let’s try breathing

passing around

these truths like hot potatoes

coming aground

on sooths from tenured sayers,


this chartered territory

is predictable and free not free


let’s try this other fork

in the road, forestdesertWiggles songsocial media

mind map

to our lungs…



I, oh so love, that Murray is in this…


I don’t really like people
Such a thorn in the side of me
And I don’t really, like being
Or feeling boring, or try to fake
Cause I don’t really like people
Making comments, about my teeth
And I don’t really, like seeing
The news today, I’m trying to breathe

After this, I feel I like you more
I feel I like you
After this, I feel I like you more
I feel I like you

I don’t really like people
Making comments, behind a screen
Cause I don’t really, mind being
On my own, just for a day
Sometimes I’m feeling, that people
Keep on talking over the top of me
Then I see what, you’ve created
I get forgetful but excited

After this, I feel I like you more
I feel I like you
After this, I feel I like you more
I feel I like you

After this, I feel I like you more
I feel I like you
After this, I feel I like you more
I feel I like you

I’m not saying it’s all too late
They’re calling my name
They’re calling my name
It means too much, but it’s all the same
I’m not saying it’s all too late
It’s in my head
It’s in my head
I wake up in the morning and it’s all been changed

After this, I feel I like you more


this rake isn’t as heavy as I thought it would be,

I feel your suggestions as you’re watching me

make these corrugations –

portal permutations,

at least,

they were in my dreams,

the ones

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…


Faceless, underwater
We can disappear for a while
No one will notice

Shifting, out of focus
The silence calls on us for a moment

Sinking down
Thought I lost myself, but I didn’t
Looking up on us
Shadows dance above
Blurry vision

We could disappear for a while

Nameless, talking
Big dreams and nobody wants them
Weightless, walking
Why does it feel like home when I’m lonely?

I always found
On the solid ground
I was tripping
Away from space and time
I don’t really mind
That I’m slipping

We could disappear for a while

It’s not running away
We were never meant to stay
In the first place

We could disappear for a while

Wading’s not enough
It’s more than just dipping your feet in
Dive in if you want
But I’ll be jumping off in the deep end

We could disappear for a while

It’s not running away
We were never meant to stay
In the first place

We could disappear for a while


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.

(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 […]

via Alp — Fitful, Fearful, Phantasmal

title? but I’m trying to restrain myself

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,
furtive nemesis,
falling in
deceitful fetishes,

the current, it fools
in ego pools

and just how many tsunamis can fit in here,

I’ll be over here with my tea,



im sorry

Remember this? I mean the meme. I mean, I hope you didn’t drive your truck into a tree…




*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…
oh my…)

the tears, like that sky, were blue,

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

fugitive (draft two)

photo challenge 12

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


no one is around (part one)

“Can we just lie here for a moment? She knows what to do
and it’s so much easier to make out the words if you press
your ear against the stone.”

He hated this place. But she promised it would be the last time.
And it had started to snow. It would hopefully slow the others down.

They needed to leave. He was too scared to look at his watch
and he was struck by how beautiful she looked in this light.
That pink light, reflecting from the tears frozen on her face.

He pulled her gently up from her mother’s grave.


mother they are coming again
they come to shoot what we already lost
mother they are coming again
our silver covered by their rust

father they are coming again
they come to jail the things that i have seen
father they are coming again
burning minds to keep the ruin clean

no one is around

„little girl there’s safer ground
follow the sea and you will find that place
little girl there’s safer ground
come take your years and put them in their hands“



100 Word Wednesday : I was a dream running down her face

I love Gina’s creativity. What a beautiful post, words and photo.


100ww_w56Image by Matthew Henry

I was a dream that ran down her face, in rivulets. I was washed down by the rain into the drain. I became a dream in a stream. She slumped over her phone, texting. As she cried, I ran faster down her cheeks.

Someone touched her shoulder from behind; I heard a voice speak louder than the dripping raindrops. She turned around and I stopped. I stopped running down her cheeks, I was soaked back up into her heart.

“Sorry I am late. Am I allowed to kiss you here?” the voice speaks. She nods, I feel safe, for now.

Thank you Bikurgurl for hosting 100 Word Wednesday. I have missed writing stories. This is my first after a long time. Visit the link to read more tales.


Connect with me on



Download my love poetry book Sweet Whispers here!

sweet whispers tag

View original post

Surprised by a blogging award, namely, Liebster!

Thanks to my friend erroneous choices, we are having some fun with the Liebster Award, ie, she nominated me. Thank you dear friend ❤

She feels as I do, and that is, I have never really understood blogging awards, and haven’t really got involved with them, (apart from one over a year ago) no offense to anyone, but I so enjoyed reading the questions posed to her and her answers. Actually, she combined the questions from two different awards so I am going to keep on with the fun and just pick and choose…

1. What drew you towards the art of writing?
This is a good question…for as long as I can remember I have enjoyed it. I have felt so shy and awkward for most of my life, I guess, as for a lot of people, it was a way to express myself, and hopefully make some sense of my thoughts in the process. I sometimes wonder that when I was little I subconsciously did it as a memory tool, because my memory is not that great. I remember I always liked to write everything out, even in the air, words, numbers, math problems…I liked to visualise it, and I loved the way certain words looked. Yikes, am I rambling? Sorry…

2. What is the one thing you like about yourself and why?
Um, I have never really liked this question, but if you insisted I would say, I do laugh easily. Especially at myself. I can have a good time, even when things are not going so well. (Er this may or may not have something to do with my blog name…I mean, times and places, right? But most times and places, I have found the ridiculous, and sometimes that hasn’t been a good thing…but that’s another conversation).
But it has helped to diffuse a number of tricky situations…humour, laughter is powerful – Captain Obvious 🙂

3. What is that one change you want to see in the world?
That people would stop yelling. Literally, figuratively, all kinds of ly-s. (Unless it is for humourous purposes).

4. Who is your favourite author and why?
I don’t have one. I have read a number of things I adore, and currently, I am still overwhelmed by the gorgeous and thought provoking things I read on WP.

5. How do you define a “good piece of writing”?
I agree with erroneous choices’ answer: anything I enjoy reading.

6. “Writers are hungry for readers” whats your take on it?
Are they? I think this would be an individual thing. Answering for myself I would say no. I certainly didn’t start blogging because I was hungry for readers. I did it as a creative outlet and if I met and connected with anyone on the way, I was over the moon. I still am. Obviously it would depend on why you are writing. But I guess I am hoping you are not writing because you are hungry for readers, that you are being authentic and genuine in your expression, and the right people will be attracted to it.

7. How do you deal with writers’ block?
I don’t force anything. Sometimes I know there are things just brewing up there and taking their time for some reason, and it comes together eventually. Sometimes I am just not inspired. I guess it depends what it is for…

8. Do you think good writers are born or made, and why?
I think both. I think there are definitely people who are born with a natural propensity for that kind of expression, but even they need practise and experience and feedback etc.

9. Do you think the pen is mightier than the sword?
This is a really good question. Altruistically it is lovely to think it is the pen, unless you are stabbing someone with it…ugh sorry.
I need to think on this more.

10. How would you describe either your blog or your articles/pieces in a few words?

11. The natural event e.g natural cataclysm that suits to describe your personality, explain briefly why?
If you could call being in a state of general bewilderment as some kind of natural cataclysm, then that would be it. Maybe that deer in headlights look after the event…

12. Any particular goal/dream related to writing or blogging?
I would agree again with erroneous, I have enjoyed the interaction with really interesting/talented people.

13. Weirdest thing you have ever done – details, please!
oh gosh, I wish I could remember…define “weird” 🙂

14. A hobby you like and the thing you fear most?
trying different coffees at different places. Being away from Australian coffees. although I hear there are a few Australian style cafes in the US now, thank GOD! (How did Starbucks get popular? I’ll tell you why, because there were no Australian cafes. There can be no other possible explanation.)

15. City or village, why?
A village by a city. I love everything cities have to offer, but after spending the last decade in regional Australia, I realise I prefer actually living in a small town. But I wish the city were closer 🙂

16.Would you rather be the villain or a hero?
I agree with my friend: “neither, probably the mediator”

17. Zodiac and your sign. Tell us if you believe in common belief of zodiac signs?
Pisces. And no.

18 Share a music you would recommend to me.
I really love ‘Going Home’ by Asgeir, I have used it on my blog. This particular performance is divine imho. This is a hard question, there are so many 🙂

19. What is your favourite eye colour?
I don’t have one, it very much depends on the owner of the eye and what I think of them

20. Try to pick 3 words that describe me, based on my blog.
I’m assuming you meant yourself erroneous…in which case, wise beyond (your) years.



And I am going to nominate the lovely Diana at the Wandering Armadillo
(perfectly fine if you don’t do awards Diana ❤)

A.S. I love you

such a brilliant, thought provoking, and beautiful piece of writing!

Fighting the dying light

I’m the man in the iron cage, the pilgrim with an unrepentant, unyielding heart, the prophet who has regressed into a poet with anguish breaking through bone, and then skin, the tendrils tying my tongue, muting my real howl and creating a soft shriek which they consider beautiful. I’m the Kierkegaardian stereotype, a freak tortured and tormented by his panoramic paranoia, a twisted, fucked up birds eye view of skulls and enemies, of corpses punching keys and hate, and I can’t see a horizon. I’m the label of everyone’s disgust, an animal in an asylum which sensibly speaks, but in alliteration—the zookeeper’s delight. “Look now, here’s Mr. Bipolar. Hysterically jump or flat line, it’s your prerogative, but make sure you entertain, because they’ve paid with their time and energy. Be Quick!” But the more I rattle, the more they rile. The more I lie, the more they cry, until I…

View original post 285 more words