousness choosing your path with care, making the right choice.
The fogged paths at the sides have a dim light shining temporarily,
each with a partly hidden guide in the shade. Many paths, many choices,
the right one, being divided into many different ones.
The sun disappearing, leaving the night space to come forward.
With a clear image, a few of the paths are being given road signs, giving
directions and goals.
Posters along the paths showing images of that life's contents.
The Knight of Loch Maree
As the dawn grew older, cold winds flew over the frost bitten plains.
The mounted knight of Loch looked out over the mist stricken hills. A solitary crow hovered next to an old oak in
the distance, pillaging for food in this lonely place.
Thunder arose in the east, the war was coming.
In the heart of the raging battle, mournful, sad and bitter cries from the wounded were silenced by the victors
evil taunting and jeers. That battle had been lost. The war continued. The mounted knight in black armour spoke
to the winds.
Hear my prayers, ye ancient ones.
Let me fear not.
The good shall victor.
Let the people not suffer.
The righteous shall victor.
And the knight knelt.
Ancient songs came to life among the winds and echoed throughout the hills and plains.
Streaks of lightning tore through the shattering rain.
On high hills men were sighted, tunes from windpipes filled the air. The battle cries faded. All went silent, only the
windpipes played in the never ending rain.
The Heart's Dreams
My raging heart that once fought and shone by a call of righteousness.
It now slowed and faded.
The fight for justice was one battle it could not win.
The soul it resided within, cried and begged the heart to keep on fighting.
The heart scarred many times before, gave up a last faint solemn word and sighed.
"I have tried, and I have fought, but with what success? My war is over, I will walk as a victor on the other side, may that be my last wish", and so the heart stopped.
Energy that before had been seen, now was gone.
The heart had gone into its dreams it had wished for.
Winter Cries
Foggy as in ancient times, the streets covered in darkness, though with occasional lights glowing strong.
I saw you from my window. You were crying, tears running down your cheeks, you tried to dry them off. The tears still kept streaming.
You looked around not knowing where to turn.
Why this pain? What had happened?
Where had your spark gone, that had before glowed with a fiery bright orange red hollow glow, and now was replaced with a frost stricken blue haze that turned your heart gradually colder.
I looked out my window a long time, still you seemed cold. Had the pain and the sorrow taken over? Had your true happiness disappeared?
Please find peace.
I could feel a growing cold breeze seeking up towards my window.
Do I need to share your pain, your sorrow?
The breeze grew stronger.
Then so be it, I shall.
I opened the window fully and held my arms open.
The cold being your pain engulfed me soon after, emerging into my heart as well. I felt a sting and your pain revealed itself to me.
I am sharing your pain. Will you now be happier, will your heart now turn more red and glow with eagerness?
It must
An Angel of this Time
I looked upon you from a distance,
Your eyes shining like that of an emerald.
Your hair waving in the wind, as that of a seas waves
The frost bitten buildings cast a shade over the streets.
Shadows passing on the dim lit pavements, all shadows,
the shadows of people visible when in light.
Near where you stand, the area being lit up, given warmth and a feeling of human compassion.
No injustice or disrespect seen where you are.
Your mere presence, lighting and warming up the hearts of those passing by.
Are you an angel?
Shining with divine light you seem to be, an angel of this time.
The Tear of the Spirit
A searchlight, lighting up places previously covered in darkness.
The mind of mine feeling similar tries to find a place of sanctuary and peace.
A place where the mind can live and be free.
The mind seeing through my eyes telling me in silence where to go, what is right, that that is wrong.
The mind not being blind, nor being blinded by other intrusive minds partly blind. A search for my freedom within my spirit cries through my mind, tears from within fall down from my eyes to run along my cheeks revealing the true face that has been hidden by this mask of silent misery.
The teardrop falling to the ground living is finally free.
Copyright © 2001 Oliver Devereux
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