as long as we twirl our umbrellas, it'll all be ok
we'll slip between the windows and out into the rain
braver than our parents ever were or ever could be cause
we see with eyes of hope, we are immortal in our smiles
and our leaping hearts will whisper

who can touch us
who can touch us now?

we are more than we imagined in the summer of our childhood
our dreams have grown like pumpkins, gold between the autumn leaves
and our songs will tell those stories of love and betrayal
as we fly in our gossamer skirts above cities and streams

crouched around an open fire we will sing with our guitars
and the sound of strings will echo through this long-forgotten place
we'll wake up the musty darkness as our voices sound like trumpets
to give the gift that sounds like growing in the sparkling summer rain



back to college in three days! can't wait...

these pieces are mostly unfinished excerpts from the folio of writing which i've been compiling this semester. it helps to type them out - kinda part of the drafting/growth process! i see some of them as more finished pieces now...they are all quite different. comments welcome as usual :).
___________________________________________________________

i am in a war
just me.
alone, i see skeptically
i have proven murphy's law
a living example of the way
it all falls apart and
comes back together
simultaneously
every second
every person
every time.

i am a witness to
new growth from death
beautiful love is appearing
from the grave of my tears
i am scuffed, an old shoe
but
at least in that
my scars have been of value
for now i see
a seed has been planted.
___________________________________________________________

i slam myself against the bars of this cage
i whistle softly into the darkness
listening for an echo, somewhere
who knows when i'll see the stars again
___________________________________________________________

someone has dropped honey on my skin
sticky, it smears
cat-like, i lick it off

hiding my indiscretion with a curtain of golden hair
shine in the sunlight, and we are outside
under the trees, under the birds and powerlines
under the overarching heart of the world

the sky, emotions printed in a depth of clouds
better than any laser high-tech nothing they could have created;
more than this plastic and metal space
it reflects light.
it reflects my light and
the giving, the shining, of everyone else.

the world is full of honey
full of sticky sweet history
golden souls contained only
by skin

expelled only
by words
and smiles under stars
___________________________________________________________

there was a murder in this house
once.
blood, dripping down the stairs
then congealing, still
staining the plain wood
staining the structure
supporting this small space;
silence.

the blood remains
deep under plush new carpet
beating like a heart
under your feet
not much left in this place but the
call of the blood that you feel
when you walk through the door
nothing but
that piece of the past
echoing there.

the screams that remain
are held in the stain
of the blood that's been dripped down the stairs
these moments cannot be seared away from
empty space, empty of all but
scars of history, seared through
through the wood, through time
like nothing more or less
like the light

the light is all that remains the same
as it pours through the dusty window
despite the screams
unaltered
unchanged
___________________________________________________________

around the corner
a gentle giant
many different faces beneath
one amiable smile
but so soft
voice hands walk
all soft
all gentle

and i no longer care
about finding perfection
maybe perfection is
accepting simple things
and being happy that
life is good.

you are good.
i know this
where my ribs meet
that centre of soft warmth pulsates
i become quiet; still
and i smile with no cause
but seeing you
and in your smile which returns my warmth
i recognise that
simple things can make you
content
and content can make you
happy.

for once it is enough
i do not
- in this moment, now -
need more.
___________________________________________________________

how dare i claim
that all i've ever wanted
still is not enough
only human and so selfish
i am haunted, hunted
by that innate desire
to be more, have more
be better, fuller, higher
will i ever achieve
rest from this foolish dream?

i am running faster
faster further
darkened spaces
narrow bridges
no way out.
___________________________________________________________

i have said
i am changing like the sea
people say that it
that i
am beautiful
but they have forgotten

those waves are full of
cigarette butts
plastic bags
lost thongs
and also that even the pure sea water
the kind you see at
as-yet-untarnished
holiday places
is full of salt.

is it all about the different people that we are?
the different eyes which look out from each changing face?
it does not matter which face we take on
day by day water reflecting
growth change multiple personalities
the salt will always glisten and alter
our view
like tears.

this poem is probably better written than the first one. more of a poem, less of an emotional spiel.


she has a life
she has a future
she has long fine tangled hair
swaying around her shoulders
it makes her look like a cloud
her eyes reflect the sky

made perfectly in miniature
she is not neat; she is real
she truly lives each moment
uses everything she has
with no concept of the endless
tomorrows she faces
with those eyes full of light
the sky after a storm on the sea.

captured within this frame
i can see in one second
everything she could be
all the choices she can make
in those bluegrey eyes so like mine
i find a life.

she is framed against the cliffs
they rise behind her
looming large in the foreground
she is more than you see
standing there, hair sweeping her face
her head in the clouds
and her mind in the waves
as they change
reflecting the world
and the sky.


guys, if you read, please comment! i relish getting comments, and i'm unsure as to whether i even *have* a readership any more...i don't update as often as i used to, simply because life became way more busy! but when i have time, i do write. anyway. let me know!

Please note: this is not autobiographical.


in this place
your place of darkness
rubber plant
stale oranges
accumulated dust and the
sight of a church spire
gothic and old, from your window
lit up in the night -
i would give this to you.

dank raw new tightness
i would that you desired
the surrender of this gift
metallic leakage
sweat
skin skin
in amongst the oranges which match
cellulite skin on my too-white thighs
as-yet untouched.

i would tell you this
with my body
and my eyes

if it were not for your smile
the warmth that emanates
softly
whenever
- often -
you think of her.


this stemmed, in case you're interested, from an image. my writing often does, particularly the descriptive stuff. pretty sure that this semester my focus is going to be primarily on poetry... i'd like to work on being as good as i can be within this one medium, as opposed to mediocre at everything i try :P

speaking of which, the play is going well. we open in a week, and i'm pretty nervous, but in a good way.

more when i write it.

my footsteps have traced this path
early many mornings
in the ashen sky before dawn
as i leave you in the empty bed

a sleeping dog; i cannot let you lie
your teeth pierce my skin
i am punctured
i leak failure regret and pain
i am surprised that the acid pouring from my eyes
the salt, has not marked the ground
seared through, burnt into it as it has to me.

though i see you every day
you are absent from your shell
i am left
clinging to false memories
struggling to make the pieces of two different puzzles fit
we contrast
the image stumbles
blunt cardboard edges fraying

my layers are visible, exposed, rusting away.
again i am wrong, again i have failed
again i return
purely simply sadly

attempting to cross the broken bridge
and touch your smile again.

i buckle before your past
as it rises to the surface
like oil, sticky
dirty
poison.

now you are something else
as you predicted you would be
what feels like so long ago
and what i am struck by is
how different all this reality is.

you are the papercut
from the turning of the page
inevitable, necessary
clumsy, painful
invisible, niggling
sharp.

sometimes
i think i could walk for miles
to leave myself behind.

Well, I was right about one thing. Taking a creative writing course has encouraged me to write much more than before - not just because I have assessment, but more I think that now I feel entitled to think of myself as a writer. In a strange way it helps. Anyway. Exerpts from the latest collection: unpolished and unfinished, the real, raw deal. As always, would love to hear comments :D.

Lecture

everything is stark
a hundred faces stare
silently numb in the darkness

pristine, a woman speaks
tight curls, sharp voice
she drones
and they pretend to listen

though all around them is white
and their colours are muted before the giant screen
inside they buzz
a million things occurring to them
all at once
none about the woman
the film
or the money they paid
absentmindedly
simply to be here
elite
in the almost night
appearing to sleep.

Consequences

you have trespassed into my heart
crossed the invisible borders and set up camp

you are making your mark
and i feel every hesitant footstep
every silent breath

i wanted you to stay
but not like this.

abandoned

weeds entangle my legs
they seek human comfort
presence that is missing

old boards creak slowly
aching like bones
chilled from a winter dawn

harsh light hits the tattered, untouched curtains
and inside my footsteps remain
embedded in the fragile death that
cloaks every surface,
lightly

nothing and everything has ceased
even breathing here is laboured
it is the home of the forgotten
the departed
embrace of the silent and still

somewhere out there
the rain is covering the sky
in sweet clear bitterness
and turquoise light

you are out there in it, and
you radiate that light.
you are the centre of this whirlpool
everything swirls around you.

match the green in your eyes
with the warmth of your smile
i don't want you to ever fade away

you are sunny days eating lunch outside
you are dancing amidst a hundred other people
you are kissing in the silence of the darkness

you are laughing

you are laughter

and i cannot stop

draft 2 of a poem i wrote...mmm...a month ago?
i was reminded of it the other night.
comments would be lovely!

fragile joy

part of me would love to take you
into my arms, my heart and my life
but i know myself far too well

i love you too honestly
to endanger you with my
flippant fluctuation
my treacherously enigmatic soul

how can i truly explain myself to you
if i can't even see clearly in myself
not who i am, but who i will be
tomorrow

i've hurt too many world-weary souls
now i can see the siren in myself
i will never sing for you
or draw you in on my silken line
and the innocent shall remain so

nothing is sadder than a cynic
who was once the most joyful and lighthearted of children

i have seen your glowing face uplifted to the sun
please promise me you'll keep this feeling close
for it may evaporate without a word
like mist before the footsteps of the dawn


this is, by the way, total evasion of my creative writing *assignment*, due monday, that i haven't started yet...ok, starting right now! :)