And missing pieces
Make a mystery of my motives
And my manic heart
In my mind
It’s been a long time coming this has.
A big, beautiful and warm welcome to all my new blog followers, thank you.
This is a place where I’ll be posting and, eventually, selling some of my work, from poetry to sketches, digital prints to one off paintings and digital sketchnoted work. I hope you enjoy my art, photography, scribbles and my occasional musings.
There will be times where I have nothing new to post so will be promoting old work, at other times there may be lots of new things all flying up here at once, s’just the way I work. Those of you who’ve followed me on Twitter already will know that this is the case. To be honest I won’t tend to promote other people’s work here but will continue to do so on Twitter.
I also run a #scribblersSoundtrack playlist on Spotify – of which some of you lovely Twitter folk have already asked – yes it is an existing, actual, real playlist and you can listen to it if you fancy, or not if you don’t. It’s a little self indulgent of me, but I find it’s a nice platform for sharing some of my fave tracks or most inspirational artists – for both writing and sketching.
Any way, enjoy,
And many happy scribbles to you all!
An excerpt from a monologue as part of my ‘Cabaret of Confessions’ suite.
Courage? What is courage?
It’s survival, I guess.
I survived you.
Heartbreak can be full of emptiness.
So empty you’re full of it.
Overwhelming; energy in absence, anger, tears.
I used mine, did you?
In a passion of bad timing and good intentions my life changed… I guess I just didn’t know it yet
All it takes for a moment
A moment of clarity or beauty or both
A poem from the point of view of post-break-up, trying to choose to move on.
It would be so easy to hate you
Or the way you make me feel
The way you make it all okay
Whilst my heart breaks
– But I can’t
It would be so helpful to be angry
Or shout and cry out and kneel
The way I forgive you on sight
Whilst my heart breaks
– But it isn’t
A free-written poem about a journey through a final goodbye to a loved one, as part of a Grand Guignol suite of monologues in poetic and free verse ‘Cabaret of Confessions’
Published on Spillwords in 2016
As she gazes into her eyes can she see the pain,
Will she see the shadows, will she see the shame,
She can see the love, she can see the light,
She can feel the pull, feel her chest coiled tight,
She hopes her heart won’t break as she tears away,
Will she hear it crack and feel her fingertips stray,
As they grasp onto the moment that’s no longer real
As they clutch for hands that can no longer feel.
Lost reaches — brush nothing, her heart begins to flake
Her soul hopes for sleep and the longing lays awake.
Would she really be missed, her mind starts to break
To feel like she belongs, what would it take…
Love like thunder, as light and as fickle as the promises now unspoken.
A poem about finding the beauty and trying to hold onto the positive after a broken heart.
Published on Spillwords 2016
What’s your favourite moment?
The question is often posed,
A recent, beautiful moment,
With hopes and hearts deposed.
And in an instant I can see it,
Feel your body, smell your skin,
Because the beautiful favourite moment,
Is when I end and you begin.
I can still feel my arms around you,
Hear the song as the needle coasts,
The melody, the pedantic cracklings,
The record player contains these Ghosts.
A poem to illustrate those moments where fading out is a comfort or freedom from anxiety, or when the everyday seems overwhelming
Enticing in its familiarity
Terrifying in its ferocity
Alluring in its predictability
Isolating in its contorted comfort
To tired to fight but a light, a flicker of something keeps her here
Unable to catch enough breath
Unaware of the world beyond her thoughts
Self-centred and alone in the thick darkness and heavy silences
It’s just wallpaper. It’s just an escape.
A monologue, the free writing poetical ramblings of a writer struggling with their relationship with their words; the tools of their survival.
Words, words, words;
Escaping the definition of interpretation of the everyday, the mundane and the monotonous,
Trying to break the multi-syllabic montage of the necessity to understand
Without words, actions would have little meaning,
So how can actions speak louder than words?
Words, words, words;
Semantic scribbling a with semantic hypnosis.
A need to know and to interpret,
And a loathing in anticipation of our failure to success.
The loathing is only so because it’s labelled this way,
The action which is t one loathed is only so because we are to fulfil this anthropomorphic scripture,
Which — once spoken — becomes a feeling or the need to feel.
If the written word is so powerful and the actions it defines, destroys and disembowelled, so terrible,
Then the spoken work seeks only to justify, to establish a balance and to nullify the impact.
Continue reading “Wordsmith”
Take a moment, take a breath
In a world where a pause seems eternal
Hold tight to the moment of choice
That moment it yours
Take a moment
Remember it’s real
And what will be left
There is value for you
Just hold on
Easy for me to say
I Love you.