So I was planing to resume posting at least weekly like… a month or two ago, but then I got double pneumonia and work went a little crazy. I’m moving in about a month so I don’t know how active I’ll be – but hopefully I’ll pick back up again!
It is dead silent and still dark outside
With all the cars sleeping in their spots,
Owners going slow in sleep without them,
Or in dreams going fast without them.
A stray cat is watching me watch him
Blinks, turns around, and carries on
His morning routine, and
I turn in time to carry on my own
Another step, walking, again, continuing.
It is uncanny and warm,
An oddly comforting dark February morning
With the moon contemplating it’s long shift
Watching over all the little things
We have built and become below it.
I step out into the street
As I do every morning at four am,
Drowsy and half stuck in some dream,
I step out and stop half across
Wondering if the car lights will catch me.
If you like my writing please check out my book Moth-Like. It can be bought on Amazon here.
Sorry in advance for any formatting errors! I’m having to type this on my phone as I’m traveling.
I am a creator of many worlds,
Is it incumbent upon myself that
I treat them all with love.
They are my scars, whole valleys
Baring the lives of thousands I will
Never fully know.
They are my lashes, my hair,
My nails, things that are apart of me,
Yet I am so quick to lose unknowingly.
Whole worlds die and live on my skin,
Little villages, colonies, nations,
And many more inside of me will thrive.
My fantasies are alive, multiple personalities
Branching off of a single curious whim, acted
Out in walking and sleeping dreams.
Tell me, why I cannot love them? Why should
I not love them? Them in all their horrors
And grace – them existing in me.
It’s magic, it’s witchcraft, its power in basic
Realization that I am more than me,
I am beyond a single being.
If you like my writing please check out my book Moth-Like. It can be bought on Amazon here.
Today’s word of the day is Arbitrary: based on or determined by individual preference or convenience rather than by necessity or the intrinsic nature of something or depending on individual discretion (as of a judge) and not fixed by law. I enjoyed writing this one. I feel like I’m missing a stanza toward the end, but at the moment I have nothing to add tonight. Maybe later.
‘Sink Into Them’
All these words of mine are just arbitrary,
Sink into them, the lists of little things I’ve lived,
Lists of the life and things I dared to try.
All these words basking lightly on my tongue-
Let me show you the dictionary they’ve grown to become in my heart,
Just fistfuls of sounds strung together about this normal enough life.
No real definitions, no solid order, no set pronunciation guidelines-
Just lists of words: all the colors and shapes, adjectives and nouns,
Phrases and memories that dot my book from imaginative cover to cover.
I welcome you to my words, erratic all my terribly comforting words,
Our words. Happy, sad, chaotic, black, blue, green, regardless-
Let’s live with words on tongue together, separate, and unreasonable.
If you like my poetry try checking out my book Moth-Like.! I just published the paperback and eBook at the beginning of this month!
Many apologies – I have been ill the past few days. Still going too, but at least I’m a little livelier than before. There’s probably going to be a number of mistakes and typos, but I can check those out later. The twenty-fifth Shadow of May question was: What three things do I most value?
‘A Light Haunting’
My house feels haunted, is haunted
By me. The soft whispering of my feet are
Still just as uncertain despite the two years
They’ve brushed against the concrete floors
That have supported my slippery shadow as I ghost
Between the front door, kitchen, bathroom,
My room – a path of half-existence taken daily.
Sometimes I see the sunlight drifting
Between the semi-closed blinds by the couch,
And sometimes there is food in the fridge
Waiting for when I remember that I’m alive again-
For no mater how tranquil I feel in my incompleteness
There is an existence outside of work, books, and sleep,
Which might require basic actions of me.
It’s a calm sort of crazy, sort of madness,
Haunting myself, that is, being there and yet gone.
For eighteen years I was trained to be quiet and light
On my toes, so much so that I learned to drift from room
To room. My mother began hanging up mirrors just
So she could catch me every now and then, but years later
I forgot how to stop and, I don’t know if I can – or want to.
Lately I’ve been feeling out of it with my writing. It happens from time to time. I just haven’t been enjoying the tone that I’ve developed over the last few weeks, maybe it’s because I haven’t written this regularly in a long time and it’s spreading me thin. I like to think I get better piece by piece, but, alas, instead I usually get annoyed and feel like I write the same poem nine times. They all start to bleed together and seem… I’m not sure how to say it. They don’t read clearly for me. Anyway, my point is – I’m trying to.. move back to more solid and clearer language. I’m also not a huge fan of first person, but I suck at everything else. Lol.
Enough of the word vomit. Today’s Shadow of May asked: How do I express myself?
In the south we are taught
Hospitality is keeping to yourself
While reaching out to others, like
Cold lemonade offered in the summer.
Polite, Friendly, and just shallow enough,
Not to be intrusive, but
You would not realize it by the letters
I mix together every night and morning-
There are so many emotions that I am
Just too weak and unwilling to express.
Pen ink appears much warmer on paper
Than any ounce of forced politeness I give.
The summer is usually so warm, but this year
I have grown to love the cold,unnatural storms,
And I enjoy seeing my face in the puddles they leave.
There’s just so little time left for cold lemonade
When it storms, and sometimes it’s better this way.
You don’t need lemonade when the heavy, wet air will do.
The warm pavement, warm ink, warm everything – it hurts
And most times, I’d prefer to keep all that to myself.
Sorry for the late post for Shadow of May day ten! Was up all night fighting with Blender trying to build a 3D model for a long term project – I blinked and it was 3am and I had work today at 10… Anyway, day ten’s question was: What three things makes me happy?
It’s all the little, pointless
Bits of comforting chaos I find-
Late nights followed by too early mornings
(Rushed, teeth unbrushed, coffee dead in cups),
Or storms when the sun should shine
(Equally a blessing or a curse in disguise).
I want to feel this life of mine.
I want to prove my life is mine.
Happily, I exist in fickleness and perplexity,
Happy also becoming everything and nothing.
I’m happy in three unsolid states of being.
Enjoyed my day off tomorrow helping a friend with a project. Depending on where it goes I might talk about it here, or not. Who knows? Anyway, today’s Shadow of May questions were: How do I feel about solitude and How do I feel about loneliness?
‘Alone, I Sit In’
My little heart;
Alone I find myself
In empty rooms
As I try to
Here’s Shadow of May day seven! This one has been the easiest by far to answer.
The questions were: How do I feel about being alone? Why?
‘All in Time’
I worry little for loneliness,
And why should I?
Sometimes it’s nice to enjoy
Darkness, night, and pure solitude
Without worrying when the Sun
Will eventually shine, when people
Will look at me and speak their hellos.
It all comes in time, gentle time
Or harsh time. The sun will shine.
The sky will, again, darken – all in time.
That’s okay, that’s fine- perfectly fine.
Didn’t get around to posting this yesterday due to yesterday’s big storm – so here it is now! The prompt was to take a concrete noun from our favorite poem and use it as a anchor to brainstorm a new one. I my favorite poem is Tennyson’s Lady of Shallot (I even have a tattoo based on one of the stanzas) and from it I took the noun ‘Lilies’
We used to grow tiger lilies in a tub
At the edge of our old, rotting porch.
As a child I thought they were the world,
I petted their slim petals where they curled.
My childhood seemed so lily white to me.
My childhood seemed steeped in immortally-
I thought with kindness of the life I would live.
I imagined with gentle promise what I could give.
And I thought it all would last forever
As we all tended to once do, and whenever
I can I stand outside, find some sort of lilies
Any, I remember as a child, were my Achilles –
A hero from my not so white, not so pure past.
Short-lived was my childhood, while it could last,
But I can still remember the fragrance, and that gentle
Not-so gentle, way I dreamed of becoming something monumental.
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was to explore a small, defined space. This was fun to write.
There are a few hundred mysteries to behold
Some hanging, some laying, some folded
Between all these cloths bought half-old
In that little closet of mine standing swollen.
There are shoes, semi-worn stuffed in nooks
Four shirts well worn, two pairs of pants well torn
A few various coats above the dresser slightly broke,
So much fabric lost and living, socks randomly sitting.
And I’m never quite brave enough to begin the cleaning
In the spring when I must decide between precious things-
There’s my jacket, from a friend in China, worn occasionally.
A quilt my great aunt made that’s never faced my bed.
Little lives lived in every string sown and cramped together
That I only ever see dug out every other spring and winter.
There’s a sewing machine used thrice and then forgotten,
My various bags and backpacks, a tent, a tarp, and hookah.
All the many little fragments of the hasty life I’ve lived
Are shoved into my closet when I can’t begin to comprehend
How I got this far in life – when did I buy this wig? Was it
This last Christmas? Where have all my socks gone again.