I can’t find the font
my mind is speaking in. And
then the magpie sang.
I can’t find the font
my mind is speaking in. And
then the magpie sang.
pensivity pilots pain postulations quickening quirky quaking quarrels revolving round reforming restitutive recourses streaming sanguine symbols solidifying recidivist's regaling as reasonable. Why, thank you me. I will have another piece of cake.
when he looked at her,
carrying the caveats
of a thousand dreams,
and in just the right light
when she angled her perception,
her kaleidoscopic-ed name
“…how rare, and beautiful it truly is, that we exist…”
and how quickly this year has gone. It was lovely to watch this beautiful video again. Life IS precious
this zipper that we are
each tooth an infinite word
unconscious and inherently
devastating, jagged edges
formed of unhearing,
the cacophony of selves
buckling and distorting
devastating, the beauty
that comes with Time
soul of audibility
screams “sacramental”. Tender
what do I wear?
and symptoms fall
Mar/re/ooh/na; verb; Let’s Dance
I went through the store trying to find a particular kind of eraser I used to love. Oh foolish me. All good products seem to disappear.
Thank you, but maybe not this eraser that spreads my mistakes around, magically darkening the crystallized regret to embed the paper with bloodied molecules of ridicule.
And you know how I hate melodrama…
I went home instead and started cleaning out some closets. So straight forward in theory. But I found all kinds of pieces that opened up holes in me. And filled them perfectly.
And then I emptied the pockets of an old purse I no longer used.
And there they were.
I had forgotten I used to carry them with me everywhere. I mean, you never know when you might need them.
How silly. I thought I had needed erasers.
“In Yolngu culture dance plays a pivotal role. There’s ceremonial dance, celebratory dance and then there’s Marryuna; to dance with no shame, to freestyle for the sheer elation of dancing.”
I had the radio on, and heard this for the first time. My immediate thought was, “holy cow, this glorious man is somehow channelling Emma Louise!” and it turns out, it is her. She has had her voice pitched down for the whole album. Something she has wanted to do for years apparently. Her voice is angelic, but I love this too. (She calls him Joseph.) If you feel like a gorgeously heart breaking moment…
How I long to write you in all of your shifting
but its interminable nuance is impossible to pin down
and these glasses like tunnel vision are cramping my mind.
I could take off my glasses, I suppose,
but maybe you are just not meant to be written,
and probably in an ancient language’s complexity
with those musical scales we don’t even use anymore,
and that celestial spectrum our human eyes fail to see.
And then I started thinking about Jesus cooking breakfast on the shore after everything he had been through. If anyone’s profundity and humility came close…
He thought for a moment, that he was over doing it. But he wasn’t sure because of the compartments in his mind.
She didn’t have those compartments. And it moved him. Moved him.
He decided he wouldn’t work on his rhyming on Friday, afterall.
Here we go, just doing our thing. Living in bewilderment as we bump into each other stepping out of time machines. I just did so tonight, when I looked at the calendar and realised it’s been 2 years since I started blogging. I am pretty sure it was only a couple of months ago I wrote a post for my first anniversary. This post actually:
“So check it out, it has actually been a year today since I started my blog!
And I am a little drunk right now for all kinds of reasons, so I don’t plan to wax long and lyrical about what a freaking honour it has been. Okay, maybe just a little…”
I’m sure there is a perfect song somewhere to capture this credible moment in time. But it is almost the 8th now, and who cares really?
And, I also have glasses for my astigmatism and blah blah. I do see things differently. It’s been startling, to say the least.
This is me with my glasses, not looking startled. I texted this to my husband one night when he was working late, to show him I had started the fire. It made him laugh. I am not photogenic. But I consider this my “all I do is win” look. Which kind of goes without saying. Which also goes with the song I posted last year. And in case you can’t be bothered even looking, and who can blame you really, I will repost it for you. I love it.
(I have cut to the relevant moments).
PS, in case you didn’t know this about me, it’s not about winning. Unless, you consider not tripping every time I step out of that dang time machine, winning. In which case, I have been quite the winner lately. Could be my glasses…
Peace, love and perspective, Everyone. Thanks for enriching my life, I am so appreciative.
this error in heart
sight – chipping your hieroglyphs.
sharp, ironed grief bleeds
(originally posted Dec 2016)
attempts to alienate confusion
decaf, a necessary intrusion
I miss you.
float me past the contusions
the knots in my shadow crave fusion
I spill you.
the fragments in frosty perfection
arranging the shards of reflection
I see you.
memory’s space incandescing
cauterise weds convalescing
I place you.
the pieces not lifed in competing
the peace not in ice but the heating
tapestried sensed in the meeting
I love you.
Another series of Steve’s I’m loving. His creativity appears to be infinite 😁
Before the new days, ancient currawongs
hammering bells awoke me.
The new birds want my moto perpetuo,
my clockwork drive to nonexistence,
to eternal giving up before beginning.
I was seated at a table in bibliographic
co-ordinates, aligning ping-pong balls
in rows, to start and finish with the first.
View original post 260 more words
could you please play it again, she didn’t say
while she was driving to find the nearest place
that could remove this tattoo
this timbred tattoo
storeyed diagonally through
dermis traitorously diaphanous
I have been spending some time with my lovely mother, and we just had a great time laughing at this. I thought I would re-share it.
It pretty much left me thinking, what the hell am I doing writing this crappy poem? So I am sharing this instead.❤
This looks lazy. Although, remember, looks can be deceiving. Well, except in this case. I am being lazy.
But, this is worth your time, I promise. It went around a couple of years ago, and because I’m so obviously filled with love for fellow humanity, and not just chocolate, I thought I’d bring it back around. Maybe counter clockwise this time. But when you get a chance, do yourself a favour and read it. For all of its philosophical poignancy/hilarity/downright jocularity.
Thank you for nominating me dear Ivor
(There are a couple of minutes of chatting at the beginning I have cut off, the song is only 3-4 mins long).
I thought I would nominate anyone who is taking the time to read and/or listen to my music challenge posts. I am interested in all of your choices. No pressure/obligation of course❤
Thank you for nominating me Dear Ivor
“I can’t write like you,
with your weaving wrinkles
and dime shaped gold
your nesting tableaux
in colours that fold
so neatly in parameters
that have never been told…”
said Lily to her bear. Her very first bear. Still first after wonderful, adventurous, fun filled, pensively shaded years.
“Well, that’s because you aren’t a bear”.
Thank you so much for nominating me Dear Ivor
to the haunting of nature’s
so lovingly stripping
ribboned into staff –
the soft landing place for notes
beloved by two
abstractly wooded dreams.
Spring shoes of eucalypt scent
skipping through snow
and leaving imprints
I don’t want to follow home…
(PS. this video is mesmerising in full screen)
It felt so much like a Wednesday – porous and drifting…
It wasn’t quite cold enough to start a fire, which kind of threw him. It’s always nice to have a fire to work by, when the Wednesday dig starts. But he reasoned with himself that the digs were getting shallower. Dr. _____ said that was a good thing – the need was lessening, you know, to build defences from the debris he found. They thought he was inching closer to jumping off and grabbing the drifting instead.
He wasn’t sure. He looked down at his journal. Apparently he had been writing in it.
those notes are soaring above me, but there’s blood all over my un-reach. This is the refrain. I need to re-write the refrain. I need to let it rain.
I also need to work on my rhyming.