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.
02/06/08...Created 2008-06-01 22:05:21
-------------------------------------------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
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,
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
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.
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
over your plate
of what we do
we are finches
more to the sky
lines ...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.