Quick write 5/08

Just a quick post from a story snippet....

 "I will not stop until every brick of every temple of this false pantheon has been ground into dust. I will bring ruin unto every one of your vicious and cruel children so if the world were to remember their names, it will only be as a passing thought." Tyn raised her hands high above her head, energy pulsing as she made rage a conduit for the power. "Dismissed as easily as you dismissed my plea when your son stole my light and life from me." 

"Tyn."

Everything stopped. All around, her fighters, living and dead, were frozen in place. The silence in the room hummed in her ears. It had been so long. So long since that voice had met her ears. Her lungs forgot how to breathe and her heart was paralyzed in her chest. 

"Maya, I…" Language failed as she turned to see her beloved. "You're really…" Her lips buzzed from the power of the halted spell, surging through the air, crackling from her fingertips. 

"I am.  For now." The voice came from a face that was so familiar it might have been Tyn's own. "Hello Wildling."

"Divine heart." Tyn threw herself at Maya, holding her as to bring their hearts into one beat. Her brown skin was cool and the kisses felt like the night air.  Tyn drew back, searching those gray eyes she had fought two lifetimes for. She had spent those thinking of the perfect things to say when she saw Maya. Those words were all gone as Tyn buried her face into Maya's curly hair. "I've missed you."

Soft, cool fingers wiped away Tyn's tears. "I missed you too,  Wilding." Her smile was sad and her eyes filled with tears.  "You look so different on the outside."

"Oh, um… well reincarnation…" Tyn stumbled and laughed.  "Its kind of obvious I'm a woman this time but I hope…"

Maya smiled and pulled her in for another kiss. "You look good.  Even taller than when I saw you last.  But you're still the one I love."

Deep and echoing,  the elder gods words rolled across Tyn's mind. "You can be with her, forever if you wish. She's right here. All you need to do is stop your assault on the gods." 

Don't tell me not to panic.

 Don't tell me not to panic

I've told myself a thousand times to take a deep breath

A million heartbeats in the darkness of a blink, 

With impossible thoughts wrapped around my windpipe. 

Don't tell me not to panic

By the time you see my tap tap tapping fingers, 

the shredded remnants of my composure scatter

into the hurricane of thoughts yelling I've lost. 

Don't tell me not to panic

I dread the emptiness that unfurls as the fear fades.

Drained, drawn further in, I curl within myself, 

a nautilus of silence, waiting for the next cacophony.

__

I can't sleep, so I tried to explain what a panic attack felt like.

Poem speed round 6.04

I wish I were better than this.

The drips of mist on my windshield turn to constellation
As the morning sun escapes the horizon.
I wish it hadn't come to this
I wish I was better than this
My fingers drum the steering wheel
As erratic as my breathing
As dissonant as my head and heart
Every stop sign whispers to me
every text frays my nerves a little more
I wish it hadn't come to this
I wish I were better than this
My thoughts wander lost in the valley of doubt
My heart adrift in a prison of my own making
Did I shape this path we found ourselves on
Did you take the wheel and I forget to try
I wish it hadn't come to this

******
Maybe I'll try to do some speed poems throughout June. Maybe I won't sing the poor decision procrastination song of my people.

Fears are foolish

Witty comment here, self depreciating comment there. 

Here is a poem.

My fingers are tense, tight, taut with agitation

holding the pen like it has fangs to bite my hand 

if I loosen my death grip. Digging into the page

for the words that seem hidden under a layer of stone.

I need to find them, scratch them free from me.

When did I become afraid of writing? When 

did the blank page transform into the boogeyman 

hiding under my pen? Blue lines on white intimidate.

The ink in my veins runs cold in the eye of this pale sheet.

Schrodinger's page, every line, empty and profound

with what is and what isn’t, a single eternity of moments

undefined.

No promises, no goal. Just a poem. Goodnight.

Whoop de do dah

I always want to start with some kind of deep introspective moment that leads into something I can be proud of. This post is not going to happen if I hold myself to that high standard. I need to lower my standards to get a pattern going, then I can focus on improving the quality. So here goes.

Mildly unimportant update, I no longer hold my job at McDonalds, I work for a call center, for Geek Squad now. I fix level one computer problems. Whoo. Onto the writing that no one will read!

30 minute daily freewrite

When I dream, I dream of you.

To the me who lives without fear of what I said yesterday

and what waits when I open my eyes tomorrow

I dream of you.

In you I see my doubts are few and false shadows

weak kneed in the light of your confident smile

I dream of you.

You, who spends the night not tossing, back and forth

with dreams of dread and looming future fears

I dream of you.

Running ahead of who I am, painfully past my reach

just far enough ahead that I cannot catch your shadow

I dream of you.

11/07/14

I want to wonder, wandering

aimless in my world, made up.

To depart from my day to day,

return to defenseless dreaming,

Break free dance with my oldest friend

etherial entity who was called by all

Imaginary. Right will be right

in the way my friends used to be

forever.

So part of it was a free write poem, the other half an edit on a poem I found in a notebook when attempting to clean up my room. I’m not really pleased with the second one but it is what it is. I didn’t embark on a quest to write a poem tonight but it did come out. I guess listening to hipster licence free music on spotify make you do that at times.

Goodnight, hope to be back in a pattern of attempting to write every night.

Random free write

A good friend of mine challenged me to take 20 mins a day, to do a simple freewrite every day. So here is day 2.

I think I’ve always been locked in this room. The top of my world is a chunky, cottage cheese texture, that feels a bit powdery when I touch it. The sides are a smooth beige, with just a hint of gloss to it. Here and there are little marks where the brush left too much paint, drying into ridges that create small shadows. I like to run my fingers over these little lines, tracing them over and over. There is one part of the wall where a hole was made, then patched over with thick swaths of white paste. This part is the same powdery dry as the ceiling and I hate it. I get frightened when I run my fingers over it.

The floor is a puzzle of small blue chunks of stone and glass, each one a different shape and shade. Some are shiny, some are dull, but all are blue. A few of them are chipped and the grout around the ones by the door is missing, from when the waters came in. The water didn’t scare me; it made my floor look like the ocean. My favorite stone is a tiny one near the side of my bed. It is a little triangle, no bigger than my big toe, with one corner rounder than the other two. The blue of this one is a dark, dark shade, almost black. One day, I realized if I stared at it long enough and tilted my head just right, I could see tiny silver flecks in it, glittering in the lamplight. Sometimes, when it gets too loud, I stare at that stone and try to count the bits of silver light inside it. I always lose count.

I walk the circuit of my room every day, from the edge of my bed in the corner, around and into the bathroom in the corner. All along the walls, there is a bit of paint that is a little shinier than the rest, where I keep my fingers on the wall as I walk, so I don’t fall. I like to trace the little stones and the gaps in the tiles by the door with my toes, counting each one, each day. Once, one of the little blue stones came free when I traced it with my toe. I picked it up and hid it in my pillow. I kept it secret and safe until it was taken away from me. I cried for a day when they took the stone from my hand.

I don’t like the door. I can’t touch it, so I don’t understand it. The metal looks like it was brushed over and over with a very fine toothed comb, until it became a man sized wall of dark grey and silver lines. There is no handle on this side, just a small shelf mounted to it that my meals come in on. The tray is wooden and goes through the little opening to the other side, where the food and supplies come from. The door goes from the blue stone floor to the ceiling, so wide across that I can’t touch both sides at the same time. Sometimes I hear voices on the other side, but never for long.

I dunno. Sleep well everyone.

Well then...

Another random poem I guess?

Stranger

Hey, hi!

I almost didn't see ya

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

I'm doing good, I've got no complaints.

I'm not driving that old beater anymore,

Got myself a new car, doesn't break down on me.

The family is great, everyone misses you.

Mama had a scare, the Big C, but Lord knew what's to be

Daddy is retired now, he won't leave Mama alone.

How are you? Where have you been?

That's good, you always had a talent for it.

It's been so long, you've been busy, I'm sure.

I saw your brother the other day, he seems fine.

How about…?

Oh.

Oh.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

I've gone and made it awkward. Just like I do.

I don't know what to say, sorry doesn't feel like enough

Oh, yes, you go ahead, I sure do know.

Those errands, they won't run themselves, will they?

It was great, seeing you. It's been too long.

Call me when you have free time.

Don't be a

~~~~~