Posted in poetry, tagged childhood, children, church, color, colour, creativity, dreams, easter, easter bunny, easter preparations, fake flowers, flowers, growing up, jesus, meaningful living, memory, plastic, plastic cups, poetry, spring, writing on April 4, 2010| Leave a Comment »
Chocolate Dixie
they were decorating in
the dark by
the church an
Easter surprise for
children to come
upon and be
fooled into spring
with eggs
tucked near their
wire stems
yellow cups
plates red and
blue snipped
and glued
into a sturdy garden
Bouquets of cheer
beckoning us to come on in
to say Hello
to Jesus.
Love,
Muse
Posted in Creative Writing, tagged coffee, coffee shops, colour, consciousness, dreams, education, emotion, graduation, identity, life, life experience, Love, meaningful living, memory, music, philosophy, reality, relationships, solitude, sunset, the Beatles, the future, time, university, work, writing on August 9, 2009| Leave a Comment »
December 3rd, 2008. One blue, glass mug. Two cold feet. Non functioning wireless router. Cofee shop for refuge from normal life functions.
I’m in a quiet mood. Not the surface quiet type mood- more like the soul-deep silence. Where the quiet is vacuum sealed, and when I break it, there might be a sucking noise. I am on my second cup of coffee. End of term, beginning of what. I feel like I’m stalling.
The horizon is orange. Do we ever become immune to beauty? I wonder. He makes sense at the most nonsensical times.
Barenaked Ladies in a coffee shop. I am becomming used to my own company. I wonder if I’ll die, just when I’m getting the hang of life. I think that’s the way everything works. As soon as you find a rhythm, someone lifts the needle off the record on the player. The cars are passing slow, and match with the ending of this song. Black Bird. It’s a strange, backward, hopeful song. Lonely people die, happy people pass.
If a person passes you on the street and doesn’t see you, do you still exist in their reality? Does one have to acknowledge something for it to exist for someone other than itself?
Talked about the singnificance of names the other morning, lying in bed, staring at the sunshine slipping through the window. The fan was blowing hopes around. I could feel them bouncing off my forehead.
It’s darker right around the tip of the church tower now. Periwinkle blue. The sky has now deepened to tangerine. We only experience half of someone. The out, not the in. I think that’s okay. That means even babies get privacy.
I listened to an A Capella version of Black Balloon over and over, lured in by the smoothness of the male voices and the layers and layers of silky harmony. Then beth anne crushed my hopes and dreams and told me it’s about a girl with a drug problem.
Frozen roses are still gorgeous, even as they sit there on the stem, cells burst and stopped mid-animation. I still like them.
The outside of my cup is hotter than the liquid.
That moment was four minutes long. It was like my consciousness stopped to take a breath. The tip cup says thirty seconds or ninety seconds- in truth, I think everyone’s moments are different. We all perceive time differently. When I was young, hours were lifetimes, days, years.
Now an hour passes when I’m blinking or waiting for a taxi.
Goodbye chair- stranger.
You see familiar faces of people you don’t know.
Human Irony.
I don’t know your parents. I don’t know when you learned to tie your shoes, maybe you still can’t, you have slip ons.
I wonder how he got that scar, or why she is drumming her fingers so fast and tugging on her earlobe.
The moon is smiling at me.
Time to gather up my things and go for broke.
Love,
Muse
From The Diary of An Unlisted Muse 