Mens undiesMen's undies are private Disneyland, offering big attractions between candies and toffee apples. Enchantment party for little kids, paddling in cups of tea and splashing with Nemo. It's always warm and crowded inside. From time to time there is a ray of light, revealing new adventures and exciting discoveries. Mountains to climb and rapids to raft, deep in the jungle of India's Delta, hides the Temple of the Forbidden Eye, embraced with million stars After intense emotions it's time to close for a moment; &nb
ReflectionsThis love is an extended metaphor, perhaps claiming that a bumblebee is a cumulus cloud (or, indeed, the other way round) —both too heavy to hang as they do in the sky, great weights oblivious to gravity, and with an air of steady certainty that they are keeping the world ticking over, a self-assured busyness from which we must forever be distant. &nbs
Vine-tree Life IILife is a dying vine in a land of harshness. It's an amorphous anfractuous tree, that conceals the suffering of the soul with its big dead leafs. At every minute that it dies, with its strangler crooked branches, squeezes and suffocates parts of my being, in slow-motion moves, taunting me at my every step through this damned land. It's a vine, with its dead empty trunk still standing, with painfully detailed bark of no importance, showing my every decision in its old wrinkles. It intertwines around me, holding me with sadness while crushing my hope without a shred of honesty, always unveiled after the thin membrane o
sun is the ultimate painterThe sun is the ultimate painter. It saturates all the colours, enhances the edges of all the leaves; their edges standing defined in the midday brightness. When it's behind a cloud, the colour slips, and the leaves meld together. Then there's dark and light, more dark than light, 'till the sun stops painting and the dark consumes me. When my world is dark I am dark, I become a dark thing. I cannot survive without the painter, without light, colour, and defined edges; I need art to survive.
you must singYou must sing to be found; when found, you must sing. -Li-Young Lee Those weeks when you stand at the mirror, your face harrowed; those days and hours, your pulse clawing at a tight angry eel living below the heart, between the lungs. And how you try to throw him out, your dinghy solid enough but tipped by this storm-scaled weight. You try to drown him, to leave his knife-edge gills with nothing to sift air from. Convulse and heave over the sink, pail out the water by rivulet and stream. Your knuckles stiffen with splinters and your face swells in the mirror. You curl on the deck, the fish circling. You stand a
This SilenceNever counted as 'one of ours' Words are hooks, tearing open scars This silence is my blood, you see Them not caring I bleed dry Damn all that will deny.. My silence formed this deep red sea These arms grow tired, more and more Where's the beacon to lead me ashore This silence is engulfing me Veins are cold and lips keep still Wish I'd been of stronger will My silence couldn't redder be Before the closing of life's shutter These last words I'm bound to utter.. This silence is my blood, you see
Absolute ThingsThe orange fallen leaves are death's fingers reminding us what is to come. as they move and scrape against the pavement, we try not to fathom chilly bone fingers caressing our spines. We collect death's fingers, in spite, and in our ever darker and darker nights, we wrap ourselves thick with comfort as we await the coming winter.
Life is a MetaphorLife is a metaphor. It doesn't always make sense. Sometimes it's bad. It's painfully misused or annoyingly inaccurate and just makes you want to give up and stop reading. Other times it's fine and dandy, but just a little too complex, to the point it all just seems ridiculous. You just can't suspend your disbelief to the extent that the things it's saying are reasonable. Occasionally it relies too much on an in joke that the audience doesn't entirely understand which just makes everyone a little confused and detached from the whole. Most of the time, it sounds good until you actually think about it. When put under cl
I know...Jade was breathless, running blindly through the fog. She couldn't remember anymore if it was early or late, she forgot in the sudden fleeing that disabled her mind. I can't make it this time. She inhaled thick wisps of air; the moisture was bittersweet to her throat as it swept into her lungs. Her legs pulsed with grace even in her panic. Just breathe. She was athletic. She had to be for this dangerous lifestyle. It was stupid to wander off on her own, she knew that the second she decided to sneak out and roam the moonlit terrain. Still, she needed alone time. She had always been a loner. It was difficult for h
ReboundShe eyed the man with distaste. He was the sixth man who had hit on her that night and her patience was running thin. She hastily made up some excuse, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes as she did so. The man left, disappointed, but not without leaving his number. She accepted the paper gratefully with an empty promise of calling him sometime. The moment he had disappeared from her sight, she carelessly threw it away on the floor. The woman sighed. She could feel the beginnings of a headache forming. It seemed like coming here had been a waste of time. Her younger sister had always told her that she needed some more excitement
This Is How I KnowShe sat alone from the others in the room, isolating herself so she could think. She slowly fingered the tattoo on her forearm that linked her to the organization that worked against everything she believed in. She'd only joined to keep the room's occupants safe. Her ploy had worked, but it had its price. They would be coming soon, and there was nothing else she could do. Appealing to Daniel would be her only option. Maybe if they did something soon enough everyone would be safe. Re-covering her arm, Miriam walked to Irina. Surely Irina will know what to do. She already knows my secret. She
Jeremy's EscapeThe Man A fog of panic clouds his eyes as his boots sink into the thick mud. His hands jet wildly into the fog; they search for a steady branch to grasp or a vine to pull. He can smell the withdrawing rain and taste the heavy air. The humidity has its sweaty fingers wrapped around his lungs. They clutch and grasp tighter with each heavy footstep, shaking and jerking his chest, making it impossible to take in any deep breaths. He begins to feel woozy, the once refreshing smell of the jungle makes his head spin. The smell is too sweet, and he is too hungry, tired, and hot. It smells like trees, fruit, grass, leaves, wet
Begining of Family IssuesMolly plucked a pickle from her hamburger, knowing that her son was watching intently. She made her movements careful so that her son will understand her intentions. Testing whether he was paying attention or not, Molly moved the vegetable to the side and in small loops. His eyes not wavering from the pickle slice. She smiled in satisfaction and began to bring the pickle to her open mouth. Her son leaned in closer, almost not believing his eyes. The boy's eyes were wide in anticipation and mouth agape in wonder. She stuffed the pickle in her mouth and began to chew. He covered his eyes with his tiny hands in disgus
Sunday afternoon practice.Running into the empty practice room away from the cold, Lennie made for a chair and stooped to change her shoes. They'd got here late and only had the room for an hour, so while he set up the music, she cursed over the awkward ankle fastening that never cooperated. "We wanna get you some new shoes, maybe." He knelt opposite and took her ankle onto his knee to help fasten the fiddly shoe clasp. "Maybe, although I do like feeling like Cinderella." She grinned at the idea of herself as princess in this state: just wait until they'd finished practising. "Well, who wouldn't?"
In MemoriamI feel your absence in the places you once were, the spaces where you would rest your hands, where you would lay your head. Surfaces are now wiped clean, tabletops suddenly bare, revealing colors I had forgotten they had. The quiet speaks about emptiness, gaping holes and scarcely discovered chinks: lips that blow cold air, lack of substance that reminds me of what it is wanting. I trace false wood grain with bruised fingers, feel the places where dust will collect and smother what might be left of you.
Writer's BlockThere you stood in front of your enemy, It's blank face daunting, intimidating. Slowly, slowly, you pick up your weapon, A wooden sword, it's graphite blade shining in the sunlight. You raise it up, eyes on your target, Your muscles tensing as you plan your next move. Uncertainties creep upon your thoughts, And you wonder if you should go that way, Or move this way, Or just leave it be. Frustration and anger gather inside, As you stare at your paper foe, who patiently waits. And so finally, after struggling and deciding, You set your sword down and walk away.
Finally hereIt's finally here… The day where you disappear I saw it coming.. But yet I did nothing. We went our own ways. Are the memories worthy? Since it'll be the closest you'll ever get back to me.
Workshop - Poetry on youYou look up at the sky and hope. Not for the rain to fall or the sun to shine; you just look at it and wait. The blue canvas it provides, a safe haven for imagination. You feel the earth become strange. As if the wind kisses your cheeks as it passes and the clouds bring you inspiration while they float. You stop and think of nothing. Blue in your eyes, clouds in your heart and you feel saddened by it all. You wonder for a while and as you wonder more you find yourself looking up at the sky. And you hope. Hope you'll think of nothing
How to Break a HeartStep one, choose a target, easy and weak, After all, you're new to this technique. Step two, you break the outer shield And let the wound get fully healed. Step three, you need to gain her trust And never let yourself seem unjust. Step four, you strike, quick and hard, Never letting down your guard. Step five, you simply fade away And find a new one to betray.
