Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Jouranl Keeping




I have toyed with the idea of making this blog more of a journal entry. I thought it would force me to write in it everyday and perhaps on later re-reading give me somewhat useable material for my short stories.

There used to be a time when I was an avid journal keeper. Every conversation, or most, every event in my little irrelevant teenage life was recorded. Every afternoon I would sit quietly in my room and write.

I would have the journals made of simple, unlined printing paper and bound in a hard cover laminated with a work of "art" of my own creation on the cover. The unlined paper, then, used to fill me with this overwhelming sense of freedom. I could write any way I wanted. I remember writing once with words all over the page, any which direction, until they started to over lap. I called it my "Free Flow Thought". Today there are names in those words that I simply don't recognize any more.

Now with the speed at which information is spread on the internet the question of how personal you make anything on here is a very important one. Obviously I can't exactly say all that I may want to. No angry venting in obscene language talking about how much I hate everything(yes I was a very angst filled teenager). I'll probably have to temper it a lot.

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea.

We'll see what happens nah!

Saturday, October 1, 2011



Standing still sometimes

you hear the whispers

as they pass

speaking of the past

you only remember while

standing still.



My outstretched arms

across the face of time

encircled hopes

as our world in words of wisdom;

of ages left

your lips even while they

promised no promises.

Still sometimes you'd

sneak your hand

around my hips

in sleep. I'd smile

and dream of nights

when you could dream

again.

Through love

I hoped to warm your heart

behind your broken memories and

masks.




At first you took me

without consent

softening silence

with kisses charged with

promises of contentment

and family.

I watched her spirit cry

sitting with death

in corners of our

living room.

I saw your eyes cloud with words

you had not spoken

while you called for me

with wrong names

and our world darkened.

Still I held your hand.




You toyed with my hope

cool strings against your fingers

strumming while I danced

for our audience to songs

I had not yet written.

My heart would dance in time

wondering at how

your words wandered

right through me

without seeing.

Always close enough to touch,

to hear, to feel

just a little before

your sabbatical shields glimmered

in the light of my laughter

loud enough to remind

you to pull back.




Your words became cruel

in short time

recounting rejections

in pronouncing my worth.

You marked my place

with secrets as your

promises lie across our bed.

Nightly prayers remained

cold, finding no faith

in me to grow.

Childless and barren hope

lay between us

substituting our lies

as we both waited

with pause

for something...

anything to grow.

Returning our deaths to the start

fertilise the grounds

we held on to

refusing to apologise for

even now.

You strangled all there was left of me.



Death comes in seconds.



It was with all this

in the midst of judas

kisses that passion turned

to ashes and my

power was born.

I will not apologise

as my feet fall within

new rhythms.

The songs within me

have burst out

in a tongue you

know very well...

not for your ears

or anyone elses.

It is the loudest of

silent cries within me,

the only thing

left to bloom

with time

untouched.



This song quiets and

swims with whispers

as they pass

singing of the past

I only remember while

standing still.