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Archive for February, 2009

The Art Of Being Lost

When I woke up this morning it looked like a beautiful day
I can’t seem to escape clouds of late though and though wanting to wear floral harmony I seem to be eternally dressed in a grey cardigan
Standing in a field of daisys whos bright yellow smiles lure then turn away as I go to gather them in my arms
I have the strong athletic legs of a dancer for some reason painted into black gumboots that come up to my knees
I was at peace here once in the garden growing vegetables pretending I don’t miss city life
Another time another place in a world I barely remember yet yearn for daily I was strong and free and wore an Angelic smile
I miss reading the paper in inner city cafes where they serve good coffee and unpretentious peices of art romance the walls
I miss being in love and holding hands over well worn wooden tables that whisper secrets
I miss loving lyrics that pull at my heart instead of turning down the radio and pushing hard on my accelerator
I wrap my grey cardigan around myself pulling it closer to the body I no longer love as its frayed edges dangle against the boots
All I ever had to love about myself was what you told me I am
Without that now I spill from an empty cup like vapour no substance no dreams nothing to offer those that gather and choose a different blend
I decided to find my paintbrushes today
So many peices of me lay making love in the old wooden chest at the end of my bed
Photgraphs paintings poetry and pale pink ribbons…my pointe shoes remind me of a dream before gumboots and bare canvas
There is so much of me here yet I fail to recognise who I am in amongst who it all tells me I was as I wonder who it is I should be 
The smell of the ocean wakes my memory yet I know it as so far away
Like the feel of your lips as they brush mine the anticipation of that kiss so perfect yet intangible in the sense it will be lost as we drown
Neat rows of water coloured options stare at me yet how could I ever be brave enough to try and imortalise us
I can’t even find myself anymore let alone even remember how to sketch your face the one that loved me and held me to earth
Outside the discovery of a fushia behind a pumpkin reminds me that with enough darkness and light I could be beautiful
I watch the wind blow the tiny blossoms as I marvel at how many times I have tried to grow this that now self seeded and thrives alone
The huge green vine of the pumpkin will strangle it of course and I stood barely knowing what to do to save one without the destruction of the other
I miss having those long conversations that are random and crazed and so very me
In all my insanity though I am somehow sane enough to know I make no sense at all except you listened and feigned acceptance for so many years
I run an old paintbrush along my arm and wonder what defines an artist
I have no talent other than to jumble words that fall from the gaping hole in my heart that  I lost the stopper from somewhere along my journey
I lay back on my bed and stare at the garden and feel like I don’t know where I belong
I have a vision then of an inner city terrace far from the country I thought I yearned for and being old and still crazy and still missing you
Then I wondered where you were and if you were lost too or where you dead had I killed you in my paining and smeared you with red
The urge I have to carve my name across my thigh so I may find myself is strong enougy that I mark out the letter L 
Of course this was all more romantic in the dream so that now I am pale and blotched and scarred with madness and a half formed notion
I curl my hair then.. the tongs so hot I burn my fingers then wonder why as I am spending the day alone
It is raining now of course or are those tears and why is the glitter falling through my fingers from the bottom of the old wooden box that is meant to love me
I try and define myself in my head as I walk down the stairs
Am I anything worth knowing or caring for and what would someone say about me and would anyone defend me and why in Gods name do I even really care
I am meant to be a mother a grown up a sophisticated woman with the world at her feet
Yet this is sometimes like fiction blurring over worn fingered over absorbed and believed pages that someone designed against my will
I don’t know how I got here and I want to start screaming because I have no idea how to get home
I am of old movies white linen collages of daydreams
I am of the sea and the meadow and violets and the rain
I am of storms that take your breath away yet give you reasons to want to return
I spent the day writing in old notebooks watching salty mascara stained pain blur all the words
Dusk falls over the thought that warm arms will wrap around me and help to reign me in
My thigh stings and my heart aches and my mind is jumbled with cement and birch trees and the smiles of babies that want dinner
I have to pull myself into that mannequin someone dressed and named me and told to be responsible and scolded for being needy
All I want is a hug I think
I am trying to discover who I am
Wanting to paint again and photograph the images and scatter them over my world
To find the girl and watch her grow and not hate her for all of her flaws that you hate her for as well
I think somehow
That I had all my hopes pinned on sunshine today
I just wanted to feel beauty
And have only  discovered
The Art Of Being Lost
 
~ Me
 
 
 
 
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Love & Other Bruises

A friend of mine was just telling me about taking his girlfriend out for Valentines day
Right there at dinner she breaks it off giving him the old "It’s not you It’s me"
He was devestated..
 
I said to him…
 
So often this is the way love is.. We love.. the other does not but rather reflects our love making us believe THEY love ..Do I make sense? NO.. because neither does love ..And what the hell do i know anyway, I am just another feather blown by this journey ..They (whoever the all knowing and annoying "they" are) say that Love is not about possesion.. ..I think this is a phrase designed to make the jilted feel empowered.. not sure it actually works ..Another more appropriate line comes from the song "Affirmation" by Savage Garden which says.. .."You can’t apreciate real love till you’ve been burned" ..I think perhaps this is more the case..
 
But like I said earlier..
 
Like I often say…
 
What the hell would I know anyway…

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Imprinting

They say wolves meet their mate and know
They imprint
And this bond is eternal
This of course is legend
Retold amid Vampires and immortal children
 
Darren Hayes says it well though when he sings…
"Everywhere I go all the buildings know your name like photgraphs and memories of love
Steel and Granite remind me the city calls you name and I can’t move on"
 
Legend or fact ?
It somehow holds truth

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What we have

Why is sometimes what we have
So far less important
Than things we know nothing about
Human Nature
The hunters and collectors
No wonder so many of us die lonely
Without a single friend
Or flower upon our grave
We take lifes garden for granted
Until we realise
The roses are dying….
And the weeds do not satisfy

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Resolutions

My new years resolution
Is to be strong
To only have friends I can trust
To feel worthy of love
And to accept nothing less than love that makes my head spin
As someone once told me I deserve
 

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Simple Things

I want to fall in love over green tea and notebooks filled with poetry
In my sleep in dreams of endless lovemaking
I want to fall in love amongst time worn timbers and the smell of cloves
Laying on slightly damp grass with my lips wet with kisses
I want to fall in love amongst total chaos and impossible scenarios
Walking at dusk breathing in atmospheric addictive perpetual lust
I want to fall in love amid laughter at stupid things we randomly design
Tumbling over faded cushions on second hand sofas
I want to fall in love heart in hand….
 
~Me

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Footprints

I watch without consciousness
As I leave footprints
It happens
And one day you will look at the grooves they made
In that trail across your heart
And remember me
Wondering where I am…

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