Cobwebs, Blogs and a Whole Can of Worms…

I received a message yesterday from a person I have taken to referring to as Bones  (I hope he doesn’t mind the liberty I have taken with this abbreviation of an online name) informing me that he had very kindly nominated me for a 2013 “Very Inspiring Blogger Award.” Several things crossed my mind on receipt of this message including of course thoughts of indeed saying thank you for the nomination, though these thoughts quickly brought about more thoughts of what that would mean. Cue much procrastination on my part. I felt I couldn’t say thank you without accepting the nomination, which in turn meant I would need to come out of my ‘blog shell’ and get technical on here (wordpress confuses me at times) in order to nominate some blogs myself. This seemed like a hugely monstrous task for me personally. A hugely monstrous task that was, until I considered the fact I was perhaps self-sabotaging, procrastinating, and generally being insular amongst various other introvert-type mechanisms I tend to adopt – particularly when it comes to writing. So, after much deliberation I decided to accept the nomination with much thanks (thank you very much Bones ) and indeed follow the steps in order to complete this process and nominate some blogs that I find inspiring. I haven’t blogged here in some months having found myself writing pieces on Twitter more frequently. However, this blog (though brimming with cobwebs just now) is a favourite sanctuary of expression for me which I will continue to return to (and though I’m not overly keen on spiders, I’m quite fond of these cobwebs). When I come back to my writing here it sometimes feels like opening a can of worms, except I really don’t like worms…which leads me to wonder, if I must have a can of worms to open, perhaps this is my favourite place to do so…

Anyway, back to the nomination!

The rules for accepting the award, I am told, are as follows:
• Display the award logo on your blog; (this was the beginning of my technical terror of ‘how to’ which I have now overcome)
• Link back to the person who nominated you; (that would be Bones for me)
• State 7 things about yourself; (this initiated further procrastinating fodder for yours truly)
• Nominate other bloggers for this award and link to them, and;
• Notify those bloggers of the nomination and the award’s requirements. (I’m not sure how to do this without looking like I am posting on people’s blogs with a link to mine in some kind of pimping-of-self action sooo….after consideration I think I’m going to rebel. That’s just me and my weird mind, not a reflection on anyone else. If any of those I have listed here do read this though, thank you, I adore reading you all very much – thank you for the continued inspiration.)

Seven Things About Me

1. Only a small percentage of what I want to write is ever written. I think maybe I have a library of misfit writings in my head that have never thought themselves enough to be penned.

2. I’m really not very good at telling people about myself and will most likely read this back and cringe…

3. I’m not afraid of my inner sadnesses and unrest. Life without them would be far less layered. Meaningful to me is all about the lost meaningless that gravitate towards each other in some kind of solace.

4. I’d rather tell you how I feel spontaneously in a moment than who I think I am in a timed explanation of thought.

5. I wish I could bake with ease.

6. The summer of 2006 changed my outlook on life irrevocably.

7. Solitudal isn’t a word, but if it was, it would best describe the part of me I share here.

Others Blog I Would Like to Nominate

Filling a Hole

FM Ghost

Subtle Entropy

Out of the Woods

Robin Hawke

I read many people here on wordpress, twitter, and other forums who inspire me daily. The people I nominate here in this post are specifically writers that I have been reading here on wordpress since I first started this blog (I’m guessing a couple of years ago now) and they have each inspired me (and continue to do so) in very unique, authentic and personal ways. Thank you.

Rush

An imminence

it chases through my veins

rising to a flesh of words

a milky rose to hum

this song of now, my skin reveals

 

 

One long breath held

so long it forgets to remember

that it needs to let itself go

and so it keeps on holding…

Who holds the breath that needs to let go?

She Was There

 

She was there

the woman on the stairs…

I heard her first

Footsteps heavy purposeful

echoed deep on wood

as though the carpet left at night

And then her face, I saw it

the blade a silver flash

my eyes, they told the truth

I froze in her haunting

Still there, still here

I never left

and I wonder, perhaps, did she…

Invisible Cloth

This invisible cloth…

cotton turned to silk

fingers counting thoughts

worries turned in numbers

unique each calloused digit

This invisible cloth…

or could it be a memory

of Flopsy Moll

and her swan song at the pier

or a fisherman’s eyes of indifference

This invisible cloth…

patterned childhood soothe

frayed and scented home

cradled in the rocking chair

working out the kinks

This invisible cloth…

the bed sheets pulled

and clawed in nightmare sweats

held in real against unreal

the stranger in the shadowed hallway

This invisible cloth…

a woman’s comfort still

through bleeding words

and fingers

through hands that want to feel

A Crease of Night, to Day

Walking yellowed pages, inked, invisible their grit

Where weeds wear masks of blooming white, riddles to the path

I see the clouds give way to pale, a constant eye of calm

(And I wonder will it rain? I ask myself a certainty…)

Beyond the concrete jaded stones of all my conscious thought

Therein a ripple to the tide, pulls close, a fin of glossy grey

In falling light my vision lies and tells me of a twofold

(And I wonder did I toss a coin to know the side it fell?)

So on, and forward walking miles, and feeling human waves of memory

I climb only to turn and run, this life I know grasped hard in breath

To flooded concrete climbs of waterfalls for foolish minds

…a foolish mind of mine

 

I could tell you of a house that stood alone, and creaked with memories that longed for peace, and a child who saw only the moon…

There was an old record player at my grandmothers house in the ‘best’ room. It was a room that stayed locked for the most part.

(I was allowed in there once, and only once. I can’t even remember why.)

The record player had a coffee stain on it. Everything else was clean and well placed. The coffee stain is what I remember most.

It was as if it had always been there…

I remember the ‘best room’. Only for the coffee stained record player, and the draft that hit my ankles in the passageway to the door.

The passageway held a memory I wasn’t ever to know.

I wanted to know the story of that coffee stain and imagined elaborate and often melancholic reasons for its seemingly eternal presence.

It was a house and so much more. It was where the moon shone the brightest…

 

 

 

A majesty uncrowned, unknown

antiquary in its youth on the highest shelf

Where the real books settle in dust

and once in every turn of season

someone climbs the ladder…

 

Flower Girl

 

Her strands of fire gold that curl

And toe scuffed satin rose clad press

Named in zephyr white, her flame

An earth bound song for the tireless ochre

Kissed, each step, with blood toned life

Only her and the bloom she wears

Ivory tower swept / pink to blush the shade a spotlight tumble / flaxen flecked with sore recoil / spun a final fall / a spill of golden she