H[our] glass

Each moment, everything you did, everything you said, is a grain of sand. Each grain, a speck of life. Falling through the space between memories and the promise of tomorrow. Collective conscious, waiting, craving, to be filled and turned over again.

Is

I am neither lost nor found. Wandering. Wondering. Big things. Little things. My sighs convey neither resentment or contentment, but rather an acceptance, that is creeping into this life I live. No wrong. No right. Not right now that is. Just the moment. An each-day-at-a-time focus. This life just is.

Images #1

Jazz singers. Single with ice. Chinese lanterns going up in smoke. Yesterdays on eggshells. Crying yourself to sleep. Listening to the everyday hum. Life is and isn’t. “Heaven forbid you end up alone and don’t know why”. You are crazy. Tearing at the seams.

For I feel by The Feathered Sleep

Every so often you stumble upon a post that leaves you staring at your screen wide-mouthed for a while. This is one of them.
I could go on and explain why I love this so much, but I am still drinking in the brilliance of “she who had wind-chimes and wrinkles in her vowels”.

TheFeatheredSleep

Tremulous ghosts must stand in patent shoes around me

for I feel their hands on my shoulders tugging at my seams

I who do not cry

weep openly with sorrow

imagining is often harder than

bearing reality

I think of when he will not stand discontented

staring out at flocking birds

I think of the time I found a starling chick

lying cold on the ground

wondering at the bitter sky

why didn’t you give them a chance?

why did you let me stay instead?

discontent

the child who knew the flavor of strawberry milkshakes

was an artifice

lies from adults, how many more?

behind closed doors and screens

I met a poet an old lady who

wrote like she was on fire

when she didn’t write for a time

I knew she had died

again I railed

why take her? why not me?

I stand disillusioned and empty

she…

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Yesterday’s laughter

It is on days like these where I wallow in the yesterdays; the golden age. As I glance from side to side, I witness the tears willingly cried and the ones some try to hide. We celebrate a life that lived and lived well. Our hearts ache as we say our farewell. I cast my…

Letdown

Be still my beating heart! No, seriously, be still. You give yourself away too easily, just stop it.

lost

i awake with a start the image of a robin caught in headlights is still imprinted on my retina the black leaves on the white trees float on my vision like a nebula what use is a frayed length of rope i am turning into a misanthropic muddle an empty glasses case reminds me that…

Intertextuality

'A thousand eyes, held in the palms of a thousand hands', still echoes like winter winds through hollowed trees and yet its meaning is still lost on me. The world still turns. The dust, waiting to be distributed, rests on paths leading nowhere. And my heart, having lost its fire and been rekindled, can feel the…

Shadows of yesterday

I’m writing in-between the lines.My scars are in the margins. I’ve made a fool of myself. My mind, swimming in recollections,refuses to reconcile with the refugeesof my past. How wasteful, wantingwhat you can’t grip between two fingers. The pinch hurts my skin.