low light photo of opened book

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

rightly

and wrongly, adroitly

and strongly, we

belong but perfectly

in weakly

 

O poor Heart

lay your weary ears down

and tilt emptied ducts

to be awash with Inchoate

and swell with a different song

 

 

 

 

Poetry
Image
pexels-photo-415371.jpegWP synchronicities…I was feeling an overwhelming desire to play the piano, which I haven’t done in a very long time, then this was one of the first posts I saw just a little while ago when I got onto WordPress. What a beautiful song, thank you for sharing it Stephen! 
And it sounds just as out of tune as our piano. Perfect.
(and this, not my own photo, is also kinda perfect)

 

(no one knows me) like the piano in my mother’s home

 

 

Oh burdens,

I see you looking at me, wondering what I will do with thee you

getting back to the start of see

and the art that shrunk inside of we 

the dancing child on a whirl of glee

escaping truths that stifled three

layers of self, intrinsically

defensive, now the wired psyche

is unravelling

ever so peacefully

 

 

Poetry

Pianofy me

Image
collaboration, Poetry, reblog

POETRY FROM THE LADIES

So Nigel, has done a lovely thing of reading a few poems, including a couple of mine, to honour the contribution to the poetry world by women poets. I love how he does his readings, and feel moved to be a part of this beautiful post (with a dignified giggle at the end 🙂 )

VOICES OF A HIDDEN SELF

My dear friends, I have today for your delectation something rather special. It struck me how many wonderful, famous and celebrated poets are women compared to say artists in the world of painting.

This is something I’ve also noticed within our own circle, and so I feel both honoured & privileged to have been given permission by the following poets to recite their work. Below is just a small sample of the amazing art to be found and enjoyed.

If you’ve a favourite piece you’d like read I’m always looking to expand my ‘Alchemists of word’ section. Don’t be shy or humble for I’m not a critic or academic, just someone who loves the written word.

VIKTORIA AT    MY BLEEDING WORDS

Ashes Ashes – by Viktoria

The dimming cinders of my spirit

Lay glowing feebly in the night

The smoke escaped my every merit

The arsonist: life’s pain and…

View original post 509 more words

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Poetry

Tootsies and anti tribalism

I’m sorry, I can’t read

your long soliloquy

And I know this wants to rhyme

 

But it shouldn’t.
Maybe sometimes.

 

Because now my mind is

going through the racks

of the vintage store I loved, years ago.

Sparkly and kitsch

eclipsed by the pitch

black of memories in coat pockets

and the spark in eye sockets

as they held my joyous orbs

of sight.

 

(It took time and care

to find the gems there.)

 

There are many ‘clever’ souls

refining our fright,

our ear muffs on tight

as we step back in night

with our swords drawn.

 

But in this tiny blog space

there can be only one

tribe, that is.

If any at all.

 

And in case you were wondering,

it’s the human one.

I wish Tootsies still existed.
The craftsmanship was something to behold, and enjoy, and get lost in
(of varied conversations, I mean.
The clothes were rather beautiful, too).

 

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Poetry

watch me walk, sometimes running, sometimes skipping, probably some tripping…

 

I typed my thought in

to the search bar of my mind

and lo! it timed out!

~+~

My brother and I were discussing the Beatles, and I reminded him that in an interview, Paul McCartney was asked what it was like to be the best song writer in the world. He said something like, “I don’t know, ask Neil Finn!” Thus began another CH listening spree.

This song was, firstly, a Split Enz song, (1984) appropriately recorded at the end of their life as a band. Then CH re recorded it at the beginning of its life. It was a big deal (the dissolving of Split Enz) for Australia and New Zealand.

This Easter has been a time of new beginnings for my brother and me. Can you hear me smiling? And, as much as many talk about walking away from toxic relationships, or people we just don’t like, or maybe, we are just spoilt and things aren’t going the way we think they should, for me, this is about walking away from the terrible thought patterns I had developed over the years. I honestly can’t think of anyone I want to walk away from. I would much rather walk away from the bad way I have handled some things.
Here’s to new beginnings. And to wiser loving. Of others, and myself.

 

 

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Poetry

 

it’s funny isn’t it

the way we nod with our eyes

but disagree with the size

of an unspoken epiphany

and all the snips and the clips of we

trying to gather themselves up

to be examined

in the light bulb moment

that might change on the morrow

the nuances of sorrow

and the other venn diagrams

we find impossible to share

as we try to bear

the broken glass of the light bulb

in our hands

 

 

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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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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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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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a little fun or something, General bewilderment, Poetry

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…

Lyrics:

Continue reading

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Fiction, Poetry

disappear

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…(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:)

Lyrics:

Continue reading

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Poetry, reblog

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 […]

via Alp — Fitful, Fearful, Phantasmal

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