|With your feet on your head and your brains in your shoes, you can steer your life anyway you choose :)|
Most people are content to tell their friends that they want to meet them when they want to meet them. But me, I will call up my friends when I don't want to meet them and say, "Hey, how's it going? Listen, I don't feel like meeting you today. I know you didn't even ask. But I think you should know." Therapy.
Sometimes I don't feel you
Like a different person,
But something within myself
Which through my eyes
On watching the stars at night;
Or something in my ears
That makes me speechless,
And brings tears of bliss to my eyes
On listening to a soulful symphony;
Or like something in my heart
Which gets expressed only as poems.
Enid Blyton lived in a Faraway Tree. Bob Dylan, in a mobile van with the memphis blues. Albert Einstein lived near the edge of a black hole. Charles Darwin, in the future. Vincent Van Gogh lived under a starry night and Alistair McLean, in a night that went on forever. We were all born in the same world. But that doesn't mean we have to live there.
Listen to the voice that tells you she loves you. Even when your friends tell you she doesn't. Listen to the voice that tells you this world is yours. Even when all the evidence points to the contrary. Listen to the voice that tells you how precious you are. Even when your own parents tell you it's not true. Listen to the voice, cuz it's the only time you speak.
So much changes. The weather. The way you smile. The way you read a poem. What you think love means. The way you sit on a chair. Life is not about accepting the things that won't change. It's about accepting the things that will.
(Just unleashing some drafts I wrote over the past 7-8 months and was unable to post due to issues with the app)
Mr. Neuron didn't know who he was
And his instructions were rather plain,
"Hi, I'm a neuron", he'd say, not because
He was proud or even slightly vain.
But because that's all he knew
A simpleton, some would say.
But Mr. Neuron had a gift or two,
That boy could think, night and day.
And so he thought up a name
He thought up the colour of his eyes
The way he talked, the way he walked,
The way he smiled when he spun up his lies.
The way he swung his bat,
No less than a star or starlet,
Hell, he even thought up a hat
Stitched by hands he hadn't thought up yet.
Now Mr. Neuron is no...
It ain't red, green or yellow,
The colour of the light is blue,
Should I stop, wait or go,
Nobody told me what to do.
So I turn to look around,
At the people passing by,
And wonder where they're bound,
As they flap their wings and fly.
Do they not know, have they not seen,
The colour of his strawberry lips,
Redder than red, greener than green,
Thinking of them my heart still skips.
And though the light may change,
The day he says, "I love you,"
To a colour a lot less strange,
For me it'll always be blue.
Did you think I was talking about
my life? When I said the river has the will
to change? With her gleaming eye
a memory like an owl that hunts
in the daylight because cowards hides
between the rays of the sun
bloosthirsty like the muddy bottoms that
become graves for drowned children
leafless branches didn't hold as
they leaned toward a gold coin some
idler threw in a whim to fell in love
with the limpid waters. A slut! a whore! needing a bath after having
consumed her lust with a boar.
Yesterday I was walking like a monk in the world chained to the food tree my mouth
like a liturgy watching fishes silver
and bright as sin coveting gills and tails
like the river hearts and souls...
Visiting this platform after more than 3 months, I found myself searching for my old good friends here. I always like to read my penpals' letters everytime I open the app before I start writing myself. Felt good to be back after a whole busy year at college and of course, struggling with this app (I wonder if it's just my phone?) that kept crashing every two minutes. Luckily, today, it hasn't. I found that quite a few of my friends here have either deleted or haven't written anything in a very long time. I don't really like losing friends and I hope to stay in touch with the rest of my friends here for as long as possible while broadening my circles and learning something new ...
Skylark Challenge #177
Words: Letter, Fresh, Story, Sweet
He's the postal guy,
going nowhere so
fresh and early....
Wearing a haunted look
under this uniform with
the sweet smell of bubble gum
spotted brown hair.
Dusk adds romance to these days
And who would harbor a dark story
in a world of shadows
shaped such as these?
A woman awaits a letter at the post office
in his stained shirt
smelling of another,
bringing it to her.
BE MY WITCHCRAFT
It's now or never be my witchcraft
kiss me broken kiss me bruised
kiss these deathly pale lips
kiss the hidden one deaf mute
the other winged one wicked as a snake
she wishes only wings to fall from
great hights like a seagull born of wounds.
Blood in the mouth
blood between the thighs
blood at the vein
I have known the one who can no longer
hear or speak she is my twin
my enemy love doesn't suit her
she is the paralytic from too many blades
cutting her wrists no eyes can see
dressed up in long sleeves even in July
carpenter of the infinite pain kiss it.
Both are the leftovers fished from
the dead waters of bathtubs and sinks.
I tried once twice the third time I died
You find your way inside my head
Like a song that plays
Over and over again
And I can't seem to get you out the background
Oh, no, now I'm falling into pieces
I can't believe how I ended up like this
It's really beautiful, it's so precious
How you brought my heart to a new dimension
And the moon was watching over us that night...
Could I stay forever?
I hope that when I close my eyes
You'll be there when I open them tomorrow
But am I thinking way too far again?
No, I'm just being myself, I never wanna play pretend...
Cuz I love you with everything I have
So do what's best for me, baby, can you do that?
I always let my feelings get the best of me
So when the time comes will yo...
When we had no social media and were forced to spend time with our family, we didn't like it. It was boring, everyone around us did it and it had no point anyway. Now we spend all day on social media and we complain that it is boring, that everyone around us does it and it has no point anyway. One day, we will reach the stars, discover life on another planet and I know just what we're going to say.
Digging Up Savoir Faire
So much has been left to others
To render vacant interpretations
But they’ve given us stones for bread
And dynamited the foundations
We’re at a loss for what to do
In newly harrowing circumstances
Many just bury their heads
In broad daylight smartphone trances
We need to dig up savoir faire
From the soft earth of a premature grave
Then cast into swan song exile
The soul of the progressive slave
I tried to identify Time in a lineup
Thought he shouldn’t be hard to spot since
he’s usually wasted
But it was just another reality misstated
It’s we who are wasted and thin
Where Time finds no handholds within
Then shrinks to a point called present
Of empty duration without scent
Au courant drained of presence
Is the false Time to which we assent
Profiled Time that doesn’t really exist
Another simple reality we twist
Dear Rogue ✌😄,
Iam so impressed by the simplicity in your messages and creativity the way u convey them. Keep writing!!
I would hide my love for you if I could. It would be fun. You wouldn't know and I could laugh each time I thought about it. I could be your friend. Give you relationship advice. Listen to your problems. Make the world a better place for you. I would hide my love for you if I could. But babe, I go red every time you talk to me.
Whatcha gonna do?
SKYLARK CHALLENGE #165
WORDS: Delicate, Muted, Flock, Openness
If we learn nothing from each other,
does that mean there's nothing left to learn?
Can I pick up a branch on fire
without receiving a nasty burn?
0 0 0
A bird upon my shoulder
doth not well in the flock blend.
If its wisdom that I seek
must I have an owl for a friend?
0 0 0
No matter the shape of the sun's arrival-
be it a ball or a delicate bomb,
this life was a real journey
not some muted suggestion...
I felt it creeping in, as a mist engulfs a sea
It was just a slight nerve that seemed seized
As if I were in a very strange environment
Left alone all to myself to try to survive.
Mentally, I was feeling the change coming
Emotionally, I was not ready for the slip
Physically, I was in a downhill spiral
A Kite caught in a tornado of emotions.
My eyes tried to adjust to the change
Desperate to see what lie in front of me
But its impact was broad and wide
I had been overshadowed by your side.
THE WEATHER REPORTS
Some will stop on their way back home, just to weight
the rain falling down
the words still rambling about
between kisses and eyelashes, the wetness
a middle finger drum tapping
on one's head the images
drawn by you
spitting out words - love
incense burning, pleasure, dear
fear, death as a matter of
But, the weather report
was wrong - no rain
Nightmares are tired of discrimination
Giving up their seats for mere dreams
They’re leaving subconscious shanty towns
To rub our faces on serrated screams
They’re coming out more in daytime now
With a rapist’s respect for personal space
Crashing parties public and private
Dispensing death with a twisted straight face
They kill wholesale as germs once did
Before they were duly perceived
Filling jagged implications of barren lives
And vacuums of right things never believed
You can give up on me but I won't give a damn. I won't break, shed a tear and I won't disappear. I'll just continue to do what I have always done. I will continue to love you. Because babe, my love for you is real. And reality doesn't change just because you want it to
is an ordinary individual
with creative anxiety
and a stubbornness beyond doubts
and certainties; an irrational
conviction of existence embedded in something
that mottles and provokes
A poet is a reinventor - each time
the illusion of words
a sentiment of change linked to
the poet - she can, in fact
finish or start the world
in a spit of soul and quill
We are all born with a
little poet inside
of us as well as the antibodies that shall
wither and placate her
When we get rid of all the trash
the poet is reborn and overwhelms
it's her nature to emerge
I recently saw the thank you prompt provided by our wonderful Lettrs Staff. An uplifting suggestion and one which I felt able to join in with. It also seems the perfect opportunity to express my enormous thanks to those of you who've participated in my #SkylarkChallenge since it's conception.
You'd might be surprised to learn though, that I have put this off for several days as the idea of giving thanks fills me with slight trepidation. Why?, because there are so, so many of you! That's why. It's therefore an impossible task to name everyone. But there are some individuals who come to mind because their participation stands out. But before proc...
AND THE MUSIC PLAYED
Oh do you remember, do you remember
The last time we made love
The moonlight pooling like spilled milk
On the bedroom floor?
Do you remember the murmurs and gasps from our lips
Hands together, fingers twining
Soft kisses growing hard in the urgency of the fire
Growing, leaping inside –
Do you remember?
Perhaps you would rather not remember
Perhaps you would forget everything from those days
But I have those memories
Of your eyes opening wide
As the waves of pleasure bore you cresting
Taking your breath away,
I remember floating with you
Up to the stars.
The moonlight lay on the floor
Sliding pool of light and shadow
SKYLARK CHALLENGE 153
- Calamity, Slay, Outrageous, Forgive
"COME BACK TO ME"
Being of light-
a decade into my past-
climb a tree with me,
smallish drama played out
in my rearview mirror,
rise with me to the lonesome howls
of wolves both young and old
trapped inside this same growing forest.
Hey you.... ageing forest
come back to me.
an unlovable book worm,
a steam engine on a box seeking outrageous truths,
a pine cone collector...
Come back child of nine,
born here and now;
let's slay our demons together.
Come back to me
from inside the painting
I painted on the sky,
I thought you would fade in time.