Sunday, 24 July 2011

Distant (for Sunday Scribblings)

Like drawings on water
Thoughts come and disappear
Never changing its essence
The water’s always clear
But I choose to retrace them
Again and again
By analysing and dwelling
Never putting down the pen
Until these drawings
Become all I can see
And the water blurs into
A distant memory

Monday, 18 July 2011

Painting whispers (for Poetry Potluck)

Like an undercurrent
There’s a longing in me
A constant pull
A desire to break free
From this life and routine
Day in and day out
It’s like inside of me
Someone’s screaming out loud
While little fluffy clouds are passing by
Like whispers
Painted in the sky

Sunday, 17 July 2011

A captivating point of view (Short story for Sunday Scribblings)

A captivating array of images and thoughts carried her away from the present moment. With her eyes closed now she felt her mind slipping deeper and deeper into a dream world, colours bursting into light, then darkness.
When she opened her eyes, dim sunlight was sneaking through the blinds and provided the spotlight for a show of dancing dust particles. Her throat and mouth were dry and she looked around for a drink but found her glass on the table empty. The cat had curled up at her feet and noticing the movement started stretching her lazy limbs in expectation of breakfast.
Suzy sat up on the sofa and patted the cat’s head: “You hungry, Fluffy? Well, so am I. Let’s go and have some breakfast.” She still felt a bit drowsy as she slowly dragged herself into the kitchen. Bright light hit her there and she had to squeeze her eyes tight, still sensitive to the light. After grabbing some fruit juice from the fridge and drinking it straight from the carton, she fed the cat and turned the coffee machine on. Then she turned to her laptop. It was Sunday, 17th July, 11.23. No messages.
Suzy had been living on her own for a while now but every now and then weekends and especially Sundays could still get to her. Last night she had smoked herself into oblivion with some puff she had managed to get hold off when bumping into an old friend the other day, just to numb the feelings of despair and loneliness that had crept up on her in recent weeks. She had given up smoking cannabis regularly a long time ago but every now and then she came back to it and when she did, she knew, things weren’t going great.
She went to the bathroom to run a bath. Falling asleep on the sofa hadn’t done her back any favours and she hoped a good hot soak in the bath would soothe her body and renew her spirits. She wasn’t willing to surrender another day to the black clouds that had invaded her mind. While the bath was running she went back into the kitchen to grab some coffee and a slice of toast. She sat down at the table and looked out of the kitchen window onto the sunlit garden. The windows need cleaning, she thought.

Monday, 4 July 2011

Old friends (for Poetry Potluck)

We shared our last years in school
And the first years of adulthood
We explored our freedom
What we should or rather would
Our paths then parted
Each off on their own
Following their journey
Either coupled or alone
10 years on
We met last night
Sharing our pain
As well as our delight
Although on different paths
We all came to agree
It takes some hard lessons
To be able to see
What matters in life
And what can be left behind
True friends are certainly
Of the first kind

Saturday, 2 July 2011

Little girls (and boys)

I visited a good old friend of mine yesterday and met her 3-year-old daughter for the first time since she was a baby. I was so pleased to see that she has grown into a confident, independent and fearless little girl with the explorative mind of an adventurer. When telling my mum about her later, she told me that I was exactly like that as a little girl: very independent and not scared of anything.
Maybe that’s why I was so fascinated by her, because it was like looking at a younger version of myself.
It made me wonder: What happens to the little girls (and boys) inside of us when we grow up?
Do we lock them up somewhere, force them into obedience, tell them to be a “good girl/boy” or abandon them somewhere on the road?
Or do we let them out to play every now and then, give them our undivided attention and let them lead?
I think that my best experiences in life happened whenever I let my little girl come out to play. It’s her who challenges me to face my fears, to throw myself into unknown territory and to learn new things. She’s the one closest to my heart’s desires, the "real me" and she is ultimately so much wiser and braver than my rational adult self.
I shall let her out to play more often and when she rings at your door, I hope you’re going to let your little girl or boy out to play with her.