Tag: creative writing

his eyes cleared…

when he looked at her,

his eyes

carrying the caveats

of a thousand dreams,

 

and in just the right light

when she angled her perception,

her kaleidoscopic-ed name

he’d arranged

as invitation…

 

“…how rare, and beautiful it truly is, that we exist…”

 

~

and how quickly this year has gone. It was lovely to watch this beautiful video again. Life IS precious

 

She sighed.

“I can’t write like you,

with your weaving wrinkles

and dime shaped gold

your nesting tableaux

in colours that fold

so neatly in parameters

that have never been told…”

said Lily to her bear. Her very first bear. Still first after wonderful, adventurous, fun filled, pensively shaded years.

“Well, that’s because you aren’t a bear”.

 

 

remember…

when I was walking around trying to avoid the mosquitoes and you strummed your guitar to the rhythm of my steps and the syncopated clouds confused you and we said it was the best thing you had ever written?

Got no regrets,
except I wish we had recorded it.

Oh,
and that I wish you were here with me…

why don’t I get you?

Perplexed
and kneading
this air with my thoughts,

desperate
to soften
the impact from fraught-

ed years
of unconversation,
now hurling at speeds

alarming,
non sensical,
vengeful misdeeds

of mishearing.

I watch
syllables peeling,
disarrayed.

Natatorial surprise –
those little ________ can swim
in the blues of my mind…

 

This song popped up and I love how Anne-Marie covers it. I had to write¬†something…

how beautiful…

IMG_20171120_131248

 

this sunburn on her shoulders,

this sunburning up

of her psyche’s paraphernalia

while she,

she wades

in unburnt crystal waters,

her hands skimming along the tops

of ocean bred flowers,

 

inhaling the forgetting

of the sound of cockatoos.

 

She loved this dream.

Well, not at first.

First there was terror, terror as the engine stalled. Right above the middle of the ocean. And there were loved ones on board, asleep and unaware of the rolling waves. Waves voluminous with the sinister of the blackest galaxies…

Waking with the resolutionary tearing of fabric, she froze herself in the dive, the dive into the two dimensional whirlpool. The whirlpool of her own pencilled colours, symphoning themselves into place.

The green and the blue.

 

(I’m posting this song again, because I love it, and my brain seems to like how it messes with it)

Finally…

Sept 2006 053

she nourished that patch

with those flammable tears,

from jagged tears

and all that bares,

streaming arrears

the chanting of years’

mourning.

 

 

She returned in the blink of a decade,

no warning,

taken aback

by perpetual dawning

of the quiet hymn

of the rose.

 

(A lovely musical interlude by a lovely man).

in the morning light

He flicked the ash out of the car window, and she knew that was the signal for her to continue. He thought he was good at pretending to listen, but she knew. When he did those long exhales he was thinking about something else, probably the zombie in his dream last night, the one distilled from the mirror that devoured him in slow motion, record time.
But she had sat on the floor, taking notes on her typewriter, writing him back into existence.

Damn, how he loved her.