thoughtsgather

A space for my words to meander.

waiting game

standing in line

patiently awaiting

the next great sign

my number drawn

or name plucked from a hat

it seems a waiting game

but for a game without a name

until then

i will wait quietly in line 

for the next great sign 

 upon a page

nonsensical stories
upon a page

interpreted in waves

decoded by some

in certain ways

tempting understanding 

and adding a little faith

spring

little company

all that was ever needed

now she waits for spring

placing feet

surreptitiously placing feet
one ahead of the other
but the rain falls on this day
the lake that was yesterday frozen
steady and safe
where she placed one foot in front of the other
now, placing feet carries a different weight
a little warming was all it took
and some rain
the lake, frozen, solid, only yesterday
now has spaces that are no longer safe

River 

the river flows

amongst the  scattered rocks and stones

edges jutting above the flowsoftening

beneath the flurry

of water flow

Sipping beer

I arrived a few minutes before him, and had a pint class in my hand by the time he walked into the pub. He waved to me and walked to the door, ordering one for himself.

 

I noticed her walk through the door. She had scarlet red hair and soft curls. Her high heeled black boots, black leggings and a black leather jacket placed her in a modern day 80’s movie. She did her best to pay no attention to being noticed, but she was aware of everyone before she entered the door.

 

She took a seat a few tables away and sat down. As she pushed aside her mane of hair she took out a black leather bound notebook, glanced in my direction and started writing. With her back leaning against the table and her legs astride the other side of the chair, my friend walked back to the empty chair across form me. His eyes darted towards her before focusing on me.

 

It had been weeks since we had seen each other. He had moved in with his girlfriend six weeks ago. Before, he would have mentioned the red headed woman, but today, there was no mention but he or I. The absence of her in the conversation made her in fact more present in our conversation. Instead he told me how well things were going with his girlfriend and how much he loved her. His cheating days were over, he said, his eyes get glancing to the woman as she wrote in her notebook. “See, I haven’t even mentioned the red head,” he said.

Quiet Rebellion

where’d that girl go?

the one who wore bright blues and greens

she spoke only quiet words

but in her style and her brightness

she said “this is me!”

she needed not shout her truth

she walked it in quiet rebellion

she walked her truth

daring others to tell her otherwise

 

she now wears her truth less

and she walks her truth less

that 16 year old is long gone

that 16 year old who walked her truth

in quiet rebellion

rumblings

rumbling in the distant

faint vibrations, barely perceptible

until the moment they are

then that which could moments ago be barely noticed

can no longer be deafened or ignored

Unedited

This is my 10 minute write.  It’s 12:15 pm on a Wednesday and I have promised myself that I would write for 10 minutes a day. Just to begin. I will write more. Eventually. But for now. 10 minutes. The question is whether I will post this without edit and without thought. For me, that is a risk. I am a self-editor. Cautious with my words. Cautious with my life. So perhaps this will be my experiment. To write without edits. Hmmmm.  Grammar and typos, will I keep them? Maybe perhaps for now. They will help me to overcome my need to edit. I have already resisted the urge to go back and make changes. Writing in this way makes me vulnerable. But perhaps vulnerability is what is really needed. What I really need. Just to put it out there, all unedited. What a concept, to live an unedited life. And I don’t mean that I want to say everything i always feel, because sometimes you do have to be cautious around how you say things and who you say them too.  Its a fine line. A balance. To live unedited, with no backspaces or erasers. To just put it all out there with apology.

I take deep breaths as I write these words. Because we are constantly putting images out there, aren’t we? Impressions of ourselves. Sometimes it gets hard to know what is the unedited version. What is the authentic, walk onto the page, walk into the scene, with no doubt and no worry of making mistakes. Because really, what is a mistake. A mistake is something that needs fixing or changing or apology. But if one is living a life in line with their own values and beliefs and if concern for not only oneself but also for the other is central to one’s values, then how can there be mistakes. Mistakes are things to learn from and to evolve from and therefore, its not a mistake, but part of the journey.

Yes, maybe these unedited words will be the beginning of an unedited life.

My Life

It was my birthday two days ago. Number 39. Not a major milestone, this is true. But there was something about the day and the days leading up to my birthday that felt like a shift was in process.  And perhaps a shift is always in process. But there was something more profound about this one. If I am honest with myself, I feel like i’ve been waiting for 39 years for something. just waiting for the next thing. Waiting to be happy. Waiting to feel good. Waiting to become motivated. Waiting for inspiration. Waiting. For Something.IMG_7135 That something alluded me. It still alludes me but the reason for that is now much more clear. There is nothing to be waiting for. This. Is. It. Life. This one glorious life. I can’t wait to live anymore. There are things to do, stories to write, art to create, wonders to be discovered, tea to be sipped. Life. Mine. It is mine to live. This is My. Life.

brazen escape

a poetry blog, mostly.

BrazenEscape

a poetry blog, mostly.

A space for my words to meander.

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