0 Comments
My mind runs like the river,
Slowly interrupted with its minor turns, Steady my mind stands with the rush, Yet crumbles in the motionless flow. For my brain and heart are infected, I can see no light or darkness, I rest here in this happy medium, Not fully aware of my final destination, But dreaming of the possible outcomes. Could I travel back to the time of childhood soccer or chasing calves? Running around covered in life's natural dirt, With no worries of cut knees and stinging grazes, Life's wanderlust. Although this river still flows, I am infected with the life of a grown-up, Once a carefree ten year old with a crush for the first time, Now following life's river without a life vest. I am my own personal floating device, Standing alone in this vessel, My strength comes from the rain, 365, around it falls. The wool hung to his surroundings,
There he stood over his prey that lay lifeless within his mouth's reach, Even the nearby echo of a gun did not startle him, Why did we have to take him home that day? The wool was flooding in red, My eyes could not comprehend the sight, Five years ago we took you in to our home, But now you bring misery to our door. We cannot protect you from your cruel nature, You brought us happiness and joy, Emptied our wallets with your toys, Run away for no more can we look. Say good-bye alive than force us to poison your veins, A pup at heart but a monster on land, Now run free from our mitts, Forgive you we cannot. The first time I saw him, I knew it was too late,
Rules... I set them hoping he'd obey, I was filled with a feeling of empowerment over a situation I knew I could never really control, He was always that pup that needed his lead pulled. Five years passed and I can no longer linger behind him, A selfish pup, that brings nothing but destruction to his own path, If only it was as simple as stealing my shoe, Yet, I cared and protected him. A fool who set rules but just as easily forgave his disobedience and barking, 'One strike only' threats were overlooked, If I were a judge, would I have let him away so easily? Well, now I just let him run away without his tag hoping he'll never return. As your hand rested on mine I stared straight ahead,
Too frightened to feel the same again, Yet I fight to hold on, It used to be easy, and then you hooked me. Hard to kick the high, But wiping the tears is worse, Constantly questioning what I deserve, To my demise, I reach the same conclusion, I can not unhook myself from your catch. Mutters of affection fill the spaces,
Anonymously, I write your name, For today, secrets are allowed, I write on behalf of my lips that will never declare those words. It is true, the spark is too dangerous, But it doesn't stop, Each glance I capture stirs the soul, The thoughts helping my questionable hand with each letter. Each letter poured with honesty, For if you were mine, I would never let you go, I love you, … You pushed those bitter words out,
But it didn't take long for me to react, An honesty I appreciated but was incapable of handling the words from your mouth, However, I knew the story because I calculated their moves. A cookie watched me interpret their steps, They placed all their chips in the open, It was like they wanted to raise the red flag, Was it for fun, a warning or for other motives? Either way, it swayed in the air of the pack, Like Hansel and Gretel, the crumbs dropped, They showed me the way home, A kindred spirit once more. Far from the pack I grow and gain back my positive sparks, Once these brought you to my side, No longer is that sought, For you are just the same, a leader. This evening as the frost began to fall, my eyes strained out the window screen and caught the flicker of an incoming message.
While balancing the steering wheel, I unlocked the phone to reveal its message. With it brought back the pain I felt in the summer gone by. Nails shot throughout my body unplugging the half mended wounds. Another soul quoted the words that your friend spoke. The words were I realised your actions would perish me like an apple core. For it was that night you saw my facial reaction of your glance lose its glow. For that night, I lost you. With this message I have had to relive that pain you left there. The pain that made me push your delicate unthoughtful soul from my life. A finish I long envisaged. It left a gap where trust and love once filled. A dearing friendship ripped from the roots with one single plough burrowing through the settled soil. Another road block that pushed its boundaries too far. The tractors wheels once again cultivating the soil for new plantations. Our lips no longer cross these known paths but it appears for once I was right. These lines could not be uncrossed and now this evening, history repeats. The flame's blaze doomed by the pollutants flickers,
I stare hoping to catch a glimpse of the future, My eyes weep as they fill with light's bubbles, Colours of the rainbow circle, a state of illusion. An illusion reliant on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, With a loss of personal motivation I sit here in limbo, The land of the Damned screeches my name, The intensity stacks itself like morning papers outside the corner shop. Pushing those away that care comes so easy, a destructive skill, Attacks fail to focus on one piece, For the puzzle pushes the remaining pieces away, If they are not connected, life's elements have no control. The connecting terminal will not spark or resist, As the holder ensures the connection's failure to patch the line, The engine ticks at its peril, a lonely path, For Maslow's 3rd stage passes in the night. When the foot casts itself over the accelerator, The pushing force receives no restraint, Future needs and desires cannot be categorised, For only the holder can decide what accelerate life's elements. Their impact against the window shield causes no fraction, A small pin sized impression may peach the shield, Overtime it develops, requiring repair or replacement, A clean sweep that provides the holder's vision in their hands. No tarot cards or Mystic Megs foresee what the holder chooses, A game of yes or no, left or right, As my vision darts back to reality, I know the potential paths that lie ahead, But will I answer yes or no, left or right at the next sign? As your frail body lies impressed in the bed,
I sit and look at your face and replay the past, With each flicker between your present and fairyland, my stare remains but my mind drifts to wondering if you see me sitting awaiting your presence. Across a man lies parallel to me noticing my awkward posture, A polite smile greets his glance, For he was not questioning my presence but merely resting in the open surrounds, How do you sleep in this chaos? The crowds filtering through at the strike of three, For if there were searches, I would say I was behind steel encrusted bars, Every eye felt like an ice glacier sinking through my rib cage and pelleting through my pulsating heart, Then and there with the next stir, I spoke. With the sound of my voice you raised back to the surface, Upon that second glance you identify me, The questionable greeting that led to your eye's filtering but not boundary bursting river, Each word began to feel shame, regret. Time has long lapsed since our last encounter, But here I sit on this navy blue puffed cushion by your side, Despite the ice glaciers starting to drip, their presence could not be avoided, For who is good at saying goodbye, not me. Are you? **Please note: the first two lines come from James Blunt's song 'Ok'**
When every star falls from the sky, And every last heart in the world breaks, Will you still hold the light to my heart? For the key’s edge is beginning to lose its catch in the lock. It is true, support is absent when you are not around, I mourn in your absence and bloom in your shadows, For like an elastic band, you support my smile, The mask sheds in your comforting surround. Despite each of the falling stars bringing its own darkness, You have flickered in my heart since puberty’s dawning, For like a leech, I fail to unearth your grip, Each pulse feeding my lust and desires. Each puncture heals but another stirs, Slowly stirring the key’s rust to peel, When the last star falls and you are not around, Who shall weld the key back together? She perches herself by the wooden framed window as she stares out at the sky,
The moon reflects off nearby surroundings as the night's silence brings her peace of mind, Time to reflect on the hours that passed by without a pause button and the ones to come, The surety of time has no guarantee, for that she knows. Time entrenches an internal tree as it cultivates its branches, Without limitation they sprout like the shooting stars that elapse through her line of sight, For in practice, barriers surround those who seek to step ahead, A practice of exercise assists those who place one foot infront of the other. For one shall elect to run the opposite direction or persist through those sturdy branches against life's treadmill, The choice recruits the branches with fear and excitement, Disappointment and sorrow, The result could be the worst, for it may prohibit the tree from weaving its branches. It leaves gaps but a fear of falling is not the key, It’s the hand one falls at that damages the bark, For would there be an Eve to hand one an apple or would poison fill its skin? A bite shall open nature's treasure box, once unlocked, it can not be resealed. A realistic blow hits the canvas with an electric pulse that triggered the explosion Each impearled drop filled with a blistering red A comfort once found within bursted at the seam, granting permission for the paint's streaming path The blow struck the paint bottle similar to the last A passer-by could hear the piercing the blow brought A human-based event that caused a domino effect Reaching each internal string, it pulls forth each question Why can life not be as simple as this painting? But only the canvas can express the human's intentions and emotions Various interpretations are borne Nevertheless, only the artist knows its significance A chance to illustrate emotion without speech or text No one knows the artist's motives for choosing those strokes and approaches in their life's work A moment of silence played in canvas, covered in paint and surrounded by so many yet understood by few The warmth surrounded me in the bitter air as our coats soaked up the moisture underneath
With your loose clasp we glared out as the gleams focused on the field below, a rare glitter packed day permitted our presence A summer packed in to a day or potential week for the student summer overlaps lifes' routes one last time. Strawberries flourished in a nearby bowl, a back garden became our personal holiday resort. Days when each cent stacked together filled a goujon roll appeared to lapse or like a child, the sun seemed to evoke our adventurous side. Except today, we focused on surrounding each other's body heat while soaking in the view as the feeling of young love saturated the air. Each meeting is greeted with an extra beat,
A fast punching sensation that sparks a rush, An urgency of dread compromised by a mushy sensation floods by, Each movement illustrating the spark created by the friction. Joined by the dawning sense of realisation it retrieves back to its normal pace, Dread evacuates the pipes as comfort flushed through known routes, The bristles pick away the debris, The clean battered system revived to full capacity for future reunification. The flusher remain steady, No curve in pressure or fault, A system of opposite woes that combine and rejoice, Like a magnet, their similarities retract. Despite their repulsive nature, the flusher bulls through the water, Seeking the rush at little expense, A flow easily rekindled at sight, An uncontrollable earthly feel engulfs this grasp. Night whispers swim through the short exchange as his nail pierced the skin,
Greeted by the cold refreshing squirt hitting nearby surroundings as his nail persists, Revealing internal delights, As he reaches the end, his lips perched tasting his work. A stimulating but twinge bearing taste reaches his buds, His nails filled with the skins remains, As the surrounding part curled up on the bench, The night sky illuminates its orange flourish. Nature's freshness refined to a ball, Fitting in the hand like a glove as each piece falls apart at the slightest touch, Each piece differs from the rest, Not by its external frame. The delicate palate feels the instantaneous explosion, Expectations no longer exist for it is not possible to tell the unknown, Popping through the cling film covered surface packed one of three possibilities, Bitter, sweet or a duo guarded by its external skin from praying hands. A lustful hope rests on breaching boundaries, No fear of the unknown shall creep, Just solace will exist from its freshness until each piece is gone, Then will the journey home under the night sky commence with a new light. Never said no to one in need,
Definitely one who passed no heed, A friendly smile always filled the air, As he tried to match a pair. His listening ear always turned the tables, As the smoke raised throughout encounters, Joined by surrounding troubles, For he was not one to burst someone’s bubble. The neighbouring nests felt a chill that Thursday morning, For a gentleman had passed through the gates without a warning, Although his flight was short, his heart comforted without a second thought, A heart born not bought. For he is at flight overseeing with his mate, No longer will those darts fly or garage door stick, No more treasure hunts for cable ties or cheeky smile invoking lines, Russian dolls could not shield his talent. For now they stand as his pride, The rattling of wrenches brings warmth to those who pass by, As we have said goodbye. . The love I show is how I feel for no needle could pierce my heart more than your cheeky smile.
A glorious shine reflects off the side of your cheek through the waves of the nights sky, I seek solace in your presence, a common ground for our nightly encounters, While I wait on the iron to cast away our creases from the days journey gone by, I stagger from the influence. Your company brings laughter and flirtatious lines, A harmless suggestion that led to denial, A heart that seeks to keep old wounds at bay knows no boundaries, Loss tightened every stitch and it tightens with you, A fear of goodbye and heartache chains Mountjoys’ doors, Hurt once explored can not cast my door, nor shall the lock allow to pass, The bridge burnt with another’s touch in sight, Like a sword pierce through my heart to the other side, Witnessed and choked I had to listen to your jokes, Revenge was sought not on you my love. A moment of chance arose to clear a wound once again, Both hands grabbed without a second thought, Revenge was sweet but a twist felt your anger, Goodbye knocked for one realised, The love I feel is real but with your power I shall not be free, She leeches to my veins with every word spoke, Sight of you and her turns the switch, The kettle boils and trips it’s fuse. to edit. Our first night flew by coupled with some refreshing drinks and street music,
An early night cemented the following day's joy, On our arrival to Ha Long Bay, we settled in to encounter its beauty, Row by row we kayaked the musky water. The warmth of drizzling rain decorated our surroundings, Monkey's climbing the trees to our side, As our new friendships and current relationships were tested to craft a rhythm, Each row led us back to enjoy the night. The night sky loomed over our banana shaped carriage, As the sound of nearby parties filled the silence, It was not long until we joined with our coarse karaoke, As Britney and Abba burst through the carriage. Singing, chatting like long lost friends, Lines went overboard in the search for shrimp, As the side lights paved the path for to hook our prey, But to no success. Friendships settled for the remainder of our journey, From Hanoi to Ho Chi Ming City, Sights of joy riddled with a history of sorrow and violence, No retirement for those who reside. A cross road reeks of danger here, For motorbikes are ideal, We took note of three children body-hugging beside their parents, Steady while the frame held their weight and the wheels rotated in the afternoon traffic, As Road by road, track by track we travelled, From guessing words to stories about goats, Sleeping with cockroaches and defying the odd rat, We rambled city by city, Our journey reached an end but the story is not over. Her confusion paves the path she leads,
As her shackles sparks the way with every movement, The cold grey metal impresses itself to her ankle, No artist required, The canvas forms it's natural impression, A purple residue rests. The morning shine bounces off the facial canvas, A dot momentarily stains the canvas with its backlash, Her pale infestered skin fails to shine. Hope is no more, She hikes Mount Everest in flip flops, That consistent inner pain reminding the troubles that lie ahead, Constantly being pulled back by her shackles, She persists in the morning light, For nightfall has no boundaries. Night brings no sleep or satisfaction, It is a ticking clock for light, A revolving hand that persists. Persistence is immense, A never ending trial for each enduring party, The light is a game, Fresh eyes are bright, Until night arrives, Down rests her head. Considerations, replays and morning plans commence, Waiting for the morning beacon to stir its head. Each day impaired by the previous one,
No magic marker nor cleansing bleach, For another embarkment lines the way. It may nor may not be new ground, but one's ability to place a lively foot on the ground, provides one with internal delight. For today is special, a new story to be told. Do not stay indoors for night to fall, Seek solace in every moment. Remember, sterling silver may not be someone's gold, Each person has their own scale. With a hustle of the sun coloured leaves,
Each eye zooms like Pinocchio’s nose, In the near distance stands a grey embroidered furry animal, On a stark stance it awaits the human’s steps, Not with fear but with power. Its back legs perched for take off at all times, As size 12 boot clips a branch, With a banging throb, His back feet dig in to the moist soil, His front legs impaled the fine air. Every interaction is the same, For he is not meant for a cage nor our belly’s delight, Nature they adore, Nature they belong. During the course of planting nature,
A young freckly faced girl enchanted by her father's smile sits on a planter, She is not alone, beside her he sits as the tractor continues the straight path. The sun attacks their necks but their eyes do not stray. As they dropped their plants, Dividing the sets as they go, One by one they fall. They fall fast but land like a feather, On top of the soil they rest for the planters return. Although young, she did not miss, His eyes filled of pride, It was not often she saw this. As the tractor buckled, the driver turned around, Her eyes greeted by their mutual love. No picture nor video exists that can be held, Nor is it required. A moment of true happiness engraved in her mind, An imperishable family portrait. The date embedded in every inch of my pale infested skin,
I think not of the present but my mind straddles to the past, Every past moment leading to this moment flashes before my eyes, A glimpse of the highlights entrenched with the low. A path paved with tear jerking thorns and budding roses, Not easily maintained but with the morning sun, The path provides a blistering beauty, a successful crop. Her rays vibrate through the sky, Satisfying and nurturing the budding roses, yet she gets nothing in return but yet she continues to shine. The day is nigh, the sun no longer shines, The clouds are a ceaseless shadow, As the budding roses bow their heads in sorrow, For they have lost their mother. She knows the success of her roses, The ones she nurtured to health and revived from the winter's evils, Her love will be an eternal flame. In the luminous morning sky, the bags erupt with the early harvest,
Blisters bursting potato by potato, But the hand does not feel for time is key, A lonely shop owner awaits his profit, And a tie fitted gent awaits his return. As the scorn of the plough ripples the ground, Unearthing the endless stream, A stream filled with life and hope, Fresh air and hard work stirs. The driver looks back at his slaves, Slow and prudent his drives, For every potato enhances worth, A bad one here and there But no one can not fault his devotion. Break is nigh as another trailer door opens, A blazing gas stove fuels the black bottomed kettle, In the corner a woman spreading butter on the thick loaf, Slices of ham pound on, And one by one they line up. The tea is drowned and bellies filled, For off they go to earn their fill. As dusk is near, The final whip slashed, Off they go for tomorrow holds more. |
Mary DohertyJust a blog to post some of the offerings I create in my spare time. I hope you enjoy! Archives
September 2019
Categories |