Silence

Sometimes the words boil within me and seek their escape, the release in itself bringing release from the blight. The following is a such a release and relief followed...

A rancid void
The very rift
Of twisting reality
As darkened embers
Of searing emptiness
Boil in a cataclysmic
Tumult of tortured
Silence

The distance marked
By the bodies
Of fallen hopes
Whilst withered husks
Of broken dreams
Mark the tortured path
To the foothills of
Silence

As the dark of
False light leaks
And spreads with
Malignant temerity
Absorbing and feeding
On the final notes
Of benign hope, leaving:
Silence

Yet slumber falters
For a single sprout
Of green joy
As it struggles
Awake, raising
Its voice in a deafening
Roar of defiant
Silence

Lights out

I believe, all things considered, it might be time to be silent.

*signs out*

A reprise

As I wrote the last post I suddenly remembered a poem I posted over several months with the help of a friend. I felt it would be nice to air it again...

And yes, the spellings are intentional!

Remind me of
a smile so sweet
joie de vivre
crazy eats

Tell me of
peace to come
a quiet time
beyond the mourn
the darkest hour
before the dawn

Remind me of
A simple glance
Fearless words
A taken chance

Tell me of
the road ahead
Wide before me
Horizon spread
Lighter heart
And quicker step

Remind me of
A place once seen
With unrequited
Forgotten dreams

Tell me of
What I now miss
A look, a smile
A gentle kiss
Let me feel
That it was real

Remind me of
the hand I held
The simplest touch
The way it felt

Tell me that
it won't be long
To love another
Heart and soul
It isn't gone.

Remind me of
Smiles so light
Of the eyes
Pure delight

Tell me that
A friendship true
Can hold me close
Banish blue
Being near
To dry
a tear

Remind me of
the dreams I made
That fuelled me in
the darkest days

Tell me that
these hopes are real
Wishes granted
Don't let me lose
the love I feel.

Remind me of
Smiles so light
Of the eyes
Pure delight

Tell me that
A friendship true
Can hold me close
Banish blue
Being near
To dry
a tear

Remind me of
those endless days
Where laughs were loud
And plans were made

Tell me that
they're around the bend
Biding time, keeping watch
All I have to do
is mend

Remind me where
I long to be
Life's golden sands
By azure sea

Tell me if
I will be there
Baked from the glow
Of love's great glare

Whiskers on kittens...

Okay, so not so much favourite things. But then maybe they are.

I've lots to be thankful for and good things are on the horizon. Firstly, I have two lovely children. Who mostly don't kill each other. Or haven't yet. Which is good. Right?

I'm thankful for my flatmate, who happens to be my best friend. I know I exasperate her. But then she does me. But I also can't imagine living with anyone else as, well, it's really a very good arrangement. I'm also thankful for her clear advice, almost constant joie de vivre and ability to be very silly.

I'm thankful that even given the tightness of things now I seem to have stuff in my diary for several evenings, some via my flatmate, some via my bezzie. Some via, err, me. I did say as we sat on the balcony the other night that not going out wasn't really an issue for me, I am still so happy in Contrary Towers, just sitting quietly on an evening reading or watching the ducks, whatever it is, feels peaceful and calm.

I'm thankful for my friends, who I know I don't get to see enough, especially as I've been hiding away, so I'm really glad I'm getting to see my bezzie next week.

I'm thankful the phone has kept ringing all week. So I still have a zero income issue, but at least I now have an ever filling diary of interviews next week. Which is definitely good. Honestly, that was the worst possible time of year to finish a contract. So I'm hopeful. As I wrote last time I do need the opiate of work to deal with some other things. If nothing else it reduces the number of issues to deal with.

And finally, I'm thankful that I'm managing to keep bouncing out of the sad moments. I'd rather not go there in the first place, but good that I get out quickly.

I still need a snog though.

Please leave a message

There's a scene in Bridget Jones' Diary where she checks her answering machine for the umpteenth time.

You have absolutely no new messages. Not a single one. Not even from your mother.

I'm living that scene. And it's my own fault, the direct result of creating isolation. The real danger is I'm becoming so used to my inner thoughts that I struggle to find conversation. I don't want to poison any I do find.

The paradox is the more I crave contact and conversation, the less possible out seems. Or is that an irony? One to ponder. I've little to offer and mostly if people do get in touch it's because they want something. On their terms. And this makes me feel resentful. So the further back I withdraw.

There is also the compounding realisation of. Hmm. Actually, I won't go there, suffice to say I'm resigned to being alone, I just want it to stop hurting and being on my mind.

I've never looked forward more to work than I do now. I need the opiate it brings, something to fill the void, a reason to go somewhere, a source of anecdotes, a chance to build vacuous relationships to try and fool my mind.

I just hope it's soon.

Writing

I was pondering last night why I write, I've touched on it before when talking with people, not never really considered it in detail. The reason is, of course, down to context. So with the Contrary Towers blog it's very much about sillyness and cataloguing some of the unintended events that seem to populate the lives of my flatmate and I.

For the purely whimsical, creative, view of the world I write (quite bad) poetry. Some of it light hearted, some of it darker than a very dark thing. Moments and feelings I need to express, but don't want to write tedious prose.

And then there's this. Where I do write the tedious prose. It does share something in common with the poetry in that it is an outlet, a release valve. Often, after writing, I do feel better and dwell less on the internal torments and can gain some clarity of thought in what is still an emotional maelstrom for me.

They all though act as a record, different facets of my life vaguely frozen in time, a chance to reflect on what went before.

I've been in conversation recently and the subject of writing came up and, in it, I realised that I've reached the point where maybe I can actually start writing something longer. I still have no idea of form or structure, but it would at least free my mind to journey to places that are no longer possible in my ever closing situation. It's likely that anything I write will be semi-fictional and, probably, semi-autobiographical, drawing on past experiences that I've not talked about and mixing in the hopes and dreams that will never be fulfilled.

For want of a...

Kiss.

Sometimes, like now, the urge, need even, to kiss, and touch, be held, is excruciating. The lack of it almost physically painful.

And yet I push everyone away.

Go figure.

But that also makes sense, because it can't just be empty. Maybe one day.

And if that can't happen can somebody please tell me how to suppress the empty desire.