Old poetry: Identity

Look at me,

What am I to you?

A poor man with no life?

Look at me,

Oh Earl of your Land,

Tell me what I am.

I could be a rich king,

Of far away,

I could be a pauper,

Of dirt and clay,

I might have a castle,

With maids so fair,

Or only a wicker hut,

With nothing to spare.

So think my king,

My Lord,

My Liege,

What thinks you?

Put me at my ease.

First bit of some old poetry: Figure and Remember

Here's some poetry of mine, back from 2007, when I was young. Its drafts, so take a look but don't compare it to my newer stuff :)

Ailsa Williamson 28^th October 2007

Aged 15

There’s something in the atmosphere,

And a murmur in the air,

A feeling of spectacle,

And distraught despair.

There is a child’s cry,

I hear it long and deep,

In the forest of the twilight,

While the town lies asleep.

There is silence in the alleyway,

In the deadened town,

A whisper is telling me,

Gloom is settling down.

There is a figure there,

Full of sudden trickery,

His eyes are flaming torches,

And behind him lies a mystery.

The man is slender,

Tall and skin so fair,

Two sharpened fangs,

Are bordered with black hair.

This is the night of all nights,

The one he has been waiting for,

For many a day he has come,

As a shadow beneath the door.

For years this has been happening,

Same day over and over

With no reason for it at all,

Except to spread fear forever.

And the figure stares at it all,

From his window in the house,

Watching us all as we jump,

As one heart of a timid mouse.

We see fear so often,

But take it not so lightly,

Remember today of this rhyme,

And think not Halloween so slightly.

Script Frenzy

For all those who do not know, Script Frenzy (and its partner NaNoWriMo) is a great month-long internaitonal project where you are encouraged to attempt to write a 100 page long script (film, stage, whatever you like) in the single month of April. Mnay people all over the world take part. Here's the website, its all online: http://smallgoldenwings.blogspot.co.uk/
I am taking part, it starts tomorrow people!! and I am writing Effervescent (finally), a script about a post-apoloclaptic world where five people strive to gain back their lives, from the newest arrival Norman, the A.I. Vera who is never seen only heard, to the seemingly unaging storyteller Vesuvius. All are shrouded in mystery, their lives and they are an enigma set in a steampunk world.

COMING SOON ... maybe

A production of life, loss and choices.
"Hells Above and Below" by Ailsa C Williamson. (working title)
Maybe ... if I finish it

Milk

White finely filtered
Dripping down the side of the carton
Drawn by gravity
Pure whole milk
This is the water of life
Cow juice, whole juice
So pure and fresh
A whole two litres
Give me peace, give me joy
Give me milk
It's just that simple.
Paturised, homogenised,
Standardised.
The whole of it
The freshness
The purity that has typical values
Of Sugars, fat and sodium
(equivalent as salt)

"So it is true", exerpt from Falcultas Est

Alex said nothing; I wasn’t entirely sure where he was. In pain I screwed up my eyes tightly, fearing that very soon the ground would be covered in blood and I would be a trembling moron before Alex even considered me human.

‘Please,’ I said in a very small voice, ‘Please, I am fine, just leave me and get out of here.’

‘But, you are hurt,’ came his voice, but it was wrong, it was chilly, too smooth. A hand touched mine.

‘Get off,’ I barked, tossing him off, and turning viciously in a circle. Somewhere I knew he was around. Opening my eyes I saw a red world, a bloody world. My tear ducts had erupted, I was crying blood, pure blood and my stomach began to rumble, wanting to spew up the same fluid, get it out of my system and wash my entire body anew. ‘SHIT,’ I yelled, and I doubled over, releasing the contents of my gut.

‘Hells,’ a whisper chilled uncomfortably near my ear, ‘So it is true.’

Extract from "The Dreamer's Stage"

Setting: A quiet narrow back street, late at night. Lit up sign of "The Glass Dome"
Enter Peter, slowly from USL. He whistles. 
Uriel enters from SR, walks past Peter who does not see him. 


Uriel: You're a fool, Peter Newcomer.


Peter (looking around): Eh?


Uriel: I said, you are a fool.

Peter: Ah, you again.

Uriel: One day you will learn, Peter Newcomer, Bringer of Bad Tidings, one day you will learn that men can be demons too.

Peter (smiling): You will never cease to follow me, will you?

Uriel: You are a liar and a thief, a coward and a murderer. Why trust in yourself when all hope is lost?

Peter: Because, demon, there is no one else to trust, but me. Unless you suggest I start trusting in you?

Uriel (silent, then walks around to stand right in Peter's face, says quietly): You are a fool.

Peter: What is a fool but a man who has not experienced what it is to be wise?