Grant Jolly

Grant Jollyhappens to be one of my favourite Poets. In addition to that, he doesn\’t only write but on July 16 he\’ll be opening his press called Manic Raven —  so keep an eye out!!! Moreover all the poems listed below are from Grant\’s book \”Feed Him To The Bears\” which is currently available on Amazon.

There once was a poet and an artist. They fell madly in

love. The Poet wrote endlessly, spilling ink over

hundreds of pages; each sentence detailing the Artist’s

beauty in a new light. The Poet was broken and this

healed his mind.

The Artist worked on a never-ending portrait of the

Poet. With every single stroke of her brush, she slowly

pieced him back together again on canvas.

There once was a poet and an artist. They were broken,

now complete.

This piece is so unbelievably poignant, to be honest with you it reminds me of another one of my favourite poets Khalil Gibran. I just adore the relationship above between Poet & Artist, to me this reads as the ideal marriage between writing and visual arts. It\’s rare but can you imagine a hybrid human who is both a Poet and Artist a yin-yang if you will — as I don\’t think one can have poetry without art and vice-versa they feed into each other. The day you meet your muse to draw all corresponding images to your poetry it will leave you feeling more than blissful. Especially if your muse can paint based on your writing – an incredibly symbiotic relationship that surpasses even inspiration itself. Can you imagine? That would be mind blowing for sure.

My memories melt

Like candle wax

As I stand in the shower

Charred lumps of darkness

Fall to my feet In slow motion

And my mind plays

Vivid flashbacks…

I don’t know how long

I’ve been standing here

But it feels like hours

And still

Your memory

Is on fire

Inside my head

Never fading

The rest of me

Decaying

To quote Haunted from the Love \’n Rockets “when the minutes drag…” we\’ve all been there right? When times stand still and memories come flooding into our minds. I don\’t know what it is about past snapshots especially those filled with lovers from the days of old. It\’s the horrible memories that remain static as much as the blissful ones. I can just picture a man like Michelangelo\’s David standing tall in a shower of acid rain that slowly starts to chip away at his madness with a sharp mind as a corresponding partner.

Your memory

Is on fire

Inside my head

Never fading

The rest of me

Decaying

I wanted to cultivate a tactile experience with the section above – my hands kept tracing the words for a good 3 minutes. For certain the hand which wrote this piece was at a poignant time in their life.

I sit there and watch

As you walk away

Your lipstick-stained cigarette

Still burning In the ashtray

Your perfume lingers…

I pick up the cigarette

Smoke dances

Around my fingers

I push the cotton

Between my lips

And close my eyes

Inhale

To taste

Your

Final

Kiss

Let me tell you a little story that happened to a friend of mine who was literally like the character in this piece. The interesting aspect of this poem is that we can flip the gender roles very easily as heartbreak is something that is conducive to all of us – normally there is the one doing the breaking and the one with a broken heart. My friend had been emotionally, mentally and verbally abused by her fiance. One night she found herself breaking up an engagement that was probably doomed upon the first “I will.” Needless to say my friend got her revenge when she let out 4 years of pain on him  — all at once. Not in the similar fashion that Eric Draven\’s character did in The Crow this was all verbal, by the time she was done with him he was a pile of goo on the floor. Now, I do not advocate violence on anyone there is always a polite non ignorant way to express oneself and she did it perfectly.   In a similar fashion as this poem sometimes final kisses exist through inanimate objects over actually plump lips.