A pulse that beats within me says:
Write. Write. Write.
But the voice that governs my actions decides
You don't have the time.
I walk and I read and I plan and I work.
I pay bills and send emails and go places
I'm scheduled to be.
Showing up is the key to success...
But all I want to do is write.
All I want to do is my future...
All I want is to be done
But alas...it's unwritten.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
Jungle
Special? Maybe. Lonely, definitely. A path wild with vines and bushes and obstacles because it isn't travelled very often. A thorn sticks from her foot and makes the trip painful with every step. But to stop is not an option. Tears and blood drip along the leaves of passing trees as she grasps trunks and pushes against them to make a dent in this journey of hers. Breathing heavily she remains steady and marches onward. Good things happen, too. Light breaks through the dense wilderness and shines briefly across her face but there is something blocking her from enjoying it. A dark, oppressive mist that gathers around her feet, clouds her vision and even takes away the warmth from a directly shining sun. Stopping is not an option. Whispers come out of the jungle around her, voices and taunts. 'Not good enough.' 'Just go back the way you came. It's easier.' 'Who are you kidding? This path wasn't meant to be forged.' Sometimes she listens. Mostly when it's in the dead of night and the only companions are the dead stars hanging above the dead planet. But still, like the beating of her pulse, she carries onward. Trying new directions, using new tools to cut her way forward, dreaming of the end of this path, praying it will eventually join up with a river or a road or a path less overgrown. They tell her that she's special. Quietly she pounds forward, their words falling on deaf ears. She needs to earn it. To prove it. To feel it. And as she walks onward into the night and listens to the whispers she knows...she's not there yet.
Special? Maybe. Lonely, definitely. A path wild with vines and bushes and obstacles because it isn't travelled very often. A thorn sticks from her foot and makes the trip painful with every step. But to stop is not an option. Tears and blood drip along the leaves of passing trees as she grasps trunks and pushes against them to make a dent in this journey of hers. Breathing heavily she remains steady and marches onward. Good things happen, too. Light breaks through the dense wilderness and shines briefly across her face but there is something blocking her from enjoying it. A dark, oppressive mist that gathers around her feet, clouds her vision and even takes away the warmth from a directly shining sun. Stopping is not an option. Whispers come out of the jungle around her, voices and taunts. 'Not good enough.' 'Just go back the way you came. It's easier.' 'Who are you kidding? This path wasn't meant to be forged.' Sometimes she listens. Mostly when it's in the dead of night and the only companions are the dead stars hanging above the dead planet. But still, like the beating of her pulse, she carries onward. Trying new directions, using new tools to cut her way forward, dreaming of the end of this path, praying it will eventually join up with a river or a road or a path less overgrown. They tell her that she's special. Quietly she pounds forward, their words falling on deaf ears. She needs to earn it. To prove it. To feel it. And as she walks onward into the night and listens to the whispers she knows...she's not there yet.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
School's Out For Summer
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
I think that is going to be my next (and last) tattoo. I have one on my left should blade and one on the nape of my neck...looking in the mirror, one on my right shoulder blade will look complete. Feel complete. Next thought...
Thank god University is out for the summer! I am SO worn out mentally because of that, plus other life things like finding a place to live over the summer, missing my family, bills, second year loans, arguing with little details still tied up in my past. Hoping I did well enough yet needing to keep moving and not look back because I'm the only one making all of this work. I am so fortunate to have found a full time job for my summer break at a wonderful place with a good vibe. I'm staying in a foreign country all by myself - I need a place to make money and work hard but I also need a stress free environment. I've come too far and worked too hard to be somewhere I'm not happy. So I am thankful I've found someplace I feel accepted and encouraged to succeed.
I may get a chance to write more now that I'm not trying to absorb the parameters of consonants, the phonetic symbols of all the languages in the world, whether or not an affix is inflectional or derivational, how children acquire languages, the VOT release of a velarised voiced alveolar lateral approximate (l) or what Grice's Maxims happen to be. I can just - focus on work or a new relationship or ... me. I've not had an opportunity like this or felt freedom like this in a very long time. And I'm truly very happy. My parents are proud of me, my sister wants to follow my footsteps...I'm blazing my own path and while at some points it got dark or lonely or I was afraid...I kept on going and it's been rewarding.
Some free writing poetry and then I'm off to surf the net:
The noise of the evening floats on the air
As she lies down on her bed, her yellow cotton dress
Spread around her like small rays of sunshine spilling from her breast.
Whirs of traffic, the click of the clock, the laughs from upstairs,
The beating of her heart - All sounds that gently reach her ears
And make her smile, taking in a gentle breath and quietly releasing a sigh.
She's done it, a whole year. Thinking back on her path it seems like the
Life of another, not her own. And yet it is her life, her story, her memories.
Some of it so hard, so lonely. Other parts full of joy, awe, love and magic.
This mystery of her life still elusive and mysterious. Her heart on a journey all
It's own with no guide or guarantee that by opening it again she won't get hurt.
The scars of past lovers still ache on cold mornings, the threads of her spirit
Woven together by the hard work of family, friends and her determined nature.
Unsure of what her future holds or how to live her life, she stares up at the sky
And waits for a sign. As a star shoots by, she smiles and the wind gently taps
Against the window. Life is but a melody, a dance, a story. And with hope and a Little bit of kindness...maybe she's finally done it.
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
I think that is going to be my next (and last) tattoo. I have one on my left should blade and one on the nape of my neck...looking in the mirror, one on my right shoulder blade will look complete. Feel complete. Next thought...
Thank god University is out for the summer! I am SO worn out mentally because of that, plus other life things like finding a place to live over the summer, missing my family, bills, second year loans, arguing with little details still tied up in my past. Hoping I did well enough yet needing to keep moving and not look back because I'm the only one making all of this work. I am so fortunate to have found a full time job for my summer break at a wonderful place with a good vibe. I'm staying in a foreign country all by myself - I need a place to make money and work hard but I also need a stress free environment. I've come too far and worked too hard to be somewhere I'm not happy. So I am thankful I've found someplace I feel accepted and encouraged to succeed.
I may get a chance to write more now that I'm not trying to absorb the parameters of consonants, the phonetic symbols of all the languages in the world, whether or not an affix is inflectional or derivational, how children acquire languages, the VOT release of a velarised voiced alveolar lateral approximate (l) or what Grice's Maxims happen to be. I can just - focus on work or a new relationship or ... me. I've not had an opportunity like this or felt freedom like this in a very long time. And I'm truly very happy. My parents are proud of me, my sister wants to follow my footsteps...I'm blazing my own path and while at some points it got dark or lonely or I was afraid...I kept on going and it's been rewarding.
Some free writing poetry and then I'm off to surf the net:
The noise of the evening floats on the air
As she lies down on her bed, her yellow cotton dress
Spread around her like small rays of sunshine spilling from her breast.
Whirs of traffic, the click of the clock, the laughs from upstairs,
The beating of her heart - All sounds that gently reach her ears
And make her smile, taking in a gentle breath and quietly releasing a sigh.
She's done it, a whole year. Thinking back on her path it seems like the
Life of another, not her own. And yet it is her life, her story, her memories.
Some of it so hard, so lonely. Other parts full of joy, awe, love and magic.
This mystery of her life still elusive and mysterious. Her heart on a journey all
It's own with no guide or guarantee that by opening it again she won't get hurt.
The scars of past lovers still ache on cold mornings, the threads of her spirit
Woven together by the hard work of family, friends and her determined nature.
Unsure of what her future holds or how to live her life, she stares up at the sky
And waits for a sign. As a star shoots by, she smiles and the wind gently taps
Against the window. Life is but a melody, a dance, a story. And with hope and a Little bit of kindness...maybe she's finally done it.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Creating
Pen to paper is the most difficult place to begin for a writer. The ideas we have are usually overflowing, keeping us awake at night as we jot notes on little scraps of paper with a penlight. And you would think it would be easy for a poet or a storyteller to use ink to transfer what they see, feel or think onto a blank page. It isn't. Every new beginning is daunting.
Creation is never simple and when it's successful, that is even more rare. That is why we usually attribute the creation of great art, music, poetry, literature - to the gods. Muses. Sprites. It is such a miraculous task that surely no mere mortal alone could perpetrate such an action? Yet that is what writing is...it is the manifestation of what we create in our imagination from our knowledge and ideas. By writing I am not claiming that we achieve equal level with demigods but rather I am giving credit where credit is due: To those people who every day and night break the chains of self doubt, push through the little nagging voices of people who say they can't and just DO. For we are our own worst enemies.
I promise to keep trying. After all...I got this far.
Creation is never simple and when it's successful, that is even more rare. That is why we usually attribute the creation of great art, music, poetry, literature - to the gods. Muses. Sprites. It is such a miraculous task that surely no mere mortal alone could perpetrate such an action? Yet that is what writing is...it is the manifestation of what we create in our imagination from our knowledge and ideas. By writing I am not claiming that we achieve equal level with demigods but rather I am giving credit where credit is due: To those people who every day and night break the chains of self doubt, push through the little nagging voices of people who say they can't and just DO. For we are our own worst enemies.
I promise to keep trying. After all...I got this far.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Tattoo
I got it about a year ago now. I have wanted this image as a personal tattoo for about 5 years. I held on to it and never got it because the people I was around judged me for it, told me they'd have less respect for me. I already had a celtic tattoo on my left shoulder blade, and they frowned when they saw it.
The tattoo on my left shoulder blade is in memory of my grandfather, Jack. He passed away when I was 13 from a massive heart attack. He just dropped to the floor, gone instantly. My grandmother, Rose, was distraught and sold the house they had shared for 40 years almost immediately. I snuck into his bathroom and took the handle off his cabinet door. And it is that symbol that is on my shoulder. It means a lot to me. It symbolizes family. I cannot be ashamed of it because it reminds me of my Poppy.
Oddly enough, Titanic (1997) came out that year. My grandfather's name was Jack and my grandmother's name is Rose. I cried like a baby the whole movie. I haven't been able to watch it since. And not watching a movie for the last 12 years that was the biggest grossing film until he decided to top himself this year with "Avatar" is no easy task.
It was the same year that my cousin was shot 4 times in a robbery. He lived despite all odds that he wouldn't and through the miracles of doctors they re-created a lot of internal organs for him. I watched him in the hospital, visited him as often as I could, cried for him, hoped for him. He finished college, he got married and though he was told he'd never had children, he has a beautiful baby girl.
That tattoo reminds me of when I was 13 and thought I'd lost all of my family to tragic and quick ends but realized I hadn't. That I can't bring back those that are gone, but I will live for their memory. It symbolizes to me so much more than ink on skin. It's a part of my life.
The same goes for this new, secret tattoo I am sharing with the void. This triquerta means a distinctive link between the physical, mental, and spiritual parts of self. It means past, present, future. And people may judge me for it...But -
I am who I am. And that is good.
The tattoo on my left shoulder blade is in memory of my grandfather, Jack. He passed away when I was 13 from a massive heart attack. He just dropped to the floor, gone instantly. My grandmother, Rose, was distraught and sold the house they had shared for 40 years almost immediately. I snuck into his bathroom and took the handle off his cabinet door. And it is that symbol that is on my shoulder. It means a lot to me. It symbolizes family. I cannot be ashamed of it because it reminds me of my Poppy.
Oddly enough, Titanic (1997) came out that year. My grandfather's name was Jack and my grandmother's name is Rose. I cried like a baby the whole movie. I haven't been able to watch it since. And not watching a movie for the last 12 years that was the biggest grossing film until he decided to top himself this year with "Avatar" is no easy task.
It was the same year that my cousin was shot 4 times in a robbery. He lived despite all odds that he wouldn't and through the miracles of doctors they re-created a lot of internal organs for him. I watched him in the hospital, visited him as often as I could, cried for him, hoped for him. He finished college, he got married and though he was told he'd never had children, he has a beautiful baby girl.
That tattoo reminds me of when I was 13 and thought I'd lost all of my family to tragic and quick ends but realized I hadn't. That I can't bring back those that are gone, but I will live for their memory. It symbolizes to me so much more than ink on skin. It's a part of my life.
The same goes for this new, secret tattoo I am sharing with the void. This triquerta means a distinctive link between the physical, mental, and spiritual parts of self. It means past, present, future. And people may judge me for it...But -
I am who I am. And that is good.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Changes
I keep meaning to write about my new journey. This will hopefully remind me to do so but I think that I also need to find out who I am now with all of these changes in my life. I was a full time daughter, friend, co-worker, sister. Now I'm far removed from those daily roles. Now I am a daughter and sister via letters in the post, thoughts at bedtime and weekly video chat. I am no longer a co-worker. I no longer share the same weekly classroom for dance and yoga classes with strangers whose faces were my friends.
I am no longer on ground where any face I see will have a history attached to it. All of my exes, all of my friends, all of those who could be familiar are now removed and in their place are faces I've never looked into before. Nor do they bear any recognition of me. I am somewhat of a phantom...an apparition. I float past the eyes of strangers who may register me for a moment, realise they don't know me and I float back out of their consciousness again.
Changes.
Here in this new environment I am changing all of those things that I didn't like about myself from my youth. Where once I would have been silent, I speak. Where once I would have cast my eyes downward, I look up. Where I would never have before accepted help, I am learning to accept outstretched hands offering assistance. So...who am I now?
I've been musing over this. There are so many features that make up a person. At it's most surface level I am a 26 year old who struggles with the number of her age with the stage of life she's put herself into because it's unconventional. I also switch the the third person reference for poetic effect. Damn you Grammar Classes.
I like reading FBI, CIA thrillers. I like mystery novels. I enjoy listening to Indie music groups as well as Top 40 Top Charts. I like jazz and classical and opera. I enjoy the theatre. I like dancing - in clubs, at a formal ball, in a dance class, in my room. I love to shower. I shower more often when I'm stressed. I value my mind over my body. I write poetry when I can. I'm an avid fan of the shows Frasier and West Wing. But I also take pleasure in watching Glee. I enjoy the simple things in life - seeing ducks waddle on the sidewalk, a shooting star in the night, raindrops on my cheeks. A melody that I love getting stuck in my head.
A student again - I'm starting at the beginning to set a proper foundation for the future that I want to have. I gave up possessions in favour of life experiences. But with that has come a price to pay and it's in the form of evaluating my life. And it has left me melancholoy sometimes. Every single person I know back where I used to live (it isn't my home) has said that they are so envious of my ability to have done what I've done. They dream and live a little through me. And I can't help but think -
Why was I the one who was able to get away? To not be trapped? How can I be this person? People who knew me when I was young - I was such a shy little thing. If you'd told them I would be moving to another country all alone to live and pursue higher dreams that were tucked away in her heart - They probably wouldn't have believed you as I would have been clinging to my mothers dress, hidden behind her knee. I was labeled sweet, friendly and intelligent. Never beautiful. I was told maybe one day I'd be beautiful. That forever injures a person's self esteem. And if or when I attain beautiful - I will never identify with it. It's my inside self that I have spent so much time working on - whatever happens on the outside is irrelevant. I dislike it when men whistle at me as I pass. I am intelligent and capable, educated and funny. But they don't know that about me. I don't how to reconcile with that either.
Changes. I've never been good with change...
I don't know who I am I guess. I will give this another try later in the week. Until I can find out the answer. Writing helps me. In the meantime, I will enjoy the sunshine in Manchester. A nice break from the raindrops that fall on my eyelashes...
I am no longer on ground where any face I see will have a history attached to it. All of my exes, all of my friends, all of those who could be familiar are now removed and in their place are faces I've never looked into before. Nor do they bear any recognition of me. I am somewhat of a phantom...an apparition. I float past the eyes of strangers who may register me for a moment, realise they don't know me and I float back out of their consciousness again.
Changes.
Here in this new environment I am changing all of those things that I didn't like about myself from my youth. Where once I would have been silent, I speak. Where once I would have cast my eyes downward, I look up. Where I would never have before accepted help, I am learning to accept outstretched hands offering assistance. So...who am I now?
I've been musing over this. There are so many features that make up a person. At it's most surface level I am a 26 year old who struggles with the number of her age with the stage of life she's put herself into because it's unconventional. I also switch the the third person reference for poetic effect. Damn you Grammar Classes.
I like reading FBI, CIA thrillers. I like mystery novels. I enjoy listening to Indie music groups as well as Top 40 Top Charts. I like jazz and classical and opera. I enjoy the theatre. I like dancing - in clubs, at a formal ball, in a dance class, in my room. I love to shower. I shower more often when I'm stressed. I value my mind over my body. I write poetry when I can. I'm an avid fan of the shows Frasier and West Wing. But I also take pleasure in watching Glee. I enjoy the simple things in life - seeing ducks waddle on the sidewalk, a shooting star in the night, raindrops on my cheeks. A melody that I love getting stuck in my head.
A student again - I'm starting at the beginning to set a proper foundation for the future that I want to have. I gave up possessions in favour of life experiences. But with that has come a price to pay and it's in the form of evaluating my life. And it has left me melancholoy sometimes. Every single person I know back where I used to live (it isn't my home) has said that they are so envious of my ability to have done what I've done. They dream and live a little through me. And I can't help but think -
Why was I the one who was able to get away? To not be trapped? How can I be this person? People who knew me when I was young - I was such a shy little thing. If you'd told them I would be moving to another country all alone to live and pursue higher dreams that were tucked away in her heart - They probably wouldn't have believed you as I would have been clinging to my mothers dress, hidden behind her knee. I was labeled sweet, friendly and intelligent. Never beautiful. I was told maybe one day I'd be beautiful. That forever injures a person's self esteem. And if or when I attain beautiful - I will never identify with it. It's my inside self that I have spent so much time working on - whatever happens on the outside is irrelevant. I dislike it when men whistle at me as I pass. I am intelligent and capable, educated and funny. But they don't know that about me. I don't how to reconcile with that either.
Changes. I've never been good with change...
I don't know who I am I guess. I will give this another try later in the week. Until I can find out the answer. Writing helps me. In the meantime, I will enjoy the sunshine in Manchester. A nice break from the raindrops that fall on my eyelashes...
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Deep breaths, she thinks to herself. Closing her eyes, she inhales through her nose and out her mouth. She holds her books tightly to her chest. Breathing deeper, she wonders why she feels the need to calm herself. A need inside of her starts to creep up her spine. Just do it, she thinks. Run. Go. Run. Run. She starts to breathe more quickly, breathing more shallow breaths and she opens her eyes to look around.
“You okay,” he asks her. She cuts her eyes over at him, then looks to the other side of the street. The feeling taunts her. Just do it, go, go now. If you don’t go now, you’ll never go. Run. You know you want to, you know you have to, can you do
it? Run. Go! Screw it.
She looks over at him and says, “No.” Tossing her books into his arms, she dashes in the other direction. Running as fast as she can, the feeling loosens its grip on her, the anxiety is left on the street corner back with her books and a past. Feet pounding the pavement, her left shoe falls off her foot and, hopping, she takes off the right one, tossing it into the gutter. This feels good. The wind whipping through her hair, the pavement scratching the bottoms of her feet, she lunges forward with everything she has, running toward nothing but away from everything.
Eventually she comes to the end of town, jogging rather than running then walking rather than jogging. Out of breath she stops at the beginning of Mister Kaluse’s corn field, hands on her knees, head hanging down, gulping the fresh night air. She leans her head back and looks up at the sky full of clouds. She wishes she could grab one and fly away from this place to somewhere new. Her feet are aching, her lungs are burning and she can’t help but smile for the first time in months. She straightens her skirt, adjusts her bra and starts to walk along the edge of the field, head tilted toward the heavens looking at stars and satellites.
“Hey,” a deep voice says from about a foot behind her. She jumps and whirls around. Her heart is pounding anew, this time a fight or flight response. A good looking man in dingy jeans and a t-shirt laughs and takes two steps back, signaling he means no harm. “Didn’t mean to scare you but I was just thinking it’s getting sort of late for a woman to be walking around in the dark on a road with no shoes or company. You need any help?” The way he tilts his chin at her and grins stirs something inside of her. It’s like she’s met this man before, although she doesn’t recognize him. His eyes sparkle with interest. “No, thank you, I’m fine. I just needed some fresh air and my shoes were just getting in the way.”
Another feeling is tingling inside of her. She walks up to the man and stands no more than a few inches from him, the heat from his body and hers mingling together in the cool of the air. “I’m better now though,” she says to him. “I can breathe out here.” He looks down at her. “Well, that’s very good. I’m glad for that. Be a shame for a pretty girl like you..” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because she stands on tiptoe, grabs his shirt and, pulling his body closer to hers, kisses him square on the mouth. He’s taken off guard but within seconds puts his hands around her waist and pulls her close, their kiss deep, warm, familiar. She pulls back and looks into his eyes. They’d never met before but some part of her soul recognized his. She smiles a crooked grin and he chuckles softly at her. He knows it, too. His hand goes to her jaw and he gently pulls her in again for another kiss, softer this time, less urgent. Deeper and passionate. She runs her hands through his hair and down his shirt….
The night goes on around them, the world spinning along as it should. The guy at that corner went along his way, not giving much thought to the books he carried or the girl who ran off. The shoes got picked up by a kid on her way over to a slumber party, and the woman… well that is what imagination is for, after all.
“You okay,” he asks her. She cuts her eyes over at him, then looks to the other side of the street. The feeling taunts her. Just do it, go, go now. If you don’t go now, you’ll never go. Run. You know you want to, you know you have to, can you do
it? Run. Go! Screw it.
She looks over at him and says, “No.” Tossing her books into his arms, she dashes in the other direction. Running as fast as she can, the feeling loosens its grip on her, the anxiety is left on the street corner back with her books and a past. Feet pounding the pavement, her left shoe falls off her foot and, hopping, she takes off the right one, tossing it into the gutter. This feels good. The wind whipping through her hair, the pavement scratching the bottoms of her feet, she lunges forward with everything she has, running toward nothing but away from everything.
Eventually she comes to the end of town, jogging rather than running then walking rather than jogging. Out of breath she stops at the beginning of Mister Kaluse’s corn field, hands on her knees, head hanging down, gulping the fresh night air. She leans her head back and looks up at the sky full of clouds. She wishes she could grab one and fly away from this place to somewhere new. Her feet are aching, her lungs are burning and she can’t help but smile for the first time in months. She straightens her skirt, adjusts her bra and starts to walk along the edge of the field, head tilted toward the heavens looking at stars and satellites.
“Hey,” a deep voice says from about a foot behind her. She jumps and whirls around. Her heart is pounding anew, this time a fight or flight response. A good looking man in dingy jeans and a t-shirt laughs and takes two steps back, signaling he means no harm. “Didn’t mean to scare you but I was just thinking it’s getting sort of late for a woman to be walking around in the dark on a road with no shoes or company. You need any help?” The way he tilts his chin at her and grins stirs something inside of her. It’s like she’s met this man before, although she doesn’t recognize him. His eyes sparkle with interest. “No, thank you, I’m fine. I just needed some fresh air and my shoes were just getting in the way.”
Another feeling is tingling inside of her. She walks up to the man and stands no more than a few inches from him, the heat from his body and hers mingling together in the cool of the air. “I’m better now though,” she says to him. “I can breathe out here.” He looks down at her. “Well, that’s very good. I’m glad for that. Be a shame for a pretty girl like you..” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because she stands on tiptoe, grabs his shirt and, pulling his body closer to hers, kisses him square on the mouth. He’s taken off guard but within seconds puts his hands around her waist and pulls her close, their kiss deep, warm, familiar. She pulls back and looks into his eyes. They’d never met before but some part of her soul recognized his. She smiles a crooked grin and he chuckles softly at her. He knows it, too. His hand goes to her jaw and he gently pulls her in again for another kiss, softer this time, less urgent. Deeper and passionate. She runs her hands through his hair and down his shirt….
The night goes on around them, the world spinning along as it should. The guy at that corner went along his way, not giving much thought to the books he carried or the girl who ran off. The shoes got picked up by a kid on her way over to a slumber party, and the woman… well that is what imagination is for, after all.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Why blog?
Could it be because we feel our voices are not being heard?
At work. At home. In politics. At school. In our group of friends. By our parents. Our children. Our spouses.
People everywhere are reaching out, desperately trying to be recognised. Twitter. Facebook. Blogger.
With all of this talking - We're still not listening.
"People look without seeing, hear without listening, eat without awareness of taste, touch without feeling and talk without thinking." Leonardo da Vinci
I'm listening. What is it that you most feel needs to be said? Not to me, just in general. And post it here, if you like. Because everyone deserves to have a voice.
At work. At home. In politics. At school. In our group of friends. By our parents. Our children. Our spouses.
People everywhere are reaching out, desperately trying to be recognised. Twitter. Facebook. Blogger.
With all of this talking - We're still not listening.
"People look without seeing, hear without listening, eat without awareness of taste, touch without feeling and talk without thinking." Leonardo da Vinci
I'm listening. What is it that you most feel needs to be said? Not to me, just in general. And post it here, if you like. Because everyone deserves to have a voice.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Wandering Soul
Yeah I went with nothin
Nothing but the thought of you
I went wandering...
I went out there
In search of experience
To taste and to touch
And to feel as much
As a man can
Before he repents
.....
Yeah I left with nothing
But the thought you'd be there too
Looking for you.
I think being able to pass these sites on my own two feet, with fresh air in my lungs, thoughts in my mind, wind gently brushing my cheek and my eyes free to wander is quite wonderful. My walk to University is like that...I feel lucky that I don't zoom by it without seeing. I get to look as the sun hits the leaves, as an old man slowly walks his little dog, as children run and laugh inside the walls of the park. I hear birds sing and buses rumble and see the streets of my home.
It is a lovely view I have, even if it does get lonely sometimes.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
You're My Wonderwall
Maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me. Maybe your friendship can save me from myself. Here's hoping it can because sometimes it's a bit much to be me.
We've had so many lives and sometimes, in the dark of night, I miss a few of them.
Eyes closed and the world fades away. Consciousness lost to the sea of dreams that wait for me to arrive after darkness falls. In them I find myself powerless to the colours, emotions and happenings of a world I visit only at night. Run, swim, watch and feel...sit, eat, hug or talk. Admire, loathe, laugh or cry. Familiar faces, strangers and those in between. Later, after waking, trying to remember what it was I saw, felt or said.
But it's impossible to remember that which isn't actually a memory.
Things that weren't actually said. Or felt. Or seen. Though my senses try to convince me of the reality of my dreams, my reality shows me it was just a dream as I look down at my empty hand, tearless pillow and silent room.
I move about my day in a quiet haze. Somewhere between here and there. And part of me is sure you're still with me.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Poetry Repeats
I'm putting these back on here. For maybe they will help me shine again:
A little thing, a gangly sort of girl
All knees and elbows with skin so fair.
Eyes dark like the night, they shine with
Curiosity, with interest, with light.
Her nose in a book, she does not notice
The changes that time brings to a woman.
Dark hair down her back, skin fair and pale
And hips that curve and sway.
The boys look her way and she glances down
Thinking their interest is merely to tease
In her head she is still a gangly thing
All elbows and glasses and knees.
_______________________________________________________
She tunes in
So she can tune out
She gets plugged in
To listen to bands play unplugged
Or downloads some songs
to upload to friends
This crazy cycle is
leading her in circles
chasing shadows in the fog
for answers to questions not yet asked
She rushes in the morning
to wait for the evening
And prays for sleep only
to curse the alarm clock's ringing
A small town girl out
in a big city world
Invisible in the middle of a crowd
yelling out loud to a sky
full of crows and clouds.
This crazy cycle is
leading her in circles
chasing shadows in the fog
for answers to questions not yet asked
She calls, she prays, she listens, she waits
A big city girl in a small world
Watching a sky full of clouds and crows
as questions fall silent on her lips
and clocks hands spin
and away she goes....
_______________________________________
As the moon illuminates the sky and dances with the stars,
I sit and contemplate the fact that such a world is ours.
How can it be that this wonderous place is right here in our midst?
How can it be that there exists a beauty such as this?
The answers to these questions I may never hope to know,
but unto you these humble words of wisdom I bestow:
To those of you with a gentle heart, let it guide your way
For it is you who can most enjoy the beauty of today.
To those of you whose hearts are filled with much bitterness and sorrow,
all I can do is offer you a promise of tomorrow.
MJC Copyright ©2009
A little thing, a gangly sort of girl
All knees and elbows with skin so fair.
Eyes dark like the night, they shine with
Curiosity, with interest, with light.
Her nose in a book, she does not notice
The changes that time brings to a woman.
Dark hair down her back, skin fair and pale
And hips that curve and sway.
The boys look her way and she glances down
Thinking their interest is merely to tease
In her head she is still a gangly thing
All elbows and glasses and knees.
_______________________________________________________
She tunes in
So she can tune out
She gets plugged in
To listen to bands play unplugged
Or downloads some songs
to upload to friends
This crazy cycle is
leading her in circles
chasing shadows in the fog
for answers to questions not yet asked
She rushes in the morning
to wait for the evening
And prays for sleep only
to curse the alarm clock's ringing
A small town girl out
in a big city world
Invisible in the middle of a crowd
yelling out loud to a sky
full of crows and clouds.
This crazy cycle is
leading her in circles
chasing shadows in the fog
for answers to questions not yet asked
She calls, she prays, she listens, she waits
A big city girl in a small world
Watching a sky full of clouds and crows
as questions fall silent on her lips
and clocks hands spin
and away she goes....
_______________________________________
As the moon illuminates the sky and dances with the stars,
I sit and contemplate the fact that such a world is ours.
How can it be that this wonderous place is right here in our midst?
How can it be that there exists a beauty such as this?
The answers to these questions I may never hope to know,
but unto you these humble words of wisdom I bestow:
To those of you with a gentle heart, let it guide your way
For it is you who can most enjoy the beauty of today.
To those of you whose hearts are filled with much bitterness and sorrow,
all I can do is offer you a promise of tomorrow.
MJC Copyright ©2009
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