(Photo by Chloe Thornton, words by the Botancial Book Club Collective)
Written by my dearest friends and I in the Eastern Gardens Park on the afternoon of my 23rd Birthday.
Once upon a time, a crew gathered under some trees and they spoke about bonsai's, highlighters, risotto cakes and chocolate filled mexican eskimos carrying antique fishtanks filled with the immense joy that naturally comes from an experiece such as that of a journey to a surreal mystical valley, which was populated by a small tribe of pigmy giraffes who in their great wisdom constructed a giant flying picnic rug on which a colourful beatle cross-stitched himself a scalf made of silks and organic sugar, which one would assume would get sticky however its got a rather saucy texture that makes you feel like living alone for the rest of your existance, with 3 cats named Tomato poopy face, Anarkitty and bum wee farty, they decided to go on a hike and risk their lives in the zombie infested swampland that encompassed numerous little smurf like creatures, that stank of fetid mildew and rumour has it, fed on the gall bladders of baby alligators. Their diet though, needed a change and papa smurt suggested eating 12 pounds of habano chillis 5 sour warheads and two litres of milk, then he ejected his rabbit for mayor. His rabbit Jefferson had a PHD in artificial intellegence so naturally he was a good candidate.
THE END
the sky was pink.
fish skipped in the shallow water.
the breeze was warm & blew refreshingly.
shadows began to appear as the sun set through the tree's.
grey haired couples held hands as they wandered down a shaded path.
legs pedalling fast began to tire as the hills began to extend.
adrenaline filled her blood as picked up pace.
inner child released in an instance.
zoom, broom, hum.
Poetry & Photography By Chloe Thornton:
His charismatic and alluring style made him a visual and metaphorical playground,
Melodic voice, grand gestures, flow from lips as smooth as honey,
Eyes as dark as the depths of the ocean, the unknown lurking,
Icicles could form on the tips of his golden locks,
Heart as webbed as paths through untrodden forests,
So distant from reality, seemingly ghost like,
No-one asks why.
He is the perfect stranger.
Ignorance is bliss.
(Photograph: Todd Giblin, Poetry: Chloe Thornton)
A sweet and playful melody,
swirling through the tree's,
cascading light,
such a surreal sight,
should set your soul at ease.
A hunters daughter with golden locks glides,
following the sound.
a shriek,
a shrill,
a pounding heart,
and terror struck she's bound.
The spirit of the forest is a defeater of despair,
he'll take you in and wrap you up regardless of your flare.
All he asks is in return you replace what you have taken,
this golden girl had done nothing wrong,
don't you be mistaken.
She'd always felt she taken too much and never could she give,
something back so precious that she thought that she could live.
The spirit decided to help her and gave her the gift of flight,
With golden wings and rid of sins she guards the Forrest every night!
PHOTOGRAPH & POETRY BY Chloe Thornton
Four is my favourite number so here are four of my poems, for your reading pleasure.
Adriatic, oceanic illumination.
A Flightless heart recoils from an illusion of reality,
Restless mind, surreal; divine,
Allow your feet to sink into the freshly laid snow.
Resurrect your soul, let time stand still, clear your mind.
Better still leave your mind, in an open field.
let nature wrap it's arms around you,
let it's branches twist up around your waist and hold you in a tight embrace.
sprout your leaves,
allow your flowers to bloom,
bare fruit for those you hold dear.
Adventure lives in the heart and the mind;
not in a geographic location.
Enlighten me full moon, O immortal beauty,
Perfection of the soul is infinite,
Secret embraces untouched by impurity,
Contentment,
Clouds of forgetfulness carry wisdom,
Dwelling with the spirit of diversion,
Farewell weary heart,
love may carry humankind to wonderment,
O enlighten me full moon.
Enduring a dream scattered with hidden spirits and earthly companions,
A glorious endowment fixes roots in the kingdom of the mind,
Embrace the instrument offered, it is confined to the darkness and the valley between the mountains,
Escape as a spark from the sun commands creatures to return to the gulf of silence,
And you, O rose cheeked dreamer, are summoned to the house were your soul resides.
Colliding souls,
Other worldly desire,
Every emotion a transcending blur.
A throbbing pulse,
A rapping heart,
Inside me starts to stir.
The key to this box of truth,
lies in your tightly clasped fist.
(Photograph & Poetry: Chloe Thornton.)
Admires survivors.
Battlers.
Outsiders.
People who defy the odds.
And general consensus.
Make their own choices.
Prefer the hard road.
The more interesting road.
The road that tests you.
Pushes you.
Requires you to stick to your guns.
Determined.
Free spirited.
Open minded.
Accepting.
Eyes fixed on a target.
Any target as long as it propells you forward.
Poetry by Chloe Thornton
An attempt, to no prevail.
Burning, just beneath the surface, nothing more than a faint glow.
Curious onlooker.
Faint flame slowly growing, unable to put it out.
Fire water wont allow it to break free.
It just sits.
Tormenting, flickering.
Sending a fiery rope circling in your direction.
Enough to unsettle, enough to unnerve.
Subtle, sinister, scouldering.
Burn down the barn already. Please.
So that we may begin to rebuild it.
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