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3 Dec 11
Her heavy soul stood motionless on the stage. Suddenly she opened her mouth and covered everyone with her aching.
11 Dec 11
His life flashed by in 3D quadrophonic full widescreen glory, sans the soundtrack.
11 Dec 11
The book was as thick as a hearty slice of homemade apple pie. Each page sprinkled with four lines.
12 Dec 11
Acorns in a box thrown in with the wishes we made in trees. Life was simple in the dragon dens we made. Play.
12 Dec 11
The rats in the ladle and the grubby spoon. Little girl rose and the crone in the moon.
17 Dec 11
I rest my case. said the jet-lagged woman with the sore feet returning home from the Festival of Dance.
17 Dec 11
Honeyed words dripped dripped on the floor. It would take her years to get rid of the stray bees.
18 Dec 11
Mouths moved fast, hands gestured wildly and words filled the stuffy room. Not a lot was said.
24 Dec 11
She followed the crude scent to a cold room. Picking out two large lumps of coal from a bulging sack, she lit a fire. The mouses eyes shone.
31 Dec 11
The train lurched out of endless eerie, abandoned stations. Playing with her damp ticket, she wondered if they would ever arrive.
12am, 1 Jan 2012
Happy New Year WORLD!!!! peace love and cherries!
lily © 2011
@myarspoetica
@comettailrider
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It's NaNoWriMo. It's November, the month where writers whip their muses into shape, hoping to write that novel or poem that will rocket them out of the slums of their life.
Today is the 9th of November, and by all hoops and porpoises I should have written 9 poems at twitter. Though 5 is nice, in that half of 10 kind of way.
But I'm always late, and never finish anything, so I'm right on track. Oh, the joy of self deception.
Disclaimer: poetic license.
January 2012 update edit: 16 altogether, a split of a nano over half of the goal. ok.
~*~
We broadcast the failures of others while hiding our own shames as they writhe and whisper; hypocrite, hypocrite.
~*~
I have brought an Opal, a fold out chair and a map to the portal. Let's get started.
~*~
A bookmark on a red song book. A tambourine lays silent. Angels collide.
~*~
They were bound by blood and parted by blood. Only a letting could save them now.
~*~
She exhaled rolling hills of wildflowers. The wind whipped up great scented swirls and swept them into foyers of city apartments.
~*~
Centre, find your equilibrium, lighten up and let go, a walk solves everything. She moved in & pushed her Chakra over.
~*~
The turnstile goes around and around and will trap you in its death spin if you dont leap out. Your train arrives soon.
~*~
Her eyes drink in the moon, she returns to fill us with light - for @natashabadhwar
~*~
Wrap a curl around your finger, strew petals on handmade paper, weave a crown from stripped willow, sit on a swing, and remember.
~*~
She dangled her legs over the side of the pier and watched the far off waves travel & travel until they reached the little boys sandcastle.
~*~
The ghost man wavered at the top of the stairs waiting for her to go out, so he could read the letters she had written to him #ThePush
~*~
She found an angel with broken wings. She had always loved broken things, with their sharp dangers, keeping her alert, grounded.
~*~
She leaned near the sun bathed sapling. I do not try to grow.
~*~
Sing an old song, play dress ups, talk to the birds on the clothesline, peek over the back fence, make fairy bread.
~*~
NIGHT LEAVES: In a pale dawn sky, growing smaller and smaller, two black balloons.
~*~
Your sandy towel for my salty tears. An ocean roars behind the trickle.
~*~
excerpts from @myarspoetica, twitter
~lily © 2011
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September 13th 2011 12:15
Each were predator, each were prey. Each had a cry 'I'm not the smallest, I'm not, i'm not.'
~*~
Her face scrunches as she sips the bright pink Hibiscus tea (of the Pharaohs). She adds a little honey. Stained lips.
~*~
It wasn't the loudest voice that got her attention, it was the silent one. The one that could mist a mountain with a single breath.
~*~
She drove there without remembering the route. The landscape had taken notes along the way and delivered them by courier pigeon.
~*~
I am forever taking my shoes off. I want to remember the path.
~*~
The sun went down before she could say 'light me another tune'. The alley cats were found in a great big huddle asleep on her doorstep.
(Dedicated to Amy Winehouse, rest in peace)
excerpts from @myarspoetica, twitter
~lily © 2011
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We dwell in the roots to understand the branches that seek the sky.
The robot pulled down the blankets, tucked in the children & read them a story of a time when people ate together at tables and laughed
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Death sat on her shoulder hitching a ride everywhere. She would put it down when it grew heavy and made it walk on its own.
Few words for the way i am feeling, i'm letting the madness take me to the garden. Count the i's, give me a flower for every one
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The Power of Gentleness and The Slow Manifesto. Two brave titles.
Threading a silver hair, she wove it through her childhood reveries
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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 called 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).
I've written 24 'stones' so far, with a week to go. It's been harder than I first thought to really settle into a moment and write down how it feels to be fully 'there' without wandering off to dreaming of which I tend to do, my instinct falling to daydream when writing poetry
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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'.
~*~
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Shake out innocence in a warm breeze, iron out the brown paper bag of dreams, scent with compassion, fold into an origami crane. fly.
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Your berry milk, your blender pulse button, your vitamin pill, I'll be them all for you. But I won't be your fin soup or pirate ship, sorry.
~lily © 2010
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on FLOODS IN BRISBANE
Ars Poetica