Christian, Poetry

the aching sweetness of pierce…

in childhood.

Those tears –

crystallised
in hovered cadence,

unspoken
epiphanies’ radiance,

beyond the reckoning,
the reasoning
of fractured eyes
and thwarted whys,

bursting up through the belies,

the linguistic instant
of heartfelt cries

angelic.

(I remember seeing this on television when it was first performed. and the music wrecked me (no pun intended). I am not Catholic, but this small section was my favourite part. For those of you who practice it, God bless your Easter meditations.)

Originally posted: April 15th, 2017

(Just discovered this video no longer plays here, and likely other places. I found this one but the quality is not nearly as good, unfortunately. The snippet I loved is between 6:50 and 7:35.)

 

 

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Uncategorizable

A little while ago I did mention something about trying to upload some audio, but it did not work for me. And then today, I guess all the required satellites, imaginary and otherwise, somehow lined up perfectly and it worked!

Trigger warning, I do reference the clown in me, in case you missed all the other references from Captain Obvious. Also, this is not very exciting.

But, HI!

 

 

 

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prose

conative dysfunction

My chest knocked again on its wall with a growling of deep hunger for sleep. But the words were reading themselves to me in a quiet urgency of a recognizable introvert. And as I jotted down some thoughts in response, I noticed that my handwriting changed with the pen I was using. Do handwriting experts take that into consideration? Do they even exist anymore? I had only written a paragraph and my muscles were already tired.

What about graffiti? Is it still a thing? I don’t mean art. I mean, senseless/tragic/manipulated violation of blank spaces. I mean, we have the internet now.

 

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reblog

Embracing Blessed Pregnancy (Shape Poem)

Amaya’s writing is so beautiful. I adore this.

Gospel Isosceles

I am
in bloom.
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.

View original post 43 more words

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personal, prose

confession

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.)

I…….LOVE…….YOU…….
(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.

Sunshine,
my only sunshine,
you make me happy…
is, of course, not what was
BURSTING OUT OF MY HEART AS I HELD THE CHOCOLATE WRAPPER…

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Poetry

you are not alone

dwight

Summer stretches out

the viscous my mind’s pushing

through, enticing me,

 

to take a dive down

into the undulating

clarity telling

 

myself that it is

possible to take with me

what I know now and

 

swim without any

paraphernalia, (like

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

 

(but adorable)

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

 

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Poetry

M.O.: if it sounds right, it must be (or, there’s always room for grace)

These rules baffle me,

makes grammar seem so grammar-

ly, while habitat

 

poetic should not

be stoic-ly honed, watch me

analysing some

 

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

astonish-ed-ly,

 

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.

 

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Uncategorizable

The Versatile Blogger Award

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’.

Thank you so much Basilike Pappa from Silent Hour and
Allane at SPO_OKY.
I’m honoured ❤

(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?

Continue reading

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a little fun or something, reblog

Today’s German Lesson (Humor)

Egads, this needs to be shared. Hilarious.

Contemplative Moorings

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…

View original post 6 more words

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Poetry

exhale

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 ❤)

 

 

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I think this was a great idea! And difficult.
If you want to read a number of short and inspiring snippets…

Go Dog Go Café

Writing Prompt Tuesday

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 christine.e.ray@gmail.com

Today’s prompt

Autobiographical Ten Word Story: Tell us your life story (or a part of your life story) in ten words

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Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge

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