Tag Archives: friendship

a little fun or something, personal, prose, Uncategorizable

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…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.
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).

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a little fun or something, prose

friendship (revisited)

Friendship is simple.
It’s also complex, but let’s ignore that.

It can be what we want it to be.
Well, sometimes. There is such a thing as unrealistic expectations but that’s not what this post is about. This post is simple. This post will simply concentrate on the lovely simplicity of simple friendship.

Take the friendship cats offer just as one example:
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Can’t get more simple than that. (And when I say simple, I may mean complex)

Then there is the simple friendship of my five six year old niece, who I have posted about before with her awesome stories. She is also an amazing artist. Here is some of her work, capturing, once again, the simple friendship cats have to offer:

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This cat is obviously simple, as it is talking to itself. (But wouldn’t you agree, this art is simply incredible?!)

I love our nieces. And our nephews. All of our family. But especially the ones who are cute. Pure and simple. They make me feel noble things like this:

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And that’s pretty much all I think can be said for friendship. Please do not correct me if I am wrong.

[And please do not steal the artwork from this page.]

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personal, Poetry

digit the majestic (revisited upon his passing)

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For my friend’s adorable cat…and now, truly in his honour and with gratitude for the short time we spent together…(drawing by my niece).

~*~

furtively felining into the room,

unannounced, unruly fur unadorned,

blinking in reluctant wakefulness,

he stares into my dishevelled mind,

eyes sparking in the recognition of likes,

“it must take a long time brushing that out?”

 

pawing my cerebral textiles

for a loose thread of understanding,

I roll it into a ball

to play with later.

 

Weighed down by the fire

we sink into the magic napping carpet…

 

originally posted 9th Jan, 2017

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personal

with basil’s mum

basil is no clown

I had the pleasure of spending some rare time with an old friend a few days ago.

The mother of Basil (RIP) actually.

Sometimes things do come together to create the perfect non storm of connection.

We sat swinging our legs from her wonderful, new verandah. The weather was perfect. Could have been scripted. We were transported on our own friendship stage (cf video).

I truly love those precious moments of a collective soul sigh. Thank God for old friends. Old Nick Cave loving friends.

And then I remembered I had written about friendship before so I won’t go on again.
(And if I do say so myself, I don’t need to. I think that old post, bursting with profundity, says it all… mostly…)

 

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Poetry

the journey doesn’t end here…

But she really did love those tiles.

They were hand made

and placed with loving

carelessness, in haste.

 

She picked them for practicality

for their water proof qualities

she thought,

(not thinking about salt water, of course),

and their quirkiness,

something different for everyone.

 

He helped her peel them off,

“it’s time for a renovation”, he said.

And they exchanged those looks.

The knowing one she thought she always had

he now wore.

 

Because really, he knew this was no renovation.

It was simply an unveiling.

(‘Cursum Perficio’ was engraved on tiles in the entrance to Marilyn Monroe’s last home. It wasn’t actually in mind when I started writing this, it came afterwards, hence the title…)

song meaning

 

 

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This is a reworking of a poem I wrote a couple of months ago, after visiting an old friend in Arizona. These gorgeous trees surrounded our camp site. A night by a campfire, sharing sorrows and burdens with an old friend, is one of the best things in life imho. Thanks to Charles, the reluctant poet   for inviting me to join ‘the back side of the night’ theme started by The sailor poet.  I really appreciate their encouragement, as well as that by Davy at Davy D blog.  Thanks Guys!

~*~

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How those maudlin woods enticed us

adorned so enchantingly with unprecipitation

and the black of trees’ core,

begging interpretation from the sympatheticly dressed.

But we decided not to indulge them.

Or

maybe us.

We held hands instead.

And ran through.

Through

to the back side of the night

where together we watched

the eyelid opening at horizon,

where we no longer dream

of windows wiping clean…

Poetry

Recurring Dream

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personal, Poetry

for Melissa

harmonica dream

swirling and seen

as we drift into sleep.

 

so long in the past

our impressions were cast

our friendship to keep.

 

our young minds so moved

the lyrics manoeuvred

to capture the steep

 

rise and the fall

of broken hearts’ call

the standing that’s reaped.

~

Thirty years on

our friendship, blessed, strong

lament’s aura seeps

still,

into sympathetic hearts

joined forever.

~*~

For dear Melissa, my friend from high school, the times we fell asleep to this gorgeous song. (I was so tempted, Mel, to write, “manooved” in the poem 🙂 )

And to those who struggle with serious addiction. My heart is filled with empathy ❤

 

 

 

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a favourite from December last year:

 

attempts to alienate confusion

decaf, a necessary intrusion

I miss you.

 

float me past the contusions

the knots in my shadow crave fusion

I spill you.

 

the fragments in frosty perfection

arranging the shards of reflection

I see you.

 

memory’s space incandescing

cauterise weds convalescing

I place you.

 

the pieces not lifed in competing

the peace not in ice but the heating

tapestried sensed in the meeting

I love you.

 

 

 

personal, Poetry

forget you (k)nots

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personal, Poetry

“choirs of stars appearing…”

The gifts you leave behind

there are no words for,

this bouquet of memories

leaves a scent of a doorway

to concertina-d time,

where I’d wake in the night

so gently enveloped

by the musical dreams

of a fellow insomniac,

composing your art on piano,

transposing your sight onto canvas,

our hearts

pressed up against the glass in wonder

at our endless sight.

But the only glass that reveals now

is filling

with the ends of sand.

 

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(I took this photo yesterday of my father. He still works as a landscaper, at 83! He helps to take care of this beautiful property for his friend, who died a couple of years ago. He helps to lovingly tend it for her children who currently live elsewhere.)

*

your whispering  legacy haunted

those delightfully enchanted trees

they bashfully danced to the harmony’s spell

you cast on ebullient breeze.

gentle tread of your variegated spirit

autumned now with so much grace

I know you have moved on in silence

but our movement here follows your trace.

the impression of a loved one’s silhouette

caught tenderly in a still frame

is a clear photographic injustice

to the care that he takes in your name…

personal, Poetry

sepiated

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personal, prose, Uncategorizable

img_20170209_205729_277Thirteen years have already passed and I still remember the way Dresden’s venerable spirit soaked through my pores.

But it wasn’t until my beloved friend started to sing, that my heart translated the stories she told me, the unspeakable truths of her tormented past.

Never have I been so moved by sound. Perspective winded me in all tenses.

If ever anyone should bow to any sense of venerable, it was now, at her humble feet. I took a photo, one that should be in the dictionary…

dresden

Aside
Christian, personal, Poetry

sedona

your name

written so beautifully on the map

to leave a lasting impression

and reminds me of a song

(I never understood),

your people so rare

they’re fireflies as we pass

filling my eyes with tears of relief,

the embrace of the scent of a dreamed past.

this floury cloud

clothes me in the silk

of your colours undiminished

by winter’s gloom –

these gifts so sharply edged

but now willingly, intuitively blurred and fall softly

into these waiting arms of gratitude

(this video is beautiful. And I agree with the sentiment of the video producer, no one place is God’s country. Well, except that Sedona, may, just may, have made me question that a little…)

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personal, Poetry

that scene in edward scissorhands we watched last night you know the one that reminds me of wordpress

the scroll and the screen

the drip from the downdream

picking right in my mainstream.

the gasp (of suscitation)

evicting asphyxiation

ironic mis-mutation.

Did I mention I love snow?

  • Praying and wishing you moments, and more, of peace and beauty this holiday season (without any nasty plot twists at the end) from a very grateful heart.
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sam_0731

“They I said it wouldn’t happen again,

this flooding”

a sight not to be seen for another __ years.

“My ears filling with expert voices

trapping the scurrying feelings

insecting in the inescaping

infecting the elucidating”

nourishing the swell

between us –

your eyes telling me

under the indiscriminate trees.

Which are as beautiful within the flood as without.

smiling in the sudden illumination…

Poetry

come sit with me dear friend

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