Alive

This is written based on the Living Poetry Music prompt

She was numb and dead inside. The forced rest in the asylum hadn’t helped. Although with sedatives, the night terrors stopped, but she increasingly disassociated with her surroundings. The most frightening was that she couldn’t feel the warmth of the sun.

In a night like any other night, she was woken up by an owl. She responded to the owl’s calling, escaped the night guard’s watch. In her night gown and bare foot, she followed the line of the tall pencil pines, passed the mossy garden door. It was in late autumn, but she felt no cold.

When she was deep into the bush, the moon was high and bright, but the lake was dark and dead. She saw the owl on the tree branch watching her. The owl made another call. This time, she followed the sound and looked over to the lake again. She saw flecks of silver, then a fish jumping high above the water, then a few fish followed.

Her heart leaped and started thumping. She turned to the owl and it was gone. Instead, there were two possums chasing each other on the branch, the tree leaves, making rattling sounds. She laid on the ground covered with dry leaves, they crackled like popcorn.

She heard the earth breathing steadily underneath her. She kept watching the possums and smiled at the moon every now and then. She hadn’t felt so alive for a very long time.

Disturbing Event (A Dark Collection)

This is one of the dark poetry which I wrote as a writing exercise. Dark poetry is not my usual genre. I had fun writing it.

That Summer was so hot.
Grass in the backyard choked
our footsteps.

Lying in bed next to you,
the loud crickets relentlessly
held me off of sleep.

I remembered
the panic in your voice,
‘Did you hear that?
They are coming for us.
Stay still!
They won’t find us.’
You struggled with the locust plague.
We hid underneath the blanket
on a 30 degree night.

Your panic
and the cricket midnight party
went on and on.
My brain shut down
and I slumbered into sleep.

‘Did you smell that?
They are cooking opium again
next door.’
The smell of smoke
stang my eyes to wake.

I sprang up from bed
to rush out to the garden.
The backyard was like
an abandoned camp site
in the daybreak.

You went in the ambulance
laughing in exhilaration,
‘I burned the fuckers.
Don’t you fucking mess with me.
No fucking plague under my watch.
I’m gonna get you,
you piece of shit
reincarnated
opium dealer,
undercover
fucking neighbour.’

That’s how that hot summer ended.

Feelings

Feeling, you fickle little thing!
How did you deceive a heart so strong to break?
How did you hide from the mountain of sadness
to portrait such a bright grin
each and every day?
How much do you give out to the world to see?
How long do you want to stay behind the bars
of your own tangled web?
Feeling, I thought you were my watch tower.
And you truned out to be the red flags
that I couldn’t see.

The Lesser of Two Evils

This is the recent collaboration with Benjamin Grossman which helped me greatly in breaking my writing ‘numbness’. Please check out Ben’s blog if you have not already read his amazing work. 

The glacial battle begins in our heads
Face pressed to the sun-pierced windowpane
January snow in recession, the signs of regression 
Half hidden like an iceberg in the arctic water 
And where once a soft glow illuminated the surface 
Only the placement of desolation remains
Reverberating silent screams 
  
There is no one way of knowing cold
The stages are fluid and transient
Its meaning bitterly ambiguous 
Yet in rare lucid moments, I see husks
An empty bed, scarred skin, chattered teeth
Spirit-numbed mind, missed meals, vacant smiles

There is no one way of knowing cold
Its symptoms appear to have no rhyme or reason
Although they move with wintry doom
From person to person increasing in aggression 
Till you understand the meaning of icy
Which unbeknownst to us creeps in succession 

There is no one way of knowing cold 
Though maybe it’s always the same
Emotional and physical reaction 
A state of feeling dangerously low
Struggling to survive between cold and colder
The very same polar opposites: Arctic and Antarctica

 

Outing

The Six Sentence Story prompt – Foundation

I caught the happy train today.
The world outside the window
was a kaleidoscope.
I couldn’t help
but clapping and flapping my hands
at the ever changing beauty
before my hungry eyes.

I am dreading to return to my padded cell.
I can never understand why they call it a calm room.
Why is sanity built on the foundation of deceit?

Peculiar Me

The garden flat I once lived
was so quiet.
There was this old copper tap dripping
made up the only noise.
I thought of putting some cheese out
to bait some mice to create more sound.
Then I got worried
that I would make them dependent.
And that would be unkind.
Sometimes I held my breath
to listen to the tap.
Just to be sure that
I was not alone.

Cause and Effect

Why did you deny my talents
I once believed I was a nobody
trapped in my own sanity

Why did you lie about my characters
I was despised by my inner circle
to be an unforgiven failure

Why did you steal my peace
I was terrorised by your pure presence
and poisoned by your every word

Why did you betray your flesh and blood
I was entrusted to your care and protection
in a world that was already cold

Why did you twist a knife in my core belief
I looked into the mirror and saw a shattered self
distorted by your snare

“Hurting people hurt people”

 

Painting by Virginia Bucknell, you may see more of Virginia’s paintings via: Art Lovers Australia  Weebly   Instagram

Disturbing Event

That Summer was so hot.
Grass in the backyard choked
our footsteps.

Lying in bed next to you,
the loud crickets relentlessly
held me off of sleep.

I remembered
the panic in your voice,
‘Did you hear that?
They are coming for us.
Stay still!
They won’t find us.’
You struggled with the locust plague.
We hid underneath the blanket
on a 30 degree night.

Your panic
and the cricket midnight party
went on and on.
My brain shut down
and I slumbered into sleep.

‘Did you smell that?
They are cooking opium again
next door.’
The smell of smoke
stang my eyes to wake.

I sprang up from bed
to rush out to the garden.
The backyard was like
an abandoned camp site
in the daybreak.

You went in the ambulance
laughing in exhilaration,
‘I burned the fuckers.
Don’t you fucking mess with me.
No fucking plague under my watch.
I’m gonna get you,
you piece of shit
reincarnated
opium dealer,
undercover
fucking neighbour.’

That’s how that hot summer ended.

Photograph of painting of a man by AarĂłn Blanco Tejedor