through time’s needle, prism-ed mind’s
through time’s needle, prism-ed mind’s
Amaya’s writing is so beautiful. I adore this.
Full of blood,
bubbling, full of life.
Face aglow, I am awed
by the blood vessels
flowing into womb,
thickened veins and
umbilical pulse. I can
feel their swollen contours
as they inflect upwards beneath
the skin. Bulbous breasts plump with
sweet amber, ~~ dripping like blackstrap
molasses. ~~ Soon the ambrosia will pour
forth as the new baby feeds, feeding the
flowering plants, tuberose and jasmine,
clematis and columbine, blossoming
blackberry brambles; ~~ this milky
blancmange enriching the fertile
soil of spring. ~~ Efflorescence
all around; a flurry of blood
cell activity flourishing in
living to fullest potential.
Warm mountain spring
water placates all of the
pressure and submerged
I float like slumbering
baby in womb. Resting in
this nine-month umbra,
cloistered from world’s
abrasive ways, ~~~~ I am
imbued with an afflatus
shine; mother and baby,
together an emblem for
Holy Spirit’s ripest fruit.
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A while ago, I had some pretty serious depression. And I knew it was depression for a lot of reasons, but most disturbingly, I had lost complete interest in music.
(This blog has been some wonderful therapy.)
Over the last week, I have felt moved to spontaneously sing love songs. I haven’t done this for a very long time, when I think about it, and, admittedly, it was over chocolate. But still, it was a very good sign.
I confess, though, there was some slight collateral damage…
Me: (opening fridge and seeing the chocolate chip hot cross buns I had forgotten about. My heart bursting into the chorus of “Silly Love Songs” by Paul McCartney and Wings.)
(notes dripping smiles)
Husband: (in another room) Awwww, I love you too, Honey.
(Pause. A very distinct pause).
Did I hear you open the fridge?
I kid you not. He actually asked me that. And then he said:
Are you actually singing to the hot cross buns?
Now kids, we will be married for twenty two years this June. That is a whole other post that I probably won’t write. But, I will say, we are at a point where we can laugh heartily at our foibles, rather than be so offended by them. Well, in this scenario, I can only speak for myself when I say that I wasn’t offended.
I am pretty sure he was
laughing, too. And not in that sympathy way…pretty sure…
(I did find it alarming, however, that he knew exactly what was happening without witnessing any of it. Come to think of it, being a sort of introvert, that kind of offends me.)
But I really did think it would be a one off deal. The whole thing surprised me. Until a couple of days later, after we had a glorious evening meal outside in the spectacular autumnal caress of divine weather known as autumn – he had cooked up a lovely, well balanced summer meal for himself, and I had a punnet of strawberries and a snickers bar, you know, the things I would imagine you would pick from the trees in the garden of Eden.
I took our dirty dishes (or in my case, packaging) inside.
my only sunshine,
you make me happy…
is, of course, not what was
BURSTING OUT OF MY HEART AS I HELD THE CHOCOLATE WRAPPER…
Summer stretches out
the viscous my mind’s pushing
through, enticing me,
to take a dive down
into the undulating
myself that it is
possible to take with me
what I know now and
swim without any
er, oxygen tanks?)
No, that’s not what I
mean. So I should take a breath
and when I find me
down there thrashing the
life I think is unique to
me in my naive
youthfulness, I would say, “HEY!
You need to hear Dwight.
And wear these goggles.
(And don’t open that email.)
And trust me. I’m you.”
originally posted, March 21st, 2017
I was pondering if I really wanted to use “splinter” as a metaphor,
(as I’m trying really hard to duct tape the ones in my head together,
when the unthinkable happened.
I leaned back on that comfortable wooden bench down at the river…
But I refuse to be bitter.
This song is for you, Murphy.
(I am not normally a Guy Sebastian fan but I love this. Music starts at 1.10)
These rules baffle me,
makes grammar seem so grammar-
ly, while habitat
poetic should not
be stoic-ly honed, watch me
prosetry there with
crossed toes, and spaces filling
not where they should be.
I’d rather splash ’round
before diving into this
language embrace of,
of finest syntax
enveloping me, bathing
your words of divine
crafting, filing pieces of
your soul. Absorbing,
inspired, what I am
trying to say, is that my
heart has grateful eyes.
These two lovely people, who deserve a big congratulations, added me to the party going around, that is otherwise known as ‘the Versatile Blogger Award’.
(I am not as versatile as you have given me credit for, as I could not get the logo onto my blog. Two copies of it are now floating around in the cyber ether, so just a heads up, in case it appears randomly.)
I think there is a general consensus, well, at least amongst the people who agree with me, that the blogger award thing is quite an enigma. Just where, exactly, are these awards coming from? Will we be receiving something in the mail? What if I don’t want to give my mailing address? Let’s cut to the chase, is it made of chocolate?
Egads, this needs to be shared. Hilarious.
Today we are going to learn some useful, everyday phrases in German. Repeat after me auf Deutsch and then in English.
Hallo. Wie geht es dir?
Hello. How are you?
Mir geht es gut. Danke für die Nachfrage.
I am doing well. Thank you for asking.
Ist das nicht der Tag wunderbar deprimierend?
Isn’t the day wonderfully depressing?
Meine Seele ist schwer mit Bedauern.
My soul is heavy with regret.
Die Liebe ist verwirrend zu dem kleinen Kind aber klar, der Mann auf dem Totenbett.
Love is perplexing to the little child, but clear to the man on his deathbed.
Früher haben wir in den Keller gehen und ziehen Trapeze in der Kohlenstaub.
We used to go down to the basement and draw trapezoids in the coal dust.
Der Supermarkt abgebrannt. Wir verhungern.
The supermarket burned down. We starve.
Bis morgen. Auf…
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If I throw out these words, will you arrange them?
If I scour these flakes off my thoughts, will you x-ray them?
Am I lazy, or just tired? So tired
I want this pain psychosomaticly fired. You’re fired.
It’s time to find
the coloured pencils again,
and I want those ones
with the erasers on the end.
Is that a thing?
It should be.
But maybe, instead,
a soft, downy bed,
and catholicons that rhyme,
making perfect the climb
out from cellular breaths,
releasing those deaths
that long to be free.
(Good night ❤)
I think this was a great idea! And difficult.
If you want to read a number of short and inspiring snippets…
Christine is known for her writing prompt challenges on her blog Brave and Reckless. She will be hosting a Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge at the Go Dog Go Cafe. The prompts are designed to be quick challenges that can be written in 10 to 15 minutes, inspire you creatively, are fun, and get everyone interacting. Please post your response to the prompt in the comments below and show your fellow posters some love and support. All members of the Go Dog Go community, including Baristas, are welcome to participate. Feel free to share this post on your own blogs and/or Facebook.
Christine is always looking for cool, quick writing prompts. If you have a great idea for a future Tuesday prompt challenge, send it to her at firstname.lastname@example.org
Autobiographical Ten Word Story: Tell us your life story (or a part of your life story) in ten words
“I’ll open up when everybody’s laughing”.
I’ve loved this song, this album, for ages. And I thought I should write a short thank you to everyone who reads and honours me with supportive comments on my blog (one that has no idea about its identity at times, but it’s fun!) and I have so enjoyed connecting with you through it. To steal another line from this song: “I’d go with you on a road to nowhere.”
There has been a lot on my mind lately. And before that, also. And, no doubt, before that. And then, for a while before that, not so much, because I had the flu really badly and I was just annoyed more than anything.
I have had different things I wanted to write about. But then my mind wandered, as it does, especially when I am hungry, and I found myself remembering the first time I read Jack Handey quotes. In a little store in Missouri, USA. Twenty plus years ago.
I laughed so hard I forgot I was on this planet for a moment, with all of its bad news infested bad newsiness. And as there seems to be so much of that lately, my mind returned to that happy place. So if you need to join me there for a moment, you are most welcome. These are for you (well, if I am honest, mostly for me, really. But I hope you can enjoy them too).
Also, I can’t remember why I titled this “profile”. There was a really good/pertinent/profound/moving reason for it, but you know, I am hungry.
“If you define cowardice as running away at the first sign of danger, screaming and tripping and begging for mercy, then yes, Mr Brave Man, I guess I am a coward.”
(Oh wait, now I am, maybe, remembering why I called this “profile”.
Images shamelessly stolen from who knows where exactly?
these truths like hot potatoes
on sooths from tenured sayers,
this chartered territory
is predictable and
free not free
let’s try this other fork
road, forest, desert, Wiggles song, social media
to our lungs…
I, oh so love, that Murray is in this…
this rake isn’t as heavy as I thought it would be,
I feel your suggestions as you’re watching me
make these corrugations –
they were in my dreams,
bursting from the seams
of my mind’s eye.
From here below periphery,
silent door’s epiphany,
you hear my eyes as you look at me…
one of my current ear worms. if you need a little energy boost, or a push through a portal or something…(and if this video doesn’t play for you because you don’t live in the best country on earth 😉 there is this acoustic version:)
So after FFP and I figured out how to share this, because I am a bit share illiterate, and we are staring at our screens wondering where the ‘reblog’ button went…I am giving this a go…
If you are so inclined, click on this. I thought it was a gorgeous piece. And by piece, I mean the poem, as lovely as the artwork is.
LOVE it FFP!
(Also, I love that it’s not on Valentine’s Day).
Enigmas like this Don’t come ’round every bend: How best he be told, (In language aptly bold) Of the love, The constant LOVE I have for the storm of him? My impassions brimmed, I aim at words to tell it all, Make other love-claimers ashamed, Inadequate– Though even my claim is not Commensurate To the […]
Life, its cruise, untils and snooze and streams of semi-consciousness,
time and ruse and bills and flus and beams of demi-righteousness,
cracks and crevices,
the current, it fools
in ego pools
and just how many tsunamis can fit in here,
I’ll be over here with my tea,
*Trigger warning: there’s a picture of a clown in this post
I have started cleaning house.
I’m going to be brutal. (No, really…)
Then two days ago I found this.
It belonged to my twin brother.
Why I have it, I cannot answer.
(Mostly due to temporary paralysis, and now I just can’t remember).
But it is,
the stuff of nightmares.
(And italicized, centralised, poetic importance.)
And I swear, I heard some synapses burn out when I saw it. And others that absolutely refused to be created…
(Also, if you can, take a moment to listen to this…
balmed in a constant, gentle stream.
Filled with achingly quiet strength, healing purpose. Vibrating with the tenor of a generation.
He carefully strung his violin with them, using the instructions in the back of the book he was holding.
A journal he had found in, of all places, the attic.
His beloved father’s journal.
Sigh. What a beautiful performance.
Featured image: my husband’s
The water stung her eyes.
Darn it, it must be the black and white. Probably too acidic.
This memory did look good on her wall, but she couldn’t remember why it was there.
She had dived in, of course, to find the details, but the pain in her eyes caught her off guard.
Being two dimensional, also caught her off guard. It shouldn’t have. But it did. She was new at this, after all.
New plan –
to back away from this old plan. To get back, at least, to three dimensions.
It would, surely, all come to her then,
when she caught the now…
My chocolate levels have oscillated today, and with them, the way I feel about this piece. I took it down for a while, then rewrote it a little. So sorry to those of you who read it earlier. But this is definitely a work in progress…more like some doodling…and the character found herself laughing in the mirror a little as time went on…
Featured image: my own