conversation

A-Z Challenge: Indistinct I

 

Instead I listened

I could have recalled the night we met
Waxed lyrical about the weight of your kiss
How it hung – in bowed silence
Spoke of the pressure of lips,
the way they sat
On mine. Absorbing my want to breathe
That rush of infinity, frozen in time
I could of talked of trembling
Glistening palpitations,
But instead I listened

I should have countered
with an amusement – a little ditty
about how we encountered
Divulged a dirty chuckle of presumption
Exclaimed a wide pondering grin
Smugly shared secrets of lust and desire
missing due care
Culminating in an almighty rush
of satisfaction
Of awe

Yet, instead I listened

 

Check out the A-Z Challenge here

 

A-Z Challenge: Corny C

So today I thought I would take some actual ‘Stolen Words’ to go with my A-Z Challenge.

It’s not a poem but I honestly couldn’t have made this conversation up and wondered if anyone else had to deal with this kind of stuff from aging relatives, and if so does it make you laugh? or just cringe like me :/

 

Uncanny Conversation

 

Oh you can stick your cans from Brazil too

Pardon?

The cans, that come from Brazil, they’re no good

<pauses>

It gets stuck, the keys break off and then you have to put a knife around…

You mean the..

You know, the Corned beef you got me, I don’t want them ones again

But it’s the brand you always have

The tins are rusted, they are useless, I don’t want them. Now the ones from France, they’re perfect ,nothing wrong with those, but this Brazilian tin <scoffs>,   they are no good.

Well you know I can’t choose where its packaged right?

You could get the French ones

No, I order the ones in the brand you ask for, online

Well ask for the French tins

They don’t let you choose which country you want the stuff packaged in.

But…

What do you expect, its tinned meat. If they are faulty I can try and complain but…

No don’t complain

Well then there’s nothing else I can do

<mumbles>

You OK?

Ok – just get the French ones next time

<sighs>

 

Stolen Words

Its those stray words

Consonants singing across vacant air

The loose thoughts, that jingle

Emerging from the brains of hidden minds

And escaping

Hovering

Within the grasp of ears

Its the way that they stab

Into heads

Into hearts

Stored away, until finally, freedom

comes – That exultant gasp for life

Rolling from tongues into existence

Permeating the waves

Until, suddenly

Grabbed by a precocious writer

The Late Request

It begins with a clear cylinder

The telltale chink of  a miniature iceberg

Responding defiantly: with a thick “CRACK”

Upon first meeting of its soul mate

Shuddering against the caress,

Attempting to fight the inevitability

Rising without consent

Orifices filed with thick creamy nectar

Until they bob, on the surface

subdued and compliant

No longer resisting

Just the quiet vibration of submittal

Slowly but surely melting

into my mouth

You wait until I swallow the last drop

My lips coated in a sticky delight

Only then do you ask to taste my Baileys

Day 3 – Quotes (compiled early, ha!)

My challenge from Paul over at Palfitness took longer than expected but hooray for finding inspiration when it was needed.

 

Which is why today’s quote was found and prepared yesterday as per yesterday’s quote Day 2 – Quote *grins*

preparation_mousetrap-520x416

 

1. Post three consecutive days.

2. You can pick one or three quotes per day.

3. Challenge three different bloggers per day.

 

And my chosen three bloggers for today (if accepted) are :

 

George for fun

Seeds 4 Life

Voyager of freedom

That’s it all my days up – My thanks to  Paul over at Palfitness, please do take the time to check out his and the other blogs you might find yourself something inspiring to read 🙂

 

Writing Bad

Bad writing is better than no writing, that’s what some people say however they have never read my bad writing obviously. As I type with my awkward slow hands, fingers struggling to hit the correct keys and making mistakes that I know I should ignore yet cannot help to go back and correct..The ‘ in the that’s..the capital in the I, does it really actually matter in the grand scheme of things. I decide that to me that it does, as I begin to hit the backspace key and correct the mistakes so that I no longer have to look at the little squiggles under my words (not that I actually look at my screen whilst typing which is kind of my problem). I could of course just save all those red zigzags up until the end and then auto correct it all yet there is something about them just being there..hovering…waiting…tutting with disdain that my typing is actually this bad…and so too my writing.

It’s the constant flow that is the important thing they say. That constant notion of typing..just something anything. Some random rubbish that pops into your head as you sit listening to the tip tip tap, annoying your own ears with the repetition of sounds and the soft thud of the L key as you hit it and then have to wait for it to …erm what’s the opposite of compress again?.. so you wait for the key to pop back up yet instead it lingers, held down against its will due to repeated drops of coke, trickles from wine spillages and full on torrents of cordial being knocked over and over again. I make a note to be more careful with drinks in future yet it never happens..I just can’t help it, I’m clumsy.

I think I was just born clumsy, I’d like to say that I came out kicking and screaming and was clumsy enough to kick someone in the face which would have made a great entrance story. However I cannot lie, my clumsiness was only my own issue, having gotten so tangled inside that I arrived into the world with a cord wrapped around my neck, no screaming, no kicking but silent..silent and blue.

Maybe this accounts for both my love and hatred of silence.

Yes, both!

Do you ever get the need to just want complete silence, to block out the world and all its annoyances. To get rid of the tapping and clicking, rattling and humming. To do away with the noises of society, the buzz of the lamp post, the clink of the gate, the constant droning of the heater or the washing machine or whatever it is that the upstairs flat dweller has that makes my teeth want to grind against one another. Of course not everyone can hear these things, not everyone notices the slow shifting of the world, the low undulations of life whirring in a constant circle..whirling in my head. And if you cannot hear them you will most likely point out that I am hearing things or have tinnitus or some such infliction because you can hear nothing but the sound of silence.

I would love that, to not hear these sounds that echo in my brain and drag down my thoughts to the paranoia of a basset hound awaiting an intruder. I would love to be able not to hear the flicker of the lights as the computer churns and the whistle from the monitor that can drive me crazy if I don’t catch it early enough.

I would love that silence…until I get it.

Then as soon as the silence comes and no noise can be heard, I am unsettled still. For in complete silence there still exists a slow thud of heartbeat, the soft murmur of being, that something which is overpowering and constant that coats my hearing and needles it’s way… into my soul.

Then I know that I am done for.

The persistence of friendship

Adventure!

Now..

Adventure .. now!

Come on.

She tugged my hand

As we crossed the shore

Her black hair streaming out wildly

As she pulled me along dragging my heels

Let’s go!

The Unspoken

Ginni bites!

We sit – in silence

It stands between us like a wall of ice,

muffling our low clicking sounds.

It has always been there

That soft, sultry notion of nothingness

It has always been curled around us

watching us go about our days.

Yet it was never visible before,

This silence which squeezes itself into our world

It was never so clear, to the eye,

to the ear.

Never before had it announced it’s presence

so loud.

And now as I breathe in our life

I hear the silence.

It pursues me with bells,

Lights a beacon under my chair,

Forms an exclamation mark in my mind.

I am deafened by the lack of sound.

Yet opening my throat to speak

only produces a soft click …. click

and so is the music of our subsistence.

But turning, I see your smile

glowing in satisfaction.

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