A long, long sleep
A famous sleep
That makes no show for dawn
By stretch of limb or stir of lid,
— an independent one.
Was ever idleness like this?
Within a hut of stone
To bask the centuries away
Nor once look up for noon?
– Emily Dickinson
Pepper, trying to establish that being a cat is infinitely more rewarding, sleep-wise, than being a human.
Just there, it hangs
In the clear sky
A purple flutter,
At that traffic light
Where, behind tinted windows
It was just you and I,
And we left
The world
On the the other side.
– G
I take my dreams and make of them a bronze vase
And a round fountain with a beautiful statue in its centre.
And a song with a broken heart and I ask you:
Do you understand my dreams?
Sometimes you say you do,
And sometimes you say you dont.
Either way it doesnt matter.
I continue to dream.
by Langston Hughes
All I want
Is a ride.
Take me anywhere.
As long as I can
See, hear, feel.
As long as the dark glasses
Of ignorance
Are stripped off my eyes
Every other minute.
As long as all this extra weight I carry
Of petty skirmish, complacence, mediocrity,
Is stolen, hidden, taken away.
Until my mind
Is simple
And clear
Like the wind in my hair
And water through my fingers.
As long as this sponge
Can soak up
More words,more thoughts, more smiles, more darkness,
More death and destruction,
More happy imperfection,
And learn from it,
All I want
Is a ride.
Take me Anywhere
– G .
Orange flags
Persistent nags
The days are caked in gray.
I tug at your shirt
We watch our shadows flirt
The times sits still and stays.
All the clouds they gathered
At my doorstep
And the waves
They rose and grew.
The crows,
they circled in the sky
Even the lazy cat
It opened a wary eye
Impatient
For me and you.
Impromptu lines inspired by the sea and an impending storm, by the looks of it! So much day dreaming..
I stand here
On the sidewalk
Across the street
From where you work
With hope in my hands
A melody in my head
Waiting to be written
To the words reflected
In your eyes
So we can walk together
Bumping shoulders
Kicking stones
Snickering at odd strangers
Pointing at alley cats
Sharing silly woes
All the little highs and lows
Humming ear worms
Making the ordinary, absurd.
Blowing soap bubbles
A million colours blurred.
Waiting
To turn your day around
Hear you laugh
Roll my eyes when you whine
Try and record the sound.
Hold your hand
Walk together
Back home.
– G
I have been wanting to write about my running, but I kept feeling like I wasn’t running enough to write about it. Like I needed to clock in some more serious miles, before my words could mean enough.
Then today’s run set me free from the mini-whirlpool of thoughts sucking all my peace of mind.
I can only speculate what it is about running that does that. The feeling of the solid ground passing beneath my feet, the release of endorphins, the focusing on breathing or the acute awareness of form that I have been working at developing. I just know that every run brings me back to base, reminds me of who I am and the direction in which I want to head. Its also restores faith in my body’s ability.
And the biggest thing I have derived from all the running, is to be Fearless.
It is the only way to be.
Cannot form the right sentences to express just what I need to say, but as songs do some times, this has come to my rescue.
I have come to believe, that true freedom lies in deriving happiness from within, and begins with actually being at peace with yourself, loving who you are and working with that to move towards who you want to be.
Finding that balance between being confident while attempting to be objective about your flaws.
I am so grateful to the people in my life who still believe in me. Coach comes through to give you exactly what you need when you least expect it, and without asking for it.I hope I find a way to thank him some day.
See, c’est la vie
Maybe something’s wrong with me
But, at least I am free.
When I write to you
I know you may not understand what I mean.
I will write to you,
Because you will not understand what I mean.
And so, it will be easy
To send you gray letters
Heavy with meaning
Like a large cloud
Threatening to spill Big words like
Love, Dust, Scars, Sarcasm.
For they wont make you flinch.
Because you may, for very long,
Maybe forever
Pretend to miss the point
In an effort to keep your mind
Simple.
To steer clear of dark corners
And sharp edges
And the maze of thoughts that you think comes with.
Like caries with fistfuls of candy.
I will write to you
Because you will ignore
What you know my words mean
In the hope that some day
You will be fed up
Of not listening to yourself
Understand,that with my words
I have been trying to make up
For all that you have been trying to keep
From yourself.
And then, you will not see my words,
But read them.
Because I know
That I am not glorifying
Your mind, in my head
Just because then you will be someone I want.
But because I have watched
Shadows settle gently
Behind your perfectly practiced vacant stares.
And I have caught you slip up
In your efforts to conceal
All the more you have in your less.
You are boring, you insist, you are old.
You are just ignorant of feelings, you say.
I can tell, you are just running away.
Because you caught the hint of pain
In someone else’s lies.
And swore to never
Let anyone’s words mean as much to you.
So I will write to you
And tell you
That sometimes
Dark corners,
can be safe places
Sharp edges,
Can be used to hold onto.
So I will write to you
To tell you that I can see you inside
In hiding.
That it is okay.
And that, just in case, some day
You let my words slip in
And they begin to make sense to you
Like stars become constellations
I will be around to tell you
That there is power in vulnerability.
I will be around to witness
Just how much more, I know,
Your less can be.
YES, yes, yes! Why your handwriting, in ink, on paper, means the world to me.
What a beautifully written peace. Semd me your postal address, and I’ll write you a letter.
Aternatively,
We could unplug ourselves
Off Facebook
And start writing
In journals.
Alternatively,
We could write
Each other letters
And make frequent trips
To the post office.
It will take too much of our time,
Of course, but our correspondence
Will be longer
And the pleasure of conversing
Will be drawn out.
Anyway, a conversation
Via social media
Mediated by computer monitors
And profile photos
Isn’t really much of a
Conversation, is it?
Anyway, I want to see your
Handwriting, feel the strokes
Of your pen with my fingers,
And smell the ink and paper.
You don’t have to write and sound
Like Jane Austen, although that would
Be great, as well.
You can write like a cardiologist,
I wouldn’t mind.
There are nuances in our handwriting,
You know.
Alternatively,
We could lie on roof tops
And gaze at the distant galaxies
And talk about our dreams.
Alternatively,
We could…
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And if you need a song that speaks Hope, Peace, Wonder and winter mornings with tea and cigarettes, a gentle breeze and a distant tolling bell, I will say to you, “Parachutes: Paper Birds”.
The Nomad in Spirit 