A River of Stones: January Musing

5 01 2011

pebbles

I suffer from that malady many of us writers and poets suffer from. The dreaded writers block. It can destroy a writers soul. I believe that poetry comes to us, it’s less excruciating to wait for the butterfly to come to us than to run about wildly, catching bugs and bees and bark and swirling leaves, though they are nice too, but not when you really just want the butterfly.

Last year writing was like pulling teeth, but I learnt a lot about acceptance and waiting, but only after vowing I would stop writing altogether to put my self out of my blank page misery. I’m no Charles Bukowski or any of those other prolific writers, all I wanted was a butterfly. Maybe we expect too much of our muses.  Maybe we should be grateful that we can still imagine and dream even if we never write a word of it down.

So my muse was slothing around my house eating peanuts and making a deep impression upon my couch, when  I stumbled upon this project through twitter. A River of Stones, the idea to write one small stone a day for all of January. The intention is to really pay attention to one small thing, and write a ‘stone’, a small piece of writing about your observation (eg. a sentence, a small poem, a haiku).

Read more about  The River of Stones here, it’s not too late to join if so inspired. I’ve found it harder than it sounds, but if I stay still long enough, a stone  appears. Sometimes if it doesn’t and i’m pushing boulders uphill, I forget about it and often an essence will reveal itself later.

I am dropping my daily stones into my @myarspoetica stream at twitter (hashtagged #aros).

Here are my first five stones. I will update them to here every few days or so.

.

Curtains drawn in a darkening room; the TV, a computer screen, the dying light outside the window.

~*~

The Sea is all I see, a dream stone in a crumpled pouch, I wave to a bright yellow yacht.

~*~

Cockatoos screech violently at the Sun as it rises above the sleeping mountain.

~*~

Holding a small bottle of vitamin E, she shows me her forehead scar, healing.

~*~

The floods reach the top porch step, a blank faced man waves to the rescue boat.

~*~

The phone call, blood drains from her face, she curls up with a heavy stone embedded in her chest.

~*~

‘Her poetry was always so dark’. Yin and Yang glance at the boxed girl. ‘Disturbing.’

~*~

Sap drips on the car, birds dig up the garden, spiders crawl in uninvited. At least the remote control obeys.

~*~

I admire people who can just say things and it comes out right and fluid like turning on a tap to fill a glass of water.

~*~

My tap splutters and the pipes groan and I let the dirty water flush through and then I collect the water.

~*~

She wished her gravely ill father was an exemplary man so she could speak of his amazing selfless loving life but alas he was a brute.

~*~

Last week they climbed the tallest building in town. Today a little girl closes her eyes tight wishing her family back there.

~*~

Rain, blood and tears, I have no words left. http://twitpic.com/3poclu (Art for Queensland Floods)

~*~

Jim Morrison singing his own kind of scat, from the other side, subterranean poetry [save our city].

~*~

Night light, white noise, books, nothing could persuade her to close her eyes to meet the dream master. Please leave the hall light on.

~*~

This will be your year, things will get better, I hope you find your happiness soon. Things they said to be free of her melancholy.

~*~

The raging river and panicked faces took over her mind, the fading sounds of helicopters were the last to leave.

~*~

The mutinous river broke through the levee of her mind. A full bellied lake sighs, the fevers were back.

~*~

Paintings of puppets & robots lined the walls leading to the auditorium door, opened by a man with splintered hands. Her palms itched.

~*~

The great pearl has been rolled into the inky sky just above the eucalyptus trees. the stars are closed, the garden flowers are open.

~*~

Moonlight snaked up the road, slithering over shadows and around the silhouette of trees.

~*~

A six year grudge became sludge, the rains came and washed it all away. He did me wrong in a song, now I sing my own words.

~*~

She dyed her hair bright red, tattooed a tear beneath her eye, wore a bouncing tutu and a t-shirt that said ‘don’t look at me.’

~*~

A little girl believes she can change peoples hearts with her songs, singing as an angel for her mother who watches from heavens wings.

~*~

The spinning death cloud loomed on the horizon, all the animals silenced & folded themselves into peoples hearts to give them strength.

~*~

Hard stone, weeping stone.

~*~

Fold up your sorrows, throw them into a safe burrow, hold close.

 

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Fragments of Christmas

22 12 2010

 

The note on the back door said it all: ‘You cut me down, made me beautiful & adored me, then you threw me on the bonfire. I feel so used‘.

~*~

At least you don’t get pulled until you pop said the bon-bons. At least you don’t get left on the plate said the mince pies.

~*~

Fairy lights draped over the neighbors hedge. neon blue, stop light red.

~*~

‘Can we plant the tree after christmas Mum? you know, recycling’. ‘No dear, we’ll have a bonfire after the bushfire season is past’.

~*~

Fake tree branches fallen, missing lights, baubles under the couch, creased stockings, broken angel in the nativity set. Santa was disgusted.

~*~

His favourite, a lamb roast, he wipes his chin as she nervously eyes the presents under the tree, spilling a little whiskey as she pours.

~*~

Finally under the weight of all the tinsel, his mind collapses, defaults to reverse and is towed off to the junkyard of broken lights.

~*~

On Christmas morning she heard scratching noises in the hall, bundled near the door was a pile of tree baubles.The Earth ones.

~*~

Memories of Christmas are bittersweet, like Moonface from the Enchanted Forest sucking on that lolly, sweet, sour, sweet, sour.

~*~

The look on her face could have sunk the Titanic, but she forced a smile & said thank you, just what I wanted. A self-help book, & deodorant.

~*~

You are positively glowing, she thought as she saw her reflection in a christmas bauble. Then she remembered the tree lights were still on.

.

~lily © 2010

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excerpts from @myarspoetica, twitter





The liberation of cats and dogs

27 09 2010

sometimes

we can’t hear the purrs

for all the barking

this is the most brilliant poem I’ve ever written





Black Dog Yard

4 09 2010
Running with the dogs down to the pasture afte...

Image by Stevesworldofphotos via Flickr (click to Zoom)

Black dog yard

a few grass patches left

the rest worn away

by the pacing

.

of a dog so restless

it cannot wear a leash

lest the same fate

fall upon the neck

as the yard

.

the sun will peek through

and scented winds will revive

and we will break free

and walk for miles and miles and miles

.

.

~lily © 2010

.





The Wonderful Adventure of a Motley Crew with Dolphin Fever

17 04 2010

One thing about living with depression, is that when joyous moments arrive, you consider them absolutely precious, a blessing to be cherished. I was fortunate enough to be invited on a twilight sail with my brother, the sailor. He lives and breathes boats, really.  (Skandia crew member)

Bro, the Sailor

I was told it was a race, but really the races had finished the week before, and they just wanted to keep on racing.  During the afternoon leading up to race time (5pm) I was nervous, as my last time on a yacht down here, ended up with me holding my belly and offering the contents of my tummy to the ocean. That’s a nice way of saying I was sick.

To pass the time, I wandered along the pier with my bro, who introduced me to the Mussel Boat man. We had a toasted sandwich and coffee on the yacht, I talked to a man fishing for squid (they always have great stories the pier fishers). Then I took pictures of the yacht, the crew, my brother, the moody sky, and sent them through the airwaves to share with my online friends at twitter.

Docked

Suddenly it was time to rug up, to meet the crew, to listen to a few instructions, and we were away. I do not have sea legs, so the butterflies in my tummy were fluttering wildly as I sipped (perhaps gulped) on my water bottle, waiting for push off.  I looked up at the ominous sky as we tacked our way out of the harbour towards the setting sun. I was quiet at first, taking it all in, the sounds, the smell, the chatter of the crew, the deep dark sea, the breaking waves.

I turned to the Skipper, “maybe we might see dolphins!”.  “Well they are out here, sometimes”, he said, “In fact we ordered them for 5.30” and winked. That was all I needed to hear, now this wasn’t just a rock and roll ride to be endured, suddenly it was an adventure.

The 'Seduction' Crew

Suddenly, I heard a squeal from the girl next to me, sure enough, the dolphins were right along side the yacht, three of them, darting from left to right. One dolphin settled into a nice groove, right under our feet (which were dangling over the side). At one stage, the dolphin turned on it’s side to look up at us, my smile couldn’t have been any bigger. By this time, I am completely filled with wonder, and sharing this wonder with people I had only met that afternoon. Nature bonds people. The dolphins stayed for about 10 minutes, but long enough for me to take some pictures and phonecam footage. Perhaps not “the best footage of this dolphin” but you can make it out. Starts slow, but wait for it. Sorry about my squealing! To view the Twidvid, go here >> http://www.twitvid.com/LTYUY.

Sunset Dance

There were no ocean offerings, no butterflies, just elation. I am ecstatic about my little adventure on the twilight seas, and grateful for the privilege to this little sunset dance we were blessed to witness, simply ecstatic!

waving, not drowning





bite on this

7 04 2010
i want to write a poem
for bees sake everyone else is
but my muse is being a
complete bitch
her arms full of fruit
she holds it close as
it spills over her arms
she drops me an apple
and teases, ‘here lazybones
bite on this’
even as i write this
i hear huffing
i am being ordered to dust
the shelves and put
back all the books i left
open
[an apple is fine by me]




The Surreal Artistry of the Stoic One

28 03 2010

 


If you love surreal art as much as I do, then you will LOVE these drawings. I think they are delightful, and they tickled me pink, each one bringing a spell of curiosity and a supersonic smile.

The artist is @_stoicOne_ of twitter fame, also known as my friend, Andrea.

Dream

 

Nature

 

Home

It Looks Like Rain

Touch

 

The Sea

 

Civilisation

 

Romance

Romance

 

Sleeper

 

One Night's Dream

One Night's Dream

 

 

My Everything

My Everything

 

 

The House the Moon Found

The House the Moon Found

 

Organic (for Lily)

Use of these images is prohibited without permission of the artist  © 2010