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    Chosen Vanities
    Chosen Vanities
    Chosen Vanities
    Ebook75 pages24 minutes

    Chosen Vanities

    By Edward Rhodes

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Chosen Vanities is a collection of poems, mostly written between
    the summer months of 2011 and the dark beginnings of 2013. It
    is a freer and more personal work than All My Masks, and covers a
    broader range of themes, and while not afraid to gaze a while into
    the shadows there are moments of joy which shine all the brighter
    when set against the darker background behind.
    As a rule, the poems appear in reverse chronological order.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherXlibris UK
    Release dateApr 19, 2013
    ISBN9781483605791
    Chosen Vanities
    Author

    Edward Rhodes

    Edward Rhodes currently lives in Patcham, to the north of his native city of Brighton and Hove. He began reading poetry to friends in pubs in the latter part of 2009, making his stage debut as a performance poet at Horseplay (then held in the Sanctuary Cella in Hove) at the end of March 2010. He is a member of the Church of Christ the King, at the Clarendon Centre, and is, at the time of writing, unmarried with no children.

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      Book preview

      Chosen Vanities - Edward Rhodes

      Bitter

      How bitter the hearts whose plans fail

      The souls whose prayers breed disappointments

      Whose thoughts find all their dreams too frail

      And nurture in their stead resentments

      Who let fall silent all their songs

      And still the cry of all their longings

      Controversy

      I would like to apologise for the controversy

      I would like to apologise in advance

      I would like to apologise

      Lest I, in some deluded trance

      some sleep-deprived and feeble

      state of slow-decaying mind

      speak out of turn or give offence

      for that would be unkind

      and, as we know, unkindness

      has no defence

      I have been told, perhaps unhelpfully, that it is not the beauty or the plainness of the form which does delight or else repel but rather character, my soul shone out of staring eyes, which makes me ugly

      But what do I know?

      And elsewhere, at another time, I overheard it controverted that it really is a matter of size whatever else may be declared contrariwise

      But whom should I believe?

      For when the moment comes, the end of self-deception, the vivisection of mind and heart and soul, the being taken away to where I do not wish to go, I will not go silently. No. When I can stand and SHOUT and reason, forgive me please, forgive me in my frantic futile frenzy, for I sit alone in dark and willingly which swallows up all hopes and dreams replacing them with fears and silent cries out into void, it seems that there is no-one there, at least, at times, it seems—it seems—but I will hold my peace and will believe

      Though sometimes I just lie awake at night, projectile soul-vomit into darkness when there is no sight

      Sorry, I’m really sorry, really I am

      did I just say something different

      or something inappropriate

      or else something appropriate

      to an indifferent world?

      Last

      I cannot breathe life back into the corpse

      Of days that once were and now are not

      For these things

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