writing

The light doth shine

It shines – reluctantly
Gold piping around edges
curved lines:softened by the glow
mesmerised red eyes
drawn like moths
to a wide open plain
visible and raw
for all the room to see
with a limited time
patches of rainbow fog
just another symptom
another reason
for aversion
A way not to see
the blindingly obvious

SoCS: March

March has been taken in a bit of a stride around here. To begin with I haven’t felt like I have had enough time to sit down and really focus on writing or reading or pretty much anything that will bring joy. Instead I have found myself resorting to hibernation mode on the days where I could have had some time to get things done; then afterwards kicking myself for wasting time.

Yes, at the beginning of March, I was already to march into the sunrise, head full of goals to complete and a list of things to do: yet somewhere along the way I got lost.

Do you ever get those days where you just feel you have had enough so you sit down and take a breather and some selfish time to yourself, and suddenly a few hours have been lost. Well that was my month of March really. Then tonight I find that I have literally lost an hour (darn those stupid time switches), and suddenly I feel awake again and aggrieved at all the time lost.

It keeps ticking whether we make the most of it or whether we waste it: and I guess we all need to feel as though we are wasting our time in order to do something about it.

So I shake my fist at you March, you have been my downfall and now I am protesting! Give me back my time and we shall have no more quarrel!

*marches off into the night and slams the door*

 

Take a read through the other SoCS posts over at Linda G Hill’s blog

Spare Parts

A part of me is lost
Fragments of phalanx rise to the top
In a river of words
Blood splattered lettering
Smudged onto cartridge paper
Thick set and rolled
Ammunition for the brain

Firing rhymes
from the top of my head
Adjectives overflowing
Caressing cinnamon ledgers
Dusty tomes of epic tales
Offset with coffee stains
And sprinkled with sweat

Parts of me are misplaced
Welded to sheets of carbon copy
Skin speckled vellum
Thoughts chiseled into slate
Cold and haunting – unwanted
Exhausted ideas settle within grooves
Burnished in birchwood

Though the fountain is never stemmed
Poems pour forth,involuntarily
Inevitably, without fear
Raw and ready to be moulded
Fusing with my mind
Until possessed and weary
I submit to their will

Parts of me are missing
Yet I claim my soul, my own

Night Terror -Draft

It happened again – my words disappeared
Just like the night once before
I’m sure they were there
all typed and prepared
and left all alone in a drawer
Sometimes they stay
and sometimes they go
Sometimes they just fall apart
I’m left with some words
It just seems absurd
but sometimes they expand and grow

I really should take stock
of all words and phrases
poured onto paper at night
but sometimes i’m dreaming
and sometimes they’re screaming
and sometimes they’re there
– and i’m not.

Yet now i’m all confused
all twisted and tangled
i’m pondering where can it be
There now is a title
yet i’m so confangled
cos nothing is in the body
I remember I wrote verse
It was there in my WordPress
that’s now a glaring blank slate

What I have is ironic
I blame electronics
and hazily pressing a save
All I have is the title
and no clear recital
a vague memory of the night
With old faithful Biro
there was none of this error
just old fashioned words
and smudgy “Night Terror”

The Harpy Upstairs

The high pitched shrill, the clog of feet
Signs of neighbours home
Try as I might, I just can’t write
For bristling at her tone
She squeaks and screams just like a child
That’s tickled constantly
The nasal sound, heard through the ground
Instills a chill in me
I cringe to hear her loud fake laugh
The shrieking makes me growl
I wonder if she’d carry on
If she could see my scowl

A Weekly Ritual

One, two, three, four,
Don’t forget to lock the door
Five, six, seven, eight
Come on now we’re running late
One, two, three, four,
Change of shoes, her feet are sore
Five, six, seven, eight
I jangle keys, as though they’re bait
One, two, three, four
Clearing leaves from the floor
Five, six, seven, eight
Almost got her to the gate
One, two, three, four
Just go back and check once more
Five, six, seven, eight
Make a phone call while I wait
One, two, three, DOOR
Five, six, seven, LATE