Insomniac

Recently, I have begun to get out of my comfort zone to learn.  Too much time’s been wasted thinking I can’t.  I must improve myself for myself, helped or not.  I must hold it together, despite feeling disappointed in myself sometimes.

The alternative, well…  Here’s a reflection of losing oneself.

(Jan 12 8:56 p.m.)

The morrow calls for a sleep
But the night stretches on
For my mind is up
To no good.

Like the search for an answer
To a question that had left me;
I am not tired
But this relationship is.

I chose the night for its ease
But now I’m caught with its disease;
I fell for a flow
That could ebb for an eternity.

I had entered, at will,
Out of my way,
Passing time,
Glossing over signs with a touch of noir.

Until its darkness swallowed me,
And finally,
I had
Enough.

Beyond the Clouds

Soon,
it was fairly clear:
he did not connect.
He had strayed too far.
His head, out in space,
beyond the clouds,
his furthest
away.

His toxic aloneness
enticed him to “see”
his ideas in motion.
But nothing moved
too far, as he spun.
He burned out big
again, the tired
man of plants.

He was alone
with his pride,
his knowing,
his missteps,
his complex
turning blue,
his mission,
his finale.

(Inspired by the film Approaching the Unknown, starring Mark Strong.)

When My Blog Died

It’s not just your blog that may have been dipping in stats, it’s across the board. I know I’ve had less interest in blogging in general, trying to make more productive use of my time— er, different use of my time. But seasonal changes aside (Summer sun), remember to stay engaged…maybe not every minute or hour, but…showing up is important.

Vitals over necessities, YES… gotta have & find purpose, awareness— a.k.a., live; otherwise, you’re just existing. …On that note, it should perfectly okay to be away from the blog sometimes, since actual living and breathing come first. Not everything written goes up, am I right? 🙂

(Note: comments closed here; please visit her site.)

A Holistic Journey

I want to file an official complaint as a subscriber to the Holistic Wayfarer for going MIA on us. (Completely forgetting she’s been out week after week with his son while keeping the lessons going.) You need to blog again, be reminded there are good people all over the world. They want to hear from you. When you don’t blog for a while, you crawl into yourself and scowl about the people who are !@#!. You become deeper, happier, and look out when you engage your readers. You should take a few days off school, give T a break, and just BLOG.

~ Mr. Wayfarer last night

(Gasp. A break?? The boy has his Sabbath.)

Where I’ve been is a good question. The kitchen, trying to keep up with You-Know-Who’s sumo appetite. Foodie is growing before my eyes. We’ve been at the annual appointments I saved for the summer (photo…

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Unfinished

If you’ve been out of the loop: after dealing with some desperate people out there, OM’s back (though he says his iPhone disagrees). And with some good writing, as you can read for yourself…

(Comments disabled for this reblog; go over there if you wish to comment.)

Why Blogging Is A Must

Proof that writing can be very beneficial. Austin wouldn’t even be writing for The Nite Show if it wasn’t for the mental exercise he employs for his WordPress blog.

“R.I.P. blogging, killed by screenshorts”

Imagine to my surprise coming across this news:

Shhh…

I know I’ve said it before, but writing is hard.  But in my corner, you have no idea…

Friday Fictioneers: Whispers in the Woods

Welcome to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s photo is by Rachel Bjerke of Mostly Words.

Now, I missed the last one.  I wrote maybe a third of something, but it was too sad—so sad I couldn’t continue.  This one’s more of a bed time story.  Or, a nightmare story.  Whichever, take your pick.

100 words

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Photo Copyright © Rachel Bjerke

I’ll never forget that night.  I was sent alone again, for grandma’s house, like Little Red Riding Hood.  Time spent in these parts hadn’t stopped me from looking over my shoulders.  I swear, the trees talk to each other.

I walked, steadfast but quiet.  I reached the house, relieved.  But there I heard the strangest sound, so I bolted inside.  Oddly, my parents were there, and my entrance startled them.  Dad was disappointed, enough that he challenged my “fear of monsters.”  He opened the door.  It was a man.

I was the only one to escape grandma’s house alive.

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Participation is welcome to all.  The goal is to write a story, beginning-middle-end, in 100 words or less.  You are also encouraged to “think outside of the box.”

Click here to view the inLinkz for what others have written for the prompt, or add one.

Visit Addicted to Purple for Rochelle’s own stories and her Friday Fictioneers page for more details.  You can follow her blog for the prompt each Wednesday.

Why Do Poets Write of Love

Poets write of love as writers would anything
The attempt to capture the profound in words

The difference though
love is universally profound
as is truth
a necessity
it drives us when we let it
as we make ourselves vulnerable to it

The pain
withstanding without breaking
The pull, desire
the essence or quality of being
In part because
we long
we miss
we are incomplete
until content.

(That is my attempt to answer the question…)

And as Audrey states: “Michael is fighting an illness that may take his life.”  Pray for him.

The Vision of Poets

Caution:

The words upon the page before you are to be read at your own risk…
What is implied within them is left to the perceptions of the reader…
If you become engulfed enough within them to endure to its finality, I thank you.
Your comments will enlighten us all…

Why Do Poets Write of Love
 
Why do poets write of love?
Do poets possess an extraordinary
Amount of love within,
Requiring them to relinquish
The overflow onto a blank page,
In order to remain within the
Bounds of sanity?
Would withholding that anomalistic
Amount of love within oneself
Thrust the poet
Far beyond the borders
Of those who profess to be
Of normalcy?
 
Does writing of the touch
Of love upon someone’s heart,
Create love within itself?
It is most common of one
Who writes of love to also
Write of sadness…
Of sorrow…
Of lost hope…

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Friday Fictioneers: Dumb as Dirt

Welcome to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  One of Erin Leary’s photos were used for this week’s prompt.

I got in a bit late.  I spent only 40 minutes on the story, but other things came up.  This was posted just after Saturday hit.

Important note on word counts: I found the WordPress visual editor has a bug that takes the non-breaking space used as a placeholder for empty lines as words.  It also, apparently, takes “word,” (with a comma,) differently than “word.”  (With a period.)  As usual, I used an actual word processor (albeit old—ClarisWorks) to perform an accurate count.

“Dumb as Dirt”
100 words

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Copyright — Erin Leary

For years, Geraldine wanted a garden of her own.  Trial and error produced the right mixture of nutrients, and she smiled when the first sprouts arrived.  Until the family pet tore up her work.  She disciplined accordingly, and fenced.  And then there were pests.  Of course.  Fence deeper, she told herself.

Then, one day, content as an official gardener, the oddest thing caught her eye.  Fungi.  This wasn’t here, she thought.  She went to fetch the camera, but when she returned they were gone.

Her son cried as her husband finished the burial.  “Stupid dog.” Dad muttered.  “Always eating everything.”

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Participation is welcome to all.  The goal is to write a story, beginning-middle-end, in 100 words or less.  You are also encouraged to “think outside of the box.”  Constructive criticism is welcome for all the stories, implied unless stated otherwise.

Click here to view the inLinkz for what others have written for the prompt, or add one.

Visit Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple for her own take(s) and her Friday Fictioneers page for more details.  You can follow her blog for the prompt each Wednesday.