Scrambling…

through her mind’s thesaurus

she searched for other words for her wrists, singed

her edges smouldering, smoke fringed

internal edges, that is.

 

Scrambling through the messages in his eyes

he finds the one he wants to send her, hopefully

she’ll read it without doubt, earnestly

not doubting him, that is.

 

The other he, she should be doubting

he holds that glass, sun’s rays re routing

to warm her, that is

what he’s always told her…

Spaghetti for breakfast

A rooster crowed last night

above computer light

a lone, untimely call

I stopped, looked through the wall

turned back, to what I was reading

unconvinced by random pleading

for it did only crow once

and there were more important things to consider now, like, I don’t know, this sudden ability to see through the wall…

~

I woke this morning with coffee in my dream

no appetite for solids

just a fragrant, welcome stream

of consciousness, until

I thought of all my thoughts

the ones I should be thinking

and then there were the others

the ones you gave me, sinking

into convolution madness

with an awesome soundtrack playing

the sun is out and colours

are competing with the splaying

of my thoughts into sensations…

 

and now I want

spaghetti for breakfast

~

(Post breakfast edit, I did have leftover pasta. It was delicious. And I think this song should go here…  😁)

 

 

just when you think your ducks are…

 

IMG_20170725_112606

 

philosophise me

unhelix my mind

and then chastise me

rhyme my poses

retime my proses

snap my beak

rethorn the roses

 

alphabetize me

file my shadows

then ostracise me

crime my creases

frieze my freezes

face me in to

comb with tweezers

 

must be those klutzy shoes…

“everything is here, wish you were beautiful”

signed, unlikely person.

being, one of our church members. years ago. on a rare holiday.
how I laughed!
I was always so moved when that happened. Who's thinking of their pastor
and his wife when they are off having the time of their lives? 
I treasure it all.

all these years I have said I should write a book. but really, it would 
be more like a treasure map.
a treasure map to when you were here. or me, there.
to being whole, or not.
because, what else is it all about? 
all of the heres.

 

IMG_20150705_202219939.jpg

 

book recommendation. maybe.

This discomfort is exhausting.
The fire won’t start.
Naturally, I blow on the embers, like every cool firestarter who knows exactly what they are doing…

Remember our shared cigarette? (Share is a strong word.)  Maybe not. I probably asked you for another one. (That was you, right?) And who drank my rum and coke? Seriously. It was full just now… Yes, the designated driver is actually me. And no, I have a car full. And when I say car full, I mean theobviouslylegalnumberofaboutteninasedanofthiscalibre… Well, at this point, there is no one in the boot. I am kiddi… Really? Should I stop to check on you, you know, to see if you’re dead?
I mean,
not dead?

I am so glad you lived, by the way.
all my friends are dead
If you are looking for a book to read, I cannot recommend this highly enough.

He knew it.

This would be the place. The place at the end of the wrong road. And somehow, it was exactly how he pictured it. It looked just like the other fork where he made the wrong turn.

His favourite music particles flew past in perfect, mesmerising harmony with his non astonished gaze, landing at his feet. Forming those pages. He just wished he could remember which was the wrong page turn.

 

(repost for Georgia).

img_20170215_161715

I miss you.

I thought of you today

when we were at the beach,

our holiday coming to an end,

my pensivity forming the only clouds in the sky.

The colours beneath horizon

like new creation

taking my spirit by the hand

and joining yours.

Well, except,

goldfish don’t have hands.

But if you did,

I know you would have held mine.

And how you were so patient

the way I kept mispronouncing your name,

just because I couldn’t figure out

what accent suited you best.

But I never thought

I would miss you so much.

Cerulean.

image1-8

you pulled away

the footsteps coiling around my neck.

a gentleness bled

into prints excoriated

 

the first rains crawling

along droughted river beds

shoe shaped cracks that choke

~

my heart swept up

into Your dark embrace

the Darkness beyond human myopia

 

seen only through the lens

of tears given Divine

You reached through dimensions

of suffering, the kind

 

that decodes DNA

and breathes, reanimates

 

Eye to eye

Heart to heart

humility scorned

now plays the part…

 

 

 

Photo credit: my husband

the uncoiling…

that disturbs

sound.

the confusing

of resiling

bounds.

those playful mobiles

above my head’s

beds

of thought.

how adorable.

(Or, something profane. I forget which.)

mesmerising:

their petrifying –

the timbres compound,

defying

original intent,

no harm

was ever meant,

but you know I have to duck

circumstance demands I pluck

the searing missiles

from my psyche.

 

 

 

Within Her

What a poetry master is Max ❤

Max or Not

she stepped from the amaranth sky
of eclipsed moon

roseate wreath
wrapped in petaline plight

wandering winds
of familiar requiem

wafting bouquets
bearing dreams deliquescent

long has her linger
allayed my heart’s anguish

surrendered to waves
of an unwitting ardor

peridot drips
into amethyst druse

in these subtle striations
of our intertwining

without her i fold
into prisms of chaos

within her
transpires the depths
of my soul

[image credit: Frantisek Kobliha]

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i love you. life is short.

the inner circle

of my mind’s eye

likes to think that they are friends

my inner ear

with the binds that tie

is pondering these loose ends

of the things you have said

that I don’t understand

the hands of the clock

are made up of sand

if you’ve noticed

grit flowing

refining my thoughts

into panic

and fun things

the calendar has taught

please excuse

squinting ears now

 

they’re impatient.

 

 

 

 

 

she had her grandmother’s laugh

“Nan! I woke up from a dream where I was looking at the postcard you sent me, and the subject was missing.”

Her grandmother nodded. She often did now.

She knew she understood. They had standing appointments to meet in the narrowing corridors of her mind’s labyrinth. Because, just when it seemed they couldn’t get narrower, they would suddenly open to cavernous, multi faceted rooms of beauty, with the aura of home she had never known, and she wanted to be in there with her. It was captivating.

She had challenged her once to find the heart of the story. Especially in the biggest “rooms” or, heaven forbid, if she found herself in rooms of smoke and mirrors.

She looked at her with those eyes. From her childhood.

Then she made her laugh. For the first time in too long.

 

did you cut yourself on me?

I love Gina’s writing. This so moved me.

Singledust

I had shared all my favourite songs with him
He trashed them as he walked out the door

You picked up the broken vinyl titles and made me a mix CD
Then sat on my room floor and listened with me

did you see me among those shards?
did you cut yourself on me?

I looked at your bruised fingers
kissed each one and thanked you

you said those broken pieces of me
were now part of you too

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