Apologies

It’s good to see people posting again. I do apologise for having neglected things a bit here. It’s just that work’s been stressful, and so on and so on.

I hope to catch up a bit here soon. 

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The Sentence

                                   Space
                                   Pain
                                   Work
                                   Confusion
                                   Laughter
                                   Loss
Life, death & the  Adventure  in-between
                                   Love
                                   Hate
                                   Sacrifice
                                   Happiness
                                   Sorrow
                                   Discovery
                                   Experience
                                   Wait

caeblogs

(I’ve written a few short stories as part of the exercises in the writing group sessions I attend and I know they will die a sad death on my PC if i don’t share them so I’m hoping this is the first of many monthly or bi-monthly stories I will post for you guys. Word count is usually around 500 to 1000 words so never too long. This is the first one we tackled last year – the heading was picked off a daily paper which was lying on a table in the library staff room where we meet. It made for some interesting writing in the group. Hope you enjoy it. PS – This is based on fictional characters and the use of Obama’s name is purely incidental.)

“PM flies out for talks with Obama”

 

“Maybe I should start off with the joke about the American, the Englishman and the Irishman.” The…

View original post 561 more words

THIS LITTLE MADNESS

I’m a student of that silver screen education system

Always peering through the portal at worlds & stories

Fictitious but fascinating & filled with such promise

 

But now the portal is no longer needed

Even though it is still appreciated

The worlds & stories are born within me

As easily as breathing

I look in my mind & I see them before me

Vivid as memories definitive as history

Compelling as fantasy

So I am compelled to write

& so I write

 

But every time I write I see a question arise

& the more that I write the more this question comes to light:

Do I write or am I now just another unknowing portal

a conduit for a sickened & magnificent world?

& no I don’t mean this purgatory of heaven & hell we’re trapped in-between

I mean an other place made of the beautiful madness I produce

 

Make no mistake I love every second

The fact that I have to occupy my mind to stop it creating these worlds

The fact that the act of putting them from brain to hand to pen to pad

Leaves me feeling fuelled with love & alive like being loved for the first time

 

After all there are far worse forms of possession that plague people

Each of them a terror of torments to their intended targets

Compared to these I more than appreciate this madness that grips me,

The madness of Alice & Dorothy

 

There are fears however, that threaten to ensnare me

One of my greatest is that there were forgotten deals made while sleeping

& when it comes time to pay the price, I’ll be sweating & swearing,

Just standing there wishing I had ‘Daniel Webster’ to defend me

 

The other is one every artist has had to contend with

The fear that the full potential of this blessing will waste away within me

Never fully realized, just barely broached till the day I die

 

But perhaps when I do I’ll see the other side of the portal

& appear as words in your wondrous works they’ll be wowed by & wonder about

poem with irony – “dialogue with incest” – feedback needed please!

I wrote this poem for an assignment for an online course I’m doing. It is meant to include at least 2 examples of irony. I’m not sure if I’ve really got it covered, so would welcome some feedback, please. Thanks.

Dialogue with incest

Cutting with the blade
was the most gentle thing she ever did to herself.

Betrayal was the most
comely
gratitude for a lifetime of
sorrow.

Come closer to me
break my heart, he said.
But – I broke the mist already
with the plaster I mended my heart with,
little abuser.

I fell up the stairs
that night he came to me,
Father.
Oh, how could he beget such joy
in a heart unwatched by loveliness!