It felt so much like a Wednesday – porous and drifting…
It wasn’t quite cold enough to start a fire, which kind of threw him. It’s always nice to have a fire to work by, when the Wednesday dig starts. But he reasoned with himself that the digs were getting shallower. Dr. _____ said that was a good thing – the need was lessening, you know, to build defences from the debris he found. They thought he was inching closer to jumping off and grabbing the drifting instead.
He wasn’t sure. He looked down at his journal. Apparently he had been writing in it.
those notes are soaring above me, but there’s blood all over my un-reach. This is the refrain. I need to re-write the refrain. I need to let it rain.
I also need to work on my rhyming.
This kills me.
I want to know you
in each of the seasons
Cool in the chaotic charisma
and way you have with worlds,
conversing in ruins,
tasting skin and naked poetry
swallowing you whole and deeply
The metronome of mourning
is our heartbeat, pitch and rhyme
and the missing
is our purgatory placement in time
“Your iron is low, oh so low,
just take this supplement, it will help the tempo
because you’re not losing weight as your thyroid is slow,
so if you just lose some weight, you’ll help yourself glow
with vitality, and something else French sounding…”
no, wait, that was my mind screeching
to a day dreaming side step
and I have a few questions now, about the sound of us pretending
we have the time matching
this fee that you’re charging
to “bedazzle” me with reasoning
while just reading something
from the back
of a sample drug pack
“why is my iron low?
Is it because of my liver, that it just doesn’t know
that my thyroid is struggling
with what doesn’t grow
our minds and our spirits,
and I would go on
but I’m tired”
the reckoning and the reasoning and the ripening and then the sneezing
the forces unmeasured in the revolt and then the squeezing
of the music into lifelines that drip with hoped unheeding
and she’s covering her ears so no one sees the internal bleeding
with the streams of the thoughts she cannot appropriate
and the dreams and the oughts that she cannot estimate
within her fevered running soul that’s forgotten where it’s been
the itching of the scratch is not at all what they said it’d seem
and she holds the words in front of her in hands that shake with dread
they’re in her own heart language but unrecognized instead
in their current configuration that has come from somewhere other
and if only she could sleep now…
He was on his knees
rowing around her,
her lips silently
composing her symphony and compiling literary
moments he was desperate to understand
the ache to the point of unbearing
but she knew he just needed help hearing/hearting/breathing…
she ever so gently
throws the life ring
She wanted to go back to the turquoise. She’d always loved the navy blue but now, her eyes sewn shut with the thread of trauma, she couldn’t tell if she were in the navy blue or the black. The black in his eyes when he showed her those images – jagged, psyche tearing shapes forced into her angel shaped child mind. It all changed that day. A contempt for beauty, for purity, smoked its way through her mortar and hallways. She swore her fingernails were green, bile green, from climbing the walls. She wanted to swim again in the navy blue but she knew she needed a shark cage now. She had to protect others from the sharks inside with her.
If she could just get back to the turquoise.
I thought long and hard about the quote for today. And a couple of bible verses kept coming back into my mind. For all kinds of reasons I won’t go into, I am thankful for them. So my quote for day 3 comes firstly from Paul’s letter to the church at Philippi:
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. (ch4:8).
And the one that got me intrigued about neuroplasticity in the first place, years ago:
“…but be transformed by the renewal of your mind…” (Rom 12:2b).
Thank you so much Erroneous Choices, for challenging me. ❤
So once again, I am not good at following rules, and I am not sure why there are any with these things, but anyway, I have decided I will try to stick with the three days.
My head could easily explode actually, trying to think of all of the things I have read and really loved. And then enter WordPress…I am flabbergasted at all of the wonderful things I have read on here – a lot of those gorgeous things from the artist who challenged me for this, actually, Erroneous Choices
But today, for all kinds of reasons, comic relief seemed to jump around in my mind.
A few years ago, I found this book I was planning to give to a friend. Turns out, the friend who received it was myself. ha! But it is called, ‘The Snark Handbook – Insult Edition’. Some of it is really funny. Some of it, really not.
I will begin with the poignant quotes on the back, about the author, Lawrence Dorfman:
“He knows so little and knows it so fluently” – by someone I have never heard of
“Ordinarily he is insane. But he has lucid moments when he is only stupid” – some Heinrich Heine guy (I told you I am bad with names).
But from the book itself, these are a few gems that have stuck out, that no doubt, I will be yelling out, accompanied by profanities, during my golden years of senility –
“He has depth but only on the surface”.
“The only thing that deprives her of the final word is an echo”.
“Why don’t we both go somewhere where we both can be alone?”
“Let’s play horse – I’ll be the head and you be yourself”.
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but you’re a total bitch”. (Stewie from Family Guy).
I am not sure how to sign off after that last piece of gold, other than to say, you are welcome! LOL. Peace, love, and perspective, Everyone ❤
Such an apt name for someone like me who is hopeless at remembering names and references! So this is quite a challenge! But I am honoured that this has come from someone I have grown to love as a dear friend, (not just as a phenomenal writing talent).
The wonder of WP, our lives are so different, but our connection is something I truly cherish, Erroneous Choices.
It’s cold but I ate some ice cream, coffee covered ice cream, and had a memory of the way we used to fill up on coffee beans from that one coffee shop in Colorado before hiking in the mountains, do you remember that? We’d stuff some in our pockets for the descent as well.
Or maybe that was just me.
You have that awful coffee hating gene mutation that I still pray there will be therapy for one day.
And here I am, on flat land, loading up on creamy caffeinated bliss for the descent I seem to be on. But I remind myself, I have lived long enough to know that this world is a circle hanging in space – which way is up? (We do have a world map with the correct orientation of Australia at the top, but I digress. Kind of).
Those descents can be deceiving.
I’m having more ice cream. You can join me any time.
He did one of those smiles, like the ones he’d smile when he thought of that colour he can’t remember anymore. And now he saw the million shades of it in the child’s demeanour, making him stop thinking in short sentences and blanks. Her ethereal sweetness should surely stop all wars. It had surely stopped his heart. He unconsciously placed his hand on his chest as he quietly mourned the distance between childhood and this peak hour traffic. Everyone’s life flashing before everyone’s eyes, but then the channel is changed.
He wept. Courage and hope.
While taking the batteries out of the remote.
(How perfect you are, o purveyor of artist’s soundless voice
to express my utter bewilderment at humans’ flailing choice-
No, you are not a divinely appointed player
to use and discard “toys” as you see fit
the creative souls in cyber land
to pluck as you cry, “I quit”
while winking at another
fingers crossed behind your back
be creative with your score card –
notches? or marks scrawled in black?
O precious souls so broken,
your self worth is left in tatters
I know you crave deep healing
but this is not what matters –
to be “chosen” by a phantom
when your worth is beyond their sight
you matter just in being,
their attention – darkest night.
Take the hands of those who care now
the lifelines that they offer
protecting pride is useless
when it’s safety that they proffer.
Humans, look what we do
when we confuse the tools we need
to really see each other…
And while she was
the sub conscious ponderings
on definition a, b or c
of her defeated-ness,
she saw their labyrinthine thread
had finally severed.
Her heart stilled,
begging for calibration,
a gentle reworking –
the intricate cut-outs of their pain
into simple shapes.
(this beautiful song, and video of estranged brothers reunited)
My goodness, what a sad loss to the WP community.
How truly blessed, to have crossed cyber paths with such a wonderful person. RIP 🌸
It is with deep regret that I to have to announce the sudden passing of my father Paul Lenzi. He was the cornerstone of our family and will be missed dearly.
He began this blog as a creative outlet and as a way of sharing his poetry. He never imagined it would develop such a large following, and the overwhelming support he received from this community touched him deeply. On behalf of our entire family, thank you.
We are proud of the legacy of words he left behind.
last night I had a dream,
about two bunnies…
and a tree.
A very lonely tree.
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…