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    dotsJournal: dots
    Mood: Thinking...


    i guess you'd tell me of sunflowers
    if you ever caught one behind your ear:
    a lone empress finding a kindred home.

    to speak of soil and roots and rain
    drenching fingers and flames: to sing
    each pungent note and remember.

    here, where life is simply spent,
    i hoard herbs in my winter pantry:
    basil for warmth, rosemary for company.


    ...Created 2008-06-01 22:05:21

    dotsJournal: dots
    Mood: Yeay!!

    i've written a few things lately. been so airy-headed at times; i need anchoring, i know, but i fly and dream and wish for silly things.

    i feel like a sitcom waiting to unravel. is that a good or a bad thing? i have no idea.
    and yes nan, i'm a dreamer.
    we all need dreams
    to show us...

    'me, a dreamer?'

    to my hands, you trace smiles
    and promises of weekends spent
    climbing dreamcatchers
    embedded in walls
    labelled 'forgiveness' and 'hope'.
    i stand to one side,
    giving what semblance of home
    still resides in my patchwork
    pavement journal life.

    this is all poetry and desire
    and the call to roost in trees,
    oblivious and carefree.
    yet still awake. still elegant
    and radiant, still and moving
    with the negative ions
    rushing over your sunset falls,
    relaxing you, making you spin and blaze
    and furrow your shoulders
    as if this was your one and only chance
    to relieve atlas of his burden.

    we dream of forgetting loss, of praying to comets,
    not gods. they at least come visit us in the skies,
    our necks craning for that split second it takes
    to make a wish, to hear flutes and sparrows
    and curtained auroras coming to rest
    like haloes on our heads.

    we are no angels. we smirk and snicker at gossip
    our ears should never have pricked up to hear.
    we are tears drying. we scrape for whatever reason
    to make these days go faster or slower,
    to end in joyful sighs.

    to my hands, you trace sorrow in silence.
    you make me dream, you show me hope,
    you tell me there is room to love.

    one really must wonder where all this gloop comes from, seriously. what to do but sit and write and not think fully, letting the heart and subconscious stirrings explode into what i would deem 'reality'? it's all so liquid, like pollock splattering paint on the walls for others to go "look, there's this squiggly thing that resembles this squiggly thing i ran over while driving way too fast to get here". yes, that sort of thing.

    no, not really. i'm undecided. yes, that's my final answer (for now).


    i had no need for epics until now.
    until vision became blurred,
    became a tidal huddle
    of myths and infants
    drowning in cool blue,
    warm greens
    and always


    this is the intro to an unwritten epic, one that's going to go on for at least a five minute read. but... how to keep the reader, and most importantly, the writer, interested in what's being written ten minutes after it's been penned and read? who knows. time to try, time to challenge oneself and go "fuck it. i have nothing left to lose, to overcome, but this; time to get it on, biarch."


    i've been writing about god lately

    how much of a window this entity is
    and how i fit on the ledge
    scrubbing the sills
    until my fingers know
    of that sooty touch

    that flagrant
    and myrrh
    and frankincense

    it's true. i've been writing far too much about and to and for god lately, even though i'm of no fixed religion. fixedness is so stale and unappetising though, sorta like... the same breakfast day in, day out, no matter if it's your favourite meal ever. actually, that would make it worse. and actually, it would quickly unbecome being a favourite after about, ohhh, a week, i think.

    i'm a rambling donkey.
    ee-aw, ee-aw.

    one more, because i'm bored, and because i like to make frustratingly long journal entries to irritate visitors. and because some of you love me to pieces. yes, you do.


    i search for

    in others

    in you

    grazing questions
    over your plate

    wordy eyes

    the significance

    of what we do

    and tomorrow


    i ask
    that you

    remember me

    beyond this
    captive garden

    we are finches
    i answer

    more to the sky
    than you


    we float
    in memories


    each other's

    ...Created 2008-05-22 05:04:07

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.




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