She writes novels
not for recognition or validation
not for financial gain or fame
She pursuits self actualisation
through the mirrored images
of her novel characters
Nature Declares
My heart is an island
Your eyes are the ocean
Your shoulder is the land
Our love shimmers
from the view of an airplane
Cut up Poem
If I cut up
our love
with well worn time
Instead of creating
a new fairy tale
I write a memoir
of resurrection
Prayer
Humbly pray
in fetal position
Supplication has merit
Thanksgiving opens heaven’s gate
Revival
We do
what we can
together
to overcome
the seemingly
unconquerable force
tormenting our
brothers and sisters
globally
Reading – Call My Name
I decided to do poetry reading of my favourite poems from Hidden in Childhood. Purchase click here.
#songshare – This Is A Rebel Song
This is a rebel song by Sinead O’Connor
This Is A Rebel Song
I love you my hard Englishman
Your rage is like a fist in my womb
Can’t you forgive what you think I’ve done
And love me – I’m your woman
And I desire you my hard Englishman
And there is no more natural thing
So why should I not get loving
Don’t be cold Englishman
How come you’ve never said you love me
In all the time you’ve known me
How come you never say you’re sorry
And I do
Ah, please talk to me Englishman
What good will shutting me out get done
Meanwhile crazies are killing our sons
Oh listen – Englishman
I’ve honoured you – hard Englishman
Now I am calling your heart to my own
Oh let glorious love be done
Be truthful – Englishman
How come you’ve never said you love me
In all the time you’ve known me
How come you never say you’re sorry
And I do
I do
#songshare – Autumn Leaves
Autumn Leaves
The falling leaves
Drift by my window
The autumn leaves
Of red and gold
I see your lips
The summer kisses
The sunburned hands
I used to hold
Since you went away
The days grow long
And soon I’ll hear
Old winter’s song
But I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall
Since you went away
The days grow long
And soon I’ll hear
Old winter’s song
But I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall
Yes, I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall
Consummation
Girlie on the edge’s six sentence story prompt word – wrap
When you pour your love into me, happy molecules overflow from my pores like the sunlight through the canopy.
I look up to you with admiring crescent moon eyes, letting all your splendour shimmer over me.
We are wrapped in this silk cacoon waiting to be birthed into something magnificent with blinding colours.
Who’d have known that we are capable of creating such life and joy, all in a matter of auras flashing and mortal intertwined?
We can’t help but worship the creator creating such divine bond between two souls.
Unity in unison in welcoming a new life of oneness with twinkling eyes and fulfilling smile, we are in awe.
Night Cemetery
He has always been drawn to cemeteries, from a young age, when he didn’t know fear yet, or the intricacy of life and death. Later in life, he learned the complicated truth about emptiness of the living dead and the totality of a life’s end.
He doesn’t believe in life after death, nor the grand closure death may bring to the human souls. He gets comfortable with death, like birth, breathing, hunger, thirst, sleep, arousal. These sensations are striped down to the natural form of things, without the need for questioning or overthinking.
Tonight, he was motivated to take a walk in the cemetery to get some fresh air, to get unstuck in his creativity, to deconstruct the somewhat overwhelming feelings and all the while numb sensation.
Maybe it’s the blue moonlight reflecting the quietness of the dead, maybe it’s darkness presenting herself as a lover, he broke free from his jeans and linen shirt, exposing his chest to breath freely. He lay on his bare back, let the moisten soft grass caress his over sensitive skin, he felt the softness and teasing. The flexing of muscles drove the lawn bugs to hiding.
He experienced a surge of energy from the earthing, sparks of electricity coursing through his body, building up in his torso. Without any conscious awareness, he started to stroke himself with firm pressure while staring into the void of the inky sky. His palm pulsating in sync with the blood-filled veins, without knowing how close he got, the flash of shooting stars brought about his eruption.
Slowly he began to notice his own breathing; the steady rhythm of his heartbeats returned; the feeling of an uncomplicated emptiness stayed with him in the deep of the night, in the cemetery filled with the serenity of the dead.
Flicker of Thoughts 