Explore a selectionof Sofia's poetry ...

A collection of poetry exploring how I feel the creative process works for me, transmission of impulse; which sounds magical while at the same time scientific. Neurotransmission is a series of poems that explores the human experience, specifically the ‘artist’s experience, from a macro standpoint and then zooms in on smaller and more grounded poems.

Smooth surfaces or craters resembling a

Luna texture more than the soft skin of Venus.

But the surface houses an intergalactic soul.

Roam free across its planes, but keep in mind that the

Soul governs the surface so this Luna texture

Is a controlled way of showing her power within.

A two-horned goddess harnessing her strength

Fighting to be distinct in her own right

To govern the moon in all of its cycles

All of its various shades of completion

All of its craters and imperfections

Luna is illuminated, as it is, by Sol.

Pearlescent shell holding beauty

Birthing the woman, a woman birthed,

A woman that any woman could claim to be

If they were to bare all in the artistry that

Brought her to life to depict her;

Light of Caeser’s life, morning star.

Morta arrivesfor Venus, a warning of what is to be

And Venus falls to her knees as a witness to

The people attempting to flee to the sea

The coast a place of safety governed by their goddess

Some stay at home, left alone and without faith

In their goddess who they believe has forsaken them.

Venus Physica Pompeiana, protector of Pompeii

Goddess of sea and trade,

To the people frozen in time, in eternal night.

As the ash falls on the city the people cry out

To their goddess for solace to stop

The falling debris.

Tides controlled by moons magnetic pull

Waves ridden by Luna on her chariot of two

While Sol rides ahead by four seasons,

A guide across the universe and skies.

Luna follows in this path

In the sun’s shadow.

Venus a broken shell of loss

Looks to the heavens for a sign,

Her people grey as Luna

Who appears across the sky

The two witness one another’s pain

Their souls splitting

Luna looks to Sol who shrugs

Nothing can be done to save their shrubs, the people,

Or their town, Sol wants to continue towards the crown.

Luna stops and stares at Venus who is aware

That her people cannot be saved

But there are ways of making life again.

Venus rises from the ashes that encase her people

Again born from the sea stands a woman fully formed.

Luna looks on, pulls from Sol, rides her chariot away,

Turning the sky to night from what once was day.

The moonlit sky punctured by the orange

Vesuvius continues to produce.

Venus bathes in the waters off the shore

Ash ridden body turning

Back to its original glow, pearlescent.

Luna rides the waves of the sky

Alone in her chariot

Alongside her glowing crescent.

The moon sits in the sky

Strings of lights attach those

Planets. Lights better known as

Stars, tying together the universe.

Suspending the globes in silence

Unmoving and undisturbed

Universe

Sat their soundly you drift in and out,

Of a sleep you fought hard against to begin

With, but now accept. I lie awake in bed

Fighting while you achieve the bliss of sleep.

I can tell there’s a flurry of activity in your mind

From the way your eyelids flutter now and then,

Mind buzzing with possibility, dreams come easily to you.

While I strain my eyes dark shadows becoming

Figures that haunted my nightmares (When I could sleep).

Jagged edges of dark thoughts puncture every

Hope of reaching that serenity that I feel

Radiating off you.

The grey glow disappears and the orange light

Fights its way through the curtain.

You open your eyes

“How did you sleep?”

Stale air finds dreary minds

Using alcohol to clean inside

Their bodies intoxicated with

The feeling of letting go.

They chug their vodka discarding

The ice and lime-

No water and fruit for them.

Their bodies are all slick

With grime and they shine

In the lights that scan over their

Faces lit up pink, blue, green,

Embarrassed, sad, jealous,

We’ve seen them all

Before in many situations

But here we know

And they do too

As they cling to one another

And turn pink and blue.

Light cast by low winter sun

Means that what can be seen is

Altered, different images show through

Sheets of condensation covering

Windows so you can’t see.

Wipe clean and show that

Chains of silver necklaces are

Between the trees,

Linking them together,

And forming nets that could catch

Childhood dreams.

I see a cold cup of coffee,

The logo of which stares me down,

Asking me to drink it all now,

While you’re sat there lecturing air

Your nose wrinkles as you read your book,

Furrowed brow scanning worn pages.

Shoulders bend as you hunch forward,

You speak with passion at nothing,

You’ve read it many times before

But you’d rather read it again

Instead of watching me clearly

Watching you.

More engaged in the book than me

You aren’t interesting either

Even though you claim to be

Much more interesting than I am

Reading doesn’t make up for

Your lack of character.

I read your lines differently now

Because I know why they are there

Your eyes crinkle at the sides from

Squinting, not laughter of happy

Times, but rather getting lost in

A world that’s anything but this.

I didn’t know that last time we

Sat here, when you kept referencing

This damn book and lecturing me.

I don’t know why I’ve stuck around

But I would be within my rights,

To drown your book in my coffee.

We walk together and the

Rhythm of our footsteps echoes

Down the empty street as we talk to one another,

About what we just ate or the weather,

As tiny children get onto the school bus next to us-

And we walk into the corner shop to buy cigarettes,

I use my lighter to light yours and mine,

You block the wind with your hand and it

Blows the light out anyway, we-

Chalk it up to bad luck and make our way home,

Chatting about our mutual muse and the hats

All reporters seemed to wear in the past.

When the ocean brushes against the sand it doesn’t

Stop there, instead rushing up the pebbles

Wearing them down until they too become sand.

Sand mixed in with seashells and seaweed and

Sea creatures, some of whom wash onto shore,

Where you can see pieces of the sea.

Jellyfish on sand,

On land they are

Therefore no longer fish,

They no longer swim but

Sunbathe on hot sand.

There are logs on the shore,

Driftwood that has drifted.

The sea is freezing cold, as are the

Seagulls that swim, through the sky above,

They swim through air, without care

As fish do through water, and maybe we

Are more like fish because we can’t fly.

People walk at pace because they can’t

Stay in the wind long or it will blow them away.

The wind lifts everything to the sky

And the tower may catch your eye.

Pop of red on blue.

The blue of the sea and sky blends together,

Everything blurred except from that pop of red

Towering above the rest,

Seeming to puff out its chest.

The seaside is pretty

When it’s seen from the sea,

But behind those blue skies and

Towers and shops and dippers and

Donuts and candyfloss,

There are houses that are

Less brightly coloured.

Their houses are not painted,

Nobody towering above the rest.

People only see the blue,

Or grey, most days.

Not blue today, painted skies it would seem

Because most things seem grey.

Sometimes the streets are illuminated

With lights hanging for miles,

Guiding people along the seaside

Lighting up the shore.

Traditions are all well and good,

Behind, the houses are in the dark.

Rooms left in the dark to save on electricity.

Struggling to see what the point is,

In lights that light up a seashore,

Where nobody goes anymore.

Lines intertwine and the

Gaps in between mean that

The world can be seen through

Cracks in the shell and a centre

That is visible through the layers.

These lines twist together to create

A world hopefully less twisted.

We are relying on fate to see

What’s beneath the surface.

Stepping through the portal

We see the hope of earth’s immortal

Life and our responsibility to excite our

Mind with possibility and hope

That one day the dream

Will become our reality.

Doorways to a world unoccupied minds fight to get to

Unlock opportunity in undiscovered universes only

Seen through your minds’ eye when it is closed.

The ideas drift around idyllic planes

But anything but plain they enamour the

Imagination most lost as a child and locked away.

Closed eyes see clearly the unseen vibrance of

A world left to rot and to be forgotten but

Cling to the memories of what once was.

Watering these roots they grow a new world

Earth’s destruction is on rewind

Blossoming backwards.

The eyes once opened see the world that was

A place of abundance and life and hope and

They cannot unsee what they have witnessed.

When eyes are wide open they are not shut

Urged only to open others minds; eyes

Reach out to pull in those who can’t envision.

Paper torn apart to collate pieces that tie

Together to create the entire image that

Inspired the artist to invent art.

Words created to capture the feeling that

Conveys concisely our unearthly universe

To the lonely critic who is unaware.

Pictures picked to present perceptions

Of what was perfection to the portrayer

A portrait of the lens nobody else sees.

Techniques chosen to tell true tales to

Eagerly listening toddlers or teachers

Tracing lines with timid fingertips.

Entertainers dream of horror,

Empathy, and understanding.

Disappear as the curtain falls,

Spellbound the audience let

Out an unknown breath,

Afraid of their reflection.

She isn’t beautiful but she’s more

Her heart and mind are pure.

You hesitate when she opens the door

But she is able and says that you’re

Carrying her bags which she thanks you for.

She loves you so she will savour

Your boring chatter about some obscure

Thing that she is unsure

About, because you will endure

That you need to reassure

Her due to people that made sure

That she could not see

Her own allure.

And you tell her, every day,

That she could do better but

She will say the fact you know that

Means you’re okay.

Symphonies can be sensory

Overloads like orchestras that

Orchestrate the downfall of a

Concerto concerned with keeping

Control of the chords kept from them

Fanfares announcing fans entering

The ensemble entertains them

Movement towards a melody less

Musical and more menacing

Measured revolution

Yet no resolution to the symphony

So the performers struggle towards

A dolce decrescendo that dulls minds

They hit the downbeat and beaten down

Look up to the crowd