Anastasya Shepherd

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Category: Poetry

  • Primitive divisions sell

    Faceless, but colour-coded:
    blue for boys,
    pink for girls.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • Colours Of Thought

    The colours of thought
    deep inside our minds,
    behind the facade –
    black, white and blood-red.
    We can sing the rainbow,
    we can paint the rainbow,
    we can talk the rainbow…
    but they remain
    behind the eyes,
    deep inside the soul,
    the colours of emotion –
    black, white and blood-red.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • Malignant metaphors

    Black and white thinking:
    always easy
    often beautiful
    never right.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • Transformation

    As we adapt to our world we also define it,
    bending the space around the shell we build.
    Spirals are best.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • I

    I know I am special – I am unique.
    And so is everyone else.
    Of course, in my heart of hearts, I believe that I am more unique than others…
    fortunately, in my head of heads, I know it not to be true.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • Girls, horses, cracks…

    Pictures are more ambiguous than words
    and that is their attraction.

    If I say, ‘girls, horses, cracks in your window on the world,’
    it is just a phrase.
    Too trite.
    Too didactic.
    Too empty.
    I can pad it out a bit,
    but there is still too much me
    and too little you.

    But the picture invites you to enter.
    It has a smoky room with a warm glow of companionship,
    the mounting excitement of expectations,
    the exhilaration of the win,
    the emptiness of loss,
    unarticulated similarities between sex and betting,
    an articulated sense of defeat.
    It has voids to be filled and cracks to be expanded or patched up.
    Fill the void and there is no room for excitement.
    Patch up the cracks and your view through the window is obscured further.
    But the alternative is to remain cracked and unfulfilled…

    So much more in the picture:
    more feelings,
    more ideas,
    even more words.
    But also more work.
    Ambiguity gives you all that you are willing to put into it.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • Border line

    Here you are,
    building and re-building your wall,
    on the border between the manageable stagnation within your mind
    and the beguiling chaos without.
    The wind of reality blows through the cracks,
    soft but incessant,
    frightening and alluring…
    – Knock, knock.
    – Who is there?
    – Life.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • Still life before the storm

    As you travel through England, you gain a visceral understanding of space-time continuum, for you can see time affected and distorted by space and vice versa, as you move between villages and towns, between pasts and presents, through pools of frozen time into the rapids.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • Simple logic

    If you spend enough time filling your space with junk, you inevitably run out of both.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in
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