this concept of laughter confuses me

"up until now i had sworn to myself that i'm content with loneliness, because none of it was ever worth the risk. but you are the only exception."

ever really wanted to tell someone something, but you just can't?
you've been through the stages...
ignorance

denial

confusion

observation

confirmation... "oh dammit, i'm in love with them..."
Now what?

Do i take that leap of faith and risk not being caught? or do i keep this secret to myself until it either becomes painful or disappears? time will tell?

i've got better things to do than to waste my time on you.

i read this, and it broke my heart.

Banishment - Siegfried Sassoon
I am banished from the patient men who fight
They smote my heart to pity, built my pride.
Shoulder to aching shoulder, side by side,
They trudged away from life’s broad wealds of light.
Their wrongs were mine; and ever in my sight
They went arrayed in honour.
But they died,— Not one by one: and mutinous I cried
To those who sent them out into the night.
The darkness tells how vainly I have striven
To free them from the pit where they must dwell
In outcast gloom convulsed and jagged and riven
By grappling guns. Love drove me to rebel.
Love drives me back to grope with them through hell;
And in their tortured eyes I stand forgiven.

thought-provoking isn't it?

first attempt

Bare walls, blindingly white,
Rain falls, I open the window,
Wish for silence, I am denied it,
Don’t want to talk, suddenly it’s quiet.
Sinfully peaceful, disturbingly calm,
I don’t deserve this; I’m just marking time,
A fork in the road, neither option appealing,
Screams penetrate my slumber, through doors and the ceiling,
Beseeching blue eyes piercing my thoughts,
Fighting my own resistance, always fighting,
Told them I walked away, but I know I’m hiding,
Unjustly worshipped, unfairly scorned,
If I leave or return, either way torn.
And there’s always the war.

i miss this part right here...

in an ideal world, i'd return to this moment, and stay there.

something happy

although it's hard to see, the circled post is a quote from one of MY poems (see, "Conversation stimulates inspiration) on another person's blog, my dear friend Rhian to be exact. :) "flowers die, love dies, and as i write, the ink dries. i'm no longer slave to your broken promises, nor victim to your lies. from this moment on, i'll start with the truth."
check out her blog at r2e.tumblr.com ^^

Don't Roll Your Eyes At Me (tweaked version.)

Trapped in a plethora of ice-blue perfection,
A glass house; but inexplicably, I can find no reflection;
On the cusp of a breakthrough, a telephone rings,
Obnoxiously incongruous against played out notes that float,
With wild abandon, from rusted guitar strings.
Unnecessary chores; nights we struggle to recall,
So we go through the motions blindly, throbbing head,
Closed off heart, disused brain,
Now I’m running to catch the nine am train,
All foresight blurred by torrential, unforgiving rain,
I spilled a cherry soda, hope it doesn’t stain.
We pass a cleaning shop I used to frequent; now it’s empty.
The owner ran away because he couldn’t pay the rent.
Such a dreary world long past its use-by date,
So we’re left, bereft, caught in this clichéd rhyme,
On the precipice of epiphany, let’s step back, and waste some time.

The REAL Paul Anka

Put on your anorak of ambition,
Your wellington boots of willpower,
Your fedora of forward thinking,
And your gloves of greatness,
Step forth into a plethora of resistance,
And watch as they applaud you,
A Santa Ana wind whispers your name,
And guides you along the path of greatness,
And when the sun goes down on that day of revelation,
Your triumphant silhouette against the dusty rose backdrop
Will be resplendent in the minds of those who matter,
And tower over those who matter not.
Step out of the boat…

I am the Pickletrain Conductor.

"Lorelai: The town smells like pickles, because a pickle train was derailed.
Rory: A train full of pickles, who knew there was such a thing?
Lorelai: Well, pickle train conductors, for one. Sounds so fun. I would have been the greatest pickle train conductor. Can you see me? 'All ... all aboard, you ... pickles!'
Rory: Hm, clearly you missed your calling.
Lorelai: Well, luckily there's you, you're young, you're clever, you are our great pickle train conducting hope!"

I’ll break you like a bad habit,
Burn you with interrogating eyes,
Reveal your flaws under the scrutiny of the world,
Smother you with the scent of a thousand red roses,
The ones you sent me when our love died.
I’ll tear apart pillows and send the feathers flying,
Smoke you out of hibernation like a bee in a hive,
Acrid lies rising with the smoke, they choke me,
The uncomfortable heat of the flames flushes my cheeks
And lulls me into a false sense of being, my guard slowly crumbling,
But then a sharp frost snaps me out of my waking nightmare,
And I’m swept up in the current of the river of reason,
Truth rushing back to me, whirlpool of emotion turning me around,
Now I can face the sun, and find solace in this winter,
A breath of fresh air, unparalleled,
Matchless beyond compare.

"Rory: We're farming rutabagas!
Lorelai: Oh, you're a filthy child! I will disown you, bringing your father to dinner! Pickles, pickles, pickles smell, pickle train conducting!
Rory: Alas! Alack!
Lorelai: Good talk!
Rory: The best!
Lorelai: Bye!"

yes, i procrastinate waaay too much. this i know. yoda rules. ^^

on the edge of the cliff in my brain.

A pocketful of paradoxes contradict me left and right,
Tunnel vision served me well for so long,
But I’ve lost sight, and now I’m stumbling blindly,
Tumbling down kindly kills that lend their knowledge
To wisdom bruises. There’s missing pages in my heart,
And unwritten chapters of my soul,
The promise of summer found a spark long silenced,
And fanned the flame of spontaneity,
The pendulum swings,
Spirit awakened,
Vivente!

in winter, i get cold hands.

frosty first impressions, ice-cold stares that cause
the sun to shy away, taking with him the feeble lukewarm rays,
that are all he has to offer on wicked winter's days.
i blew you a kiss but it was snatched by spiteful mist,
called to you dear, but for the howling wind you could not hear.
even my tears were turned to stinging ice on vulnerable cheeks,
and if it weren't for the dandelions, those soft reminders of faith,
i would have crept away quietly into the cave of defeat,
to hibernate. instead, i lie in wait.

wired.

We drench our desires in caffeine-soaked dreams,
And sleep with fear under our pillows,
No wonder we wake up tired, despite the varied length of our slumber,
And long all day for the land of nod,
For the sandman to find us and to finally be able to drift into unconsciousness,
Sinking deeper and deeper, that bottomless abyss of despair.

this poem possibly to be continued...it doesn't feel finished, i don't think.

buy me a book of poetry?

some quotes i found recently, and love...

"We cannot tear out a single page of our lives, but we can throw the whole book in the fire."

"Winter ... An unwelcomed visitor that shows up long enough to remind us of what we're missing, then leaves us just in time for us to forget again." - A Love Song for Bobby Long - (fantastic movie, watch it if you get the chance.)

"I had a lover's quarrel with the world." - Robert Frost

A to-do list for life.

i want to:

read, write, live and breathe poetry, fly away somewhere in a hot-air balloon, overcome irrational fears, fall in love, read a million books, get a tattoo, travel to beautiful places, learn to play guitar, write a song (music AND lyrics), catch a falling star, build a tree-house, ride a motorbike, have a successful education and career life, adopt a child, change someone's life, love and be loved, fight my own battles, have a picnic at midnight, make daisy chains, somehow capture the intricate beauty of frost, and break a bad habit. this list to be continued? we'll see.

"i wrote your name in the sand, but the waves washed it away."

Conversation stimulates inspiration.

Let’s start with the truth.
I kissed you goodbye at the bottom of the stairs,
The salt of your tears left a sting on my lips.
You walked out of that door and out of my life,
And I was certain we’d never again cross paths.
So I took down all the photos of you in my room,
And crossed out your name in black ink in my heart.
But the indigo seeped through the careful wall I built up,
And threatened to drown me in tears I never cried,
and I kept coming face-to-face with memories I thought I’d thrown out,
why do we forget what we need to remember,
and remember what we want to forget?
For kicks, I drive on the footpath at dawn,
Before others drag their wearied bodies out from between twisted sheets,
Daytime an escape from their persistent dreams,
Dreams that reveal their vulnerabilities
and offer truths they don’t want to face.
I recently allowed my dreams to speak,
Tell me what I need to hear,
And in time I was unable to sever my ties to you for good,
For unbeknownst to me, you left a string around my heart,
A thread you could follow back, but I don’t want to be traced.
You once sent me a thousand yellow daisies, but they’re all gone now.
Flowers die, love dies, and as I write, the ink dries.
I’m no longer slave to your broken promises, nor victim to your lies,
From this moment on, I’ll start with the truth.
I hope in my heart you’ll do the same.

it's a good day for rain

Books stuck to the ceiling, and broken records on the floor,
A black and white picture of an unknown singer
sticky-taped to the door,
Chipped fingernails drum out a nervous beat,
While worn satin slippers encase icicle feet.
They’re waiting.
Take me through the paces; lead me to the stage,
For while I’m performing, I cannot be afraid,
I’m blind to their judgment, but happily so,
It’s intimate scrutiny that’s carefully avoided, wherever I go.
A barely travelled road leads me up a garden path,
And I revel in the weather, the day promisingly overcast.
Rainclouds are my friends, sunlight is my foe,
Unforgiving rain comforts me, waters me, helps me to grow.
My records are afloat now;
they drift with me down the rushing stream,
And pages from my novels flutter overhead,
strange birds in a beautiful dream.
I’ll never see them again, but I’ll not weep, because you see,
Now they are as I am, they are free.

back-to-front is the best way to live.

Two times two doesn’t always equal four,
And no matter how many times we’re hurt,
We always go back for more.
We make goals and to-do lists, always saying ‘I will’,
But when push comes to shove and the going gets tough,
Procrastination and promises of tomorrow prevail.
I snuck up behind you, you screamed and I laughed.
Why should we act our age when we’re growing up so fast?
Maturity can’t catch us; we can run and hide,
Because in our world time stands still, and we’re unaffected by the outside.
I have vague memories of stumbling, weighted down by speeding time,
But you built a bridge back to innocence,
Taught me wisdom of a different kind,
And slowly I discovered a silenced child, somewhere deep inside.
While our rainbows will someday fade,
And our golden sunlight yield to dusk,
When I cross back over that bridge into the world of ‘must’,
I’ll always carry a ball-of-string memories, wound tightly to my heart,
And maybe that warm promise of joy, will give me my courage,
And my start.

a date with destiny, and amber eyes.

Run-down arcade on the corner of a bad block,
The locals say it’s haunted,
The owner died of electric shock.
But I don’t believe the stories,
Told for the dual purposes of preventing vandals,
And, too obviously deduced from the excited spittle
Forming in the corners of the peroxide-haired gossip's mouth,
Because every small town needs a scandal.
shaking my head, i turn away,
their blithe unawareness bothersome to my cause.
Atop of a grassless hill in dried and fried suburbia,
I lie among the stones, ants crawling over my eyelids.
Baking sun bears witness to the eagles’ dying call,
Graceful even in his final moments,
Swooping and soaring, so fast that maybe
heaven won’t catch him in time.
But then the clock ends its circle, and as the last grain falls,
So too does that magnificent creature who brought me here
To the place of my dreams.
I will enter that condemned arcade,
My footfalls will rouse the ageless dust
from disintegrated floorboards,
I’ll shatter the forbidden glass prism.
I’ll do it for him.

all tensed up and nowhere to go.

scratched and cracked polish on my fingernails,
it would be perfect, had fortune favoured me.
day after day i labour away,
endeavoring (in vain?) to achieve the perfect coat,
oh, but to have perfectly glossy red talons for but one day...

the dull ache that comes with each swallow,
is a reminder of the bitter pain which erupted from
the night's events.
bare feet, violent shivering, unforgiving rain,
scrolling through useless contacts, each nothing more than a name.

a little more of my tough facade eroded away,
soaked to the skin, faced with unfeeling reality;
nowhere to turn to, but here i can't stay,
i'm trapped. trapped in the place i must have at one time felt safe.
now alone in the world, salty tears my one companion, and concrete paths
paving the way to the only escape.

the headlights of a small blue car serve as a beacon of hope...
but even torchlight is temporary.
and laughter fades.

a few missing words, a window to my soul.

Bird’s eye view, I can see into your soul,
Your skin is transparent to my acid-eyes,
They burn...

Frosted glass, condensation builds,
Forming pretty patterns, but then a shot,
And a bullet shatters the attractive illusion.

broken glass makes another pretty pattern on the ground,

i tiptoe around in a room devoid of sound,

this strange place i once found,

it makes my heart pound, silently.

have you ever tried to trace subtance of your dreams in reality?

i never had patience for thousand-piece puzzles,

crosswords cross out meaning in my mixed-up mind,

but i think you'll find,

that all the sense you've been seeking was right under your nose all that time.

so just go to sleep dear, and it will all fall into place,

like the fake snow i made the other day.

you found a sweater on the ocean floor.

yes, we're crazy idiots. but you're jealous because our friendship is amazing.

so many good things about this day, i just can't name them all.

a day in a week in July

"She know she got me dazing
Cuz she was so amazing
And now, my heart is breakin'
But I just keep on sayin'
Baby, baby, baby ohh
Like baby, baby, baby noo
Like baby, baby, baby ohh
Thought you'd always be mine, mine"

the day started out grey and lethargic,
each movement like languidly dragging limbs from
comfortably warm quicksand,
some corner of my sleep-fuzzed brain insisting i need to move,
but the will-power was caught up somewhere in the land of nod.

so i plod...plod...plodded through the necessary paces,
motivation muted somehow by the seductively welcoming thought
of returning to a pile of pillows to sleep the hours away.

pushing these thoughts back, however cumbersome, was worth it.
rain-embraced greenery is nature's own art,
that carved-out concrete cannot conquer,
and the suddeness of being surrounded by magpies
provides a quick, fun thrill of fear, photographs capture the innocent joy
and spontaneity that made the day what it was.

alone again, i laugh at myself, surprised at the ludicrity (no pun intended) of my newfound love.

"and i was like baby, baby, baby oooh"

a breather.

Indigo hearts scribbled in biro down my arm,
And crossed out names and question marks on my palm
A hairdryer blocks out persistent chattering,
Then a sudden stop. Glass shattering.
A crumpled sobbing heap amongst the debris,
A pitiful sight to the pitiless soul,
Icicle feet desperate for heat, upon my vulnerable emotions,
Winter takes its toll.