Poetry and Creative Writing for All

Candice-Leigh Johnstone

Winner of our Top 5 Poets of May 2003 Online Competition

I have always loved the written word. I learned to read and write by the age of only four and since then, have enjoyed spending more time reading books than doing pretty-much anything else. I studied English as one of my Majors at university and obtained distinctions in my final year. Although I only write contemporary poetry, my all-time favourite is the classic Eloisa to Abelard by Alexander Pope. I have read it repeatedly over the years, and every time I do, I am in awe and stirred by the fervour and passion of this piece.

I wrote poetry throughout my teen years, but had very little confidence in my work, so I kept it 'undercover' until the year 2000. It was during this year that I reached a point where I felt so angst-ridden about so many things that I was driven to write an entire anthology entitled The Big Blue Obscene Balloon and entered it into South Africa's National Arts Festival in Grahamstown. It was a highly controversial and explicit collection of poems covering some sensitive issues such as violence, poverty, sex, abuse, racism, politics and religion. I was commended for my efforts. I am now housed in South Africa's National Literary museum - a great honour for me, although since then, I have not written anything quite as daring or surprising - I have vented those feelings and left them alone. The recognition I received gave me the impetus to believe more in my ability to write poetry and I began to write more often. Since those days, I haven't looked back and much of my poetry has been published in the UK, USA and Africa.

I plan to complete my Honours and Masters Degrees over the next two
years to qualify as a Clinical Psychologist, as this is the career path that I plan to pursue in the long-term. At present, I am working as a Communications Assistant for First National Bank, Trust Services in Johannesburg. I find the city of Johannesburg to be a lifeless, concrete monster that sucks the soul and individuality out of its people. I try to escape from this place from time to time by visiting the seaside, and this is the source of imagery of the ocean you will find in some of my poetry. Love has also always been a tricky area of my life, and although you will VERY rarely find me giving overt declarations of devotion in my poetry, a lot of the metaphors I use provide hidden clues to what I find to be a particularly difficult aspect to my life, filled with many highs and lows.

There is so much pain, beauty, joy, colour and spirit etc. in the world around us that I feel I have a constant source of inspiration at my disposal. For me, the experience of writing poetry is about capturing a moment and giving it expression that will do justice to the original feeling I had inside of me. I am transforming these intangible things into
something concrete that I can keep. My poetic trademarks are: originality, loads of intricate metaphors and similes, personification, tons of figurative and descriptive bits that appeal to the senses, and most of all...the writing is wrought with intensity - you will never find  'mediocre' feelings expressed in my poetry - it's not my style! My dream as most, is to become a renown poet - perhaps it will remain a mere dream, but I feel that I am on my way to becoming an established writer and after all, dreams are the stuff that poetry is made of...

An Abysmal Intimacy

Return to me,
chasms of intimacy

Your semblance is my sentimental pen,
and the stylus my sword
My words: the blood that the weapon spills

I am filled with ills
- but I am not dead

I am passionately alive,
yet steeped in this blood!

Poetry:
The opiate of my private pains

The evening's cast in lilac stains and
the fumes of flowers hang dizzy in the air

At the inmost sphere
I behold me here...

Ultraviolet

When the morning closes in on us
and the ink of night streams down
the ether
The atmosphere will become
glossed over
with the lustre of lightest azure

The magic that encircles
our acquaintance will be an
orange-red pumpkin in
the aurora of broad day and
the stars will shatter like
the perspex Toys that they are!

All likelihood of our continuation
will be subdued
as the distance that persists
between the fire-orb and
the pallid moon
becomes a like expanse that will
divide us soon

Again

This memory is:
a favourite book.
I hold it dear and deep.

Take it off the musty shelf,
from time to time, to keep
and re-read all the parts
that I love most...

The words that move me still...

Stilled into silence...

Breaks my heart every time.

To feel it all so close,
yet imminently far gone.

Separated by,
a hundred-hours-passing-by...

Turn back the tremendous timer
and you will find us
standing still like fools who
could have
should have,
but never did!

My recollections are :
a piece of regretful music.
My fingers find the piano keys
in the darkness of pre-dawn.
I know this song's strain well
- the feeling moves me still.

Stilled into silence...

Breaks my heart every time.

Like a distant, cloudy dream
in mind, I strain to form your face,
Till you find me
inside sleep's ravine,
wandering round our haunting place

Then suddenly the scene returns to me
in all its clarity
like sobriety's slap of icy air outside

So I shut the book kindly and
leave the ebony and ivory at rest
Till I long to return, and I always do,
to you that I love best...
again.

Thoughts Cast in Vermillion

Daylight bleeds the skies
infrared

Sun makes his monstrous descent
behind the world this side,
spurting crimson gushes
upon the imminent night

Again, darkness will creep up on me
Crawl over me
like a midday shadow on
a sundial's face.

I can hear the screaming clocks'
cogwheels
RACE

Pacing the slipping seconds
And milliseconds

TICKING
Down on a secret stopwatch
that clacks in sync with
my riveted heart

SCREECHING
The little metal pinions

CHIMING
The hours

I raise my eyes to
the apocalyptic skies of fire

A feeling creeps like
FEAR...

Vivid

Down in the dense of dark
I discover your

Spark

And my little Dolphin-box-of-dreams
opens up...
Opens up to you and
all the shimmering trinckets spill over the brim
like Northern Lights in the opaque room
And I sparkle
and I glisten
in the pool of your eyes tight-shut

Kindred spirits
caught up in the night
We meet and take strangest flight
Then kiss
and die
in the shadow-morning

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