Savagery’s Cost

Blood fed the barren ground

Bodies decorated it

Like discarded toys.

Swords pierced the Earth

Beside the crippled, lifeless corpses

And yet

There was a Beauty in this Darkness

In the Savagery of War.

Life fled this land

Once rife with the green blades of Grass

Replaced now by blades of Iron and Steel.

For what, they ask

The Glory of Battle, the Honour it gave.

No structures of stone or wood

Stood in sight of the horizon.

A vast Nothingness claimed these lives

And Nature would take its Victims.

Limbs bared to Bones, sinking in dirt.

Rust from fruitless rains would claim the soiled metal.

The Shadows of carrion birds’ wings filled the sky

Their caws shredded the Silence, deafening.

Beaks ripped at stripped Flesh

As the Sun set, its rays of Light frightened by the field.

It seems a Horrible Dream.

An Evil that Desecrates the Human Soul.

Wars are waged, the Cost ignored.

 

 

 

 

Deadland (A Huitain Poem Attempt)

Lost in this wasteland of a mind.

It’s Earth burned, scarred, and dying.

Leaves are rusted streaks in rotted vines.

Ground now barren, plants left drying.

How to fix what is now horrifying?

Wish for rain, and till the pained land.

Turn ashes to life, so gratifying.

Surely prayers can save the damned.

Last Breath Leaves

“What is the meaning of life?”
A teacher asked of me
In one of my vivid dreams.
 
I cannot recall how I answered
Though every other wacky scene
Of that dream is in my memory.
 
My answer had gone up in smoke
But it made me wonder
If the meaning of life, its purpose
 
Is hidden in our subconscious.
An answer secret even to us
But it tells us what is right
 
The meaning of life is ambiguous
different and the same
For every living soul.
 
Our everyday journey
Through chaos and sanity
Is the road to that elusive answer.
 
I believe it can only be known
When one knocks on Death’s door
And sees the purpose of their life
 
Just as their last breath leaves.

Please

See me?
 
On the sidelines of your life?
On the bench, alone?
 
I guess you don’t.
I guess it is too little too late.
 
Don’t you see me?
How hard I’ve tried?
 
I reach out, but touch wall.
I reach out, but hear nothing.
 
Have you been locked in a cage?
Pushed from another’s life?
 
I don’t think so.
I don’t think you ever have.
 
Maybe if it had happened to you
You would see me
Screaming for the keys
And you’d open the door.
 
But you don’t, do you?
 
See me?
 
Please.

Dig Deep, Fight Forward

Managed to be productive over the weekend. We finished the storage room (previously known as the small animal room), and are working on the linen closet now. I tidied the upstairs while Andrew slept, and he was pleasantly surprised.

However I failed myself already today. I swore last night I would wake up at 5 am, and I didn’t, I slept in. The late start has butchered my day. I had an hour round trip to make to get my one dog’s food (joys of feeding a prescription diet only available at a veterinarian clinic), and items to drop off at my parents, and brief grocery shopping to do, too.

This all meant I got home at 11 am, and my dogs got the latest breakfast ever. It means I had a very late start to a day I meant to be filled with energy and creativity. Instead I feel sapped of every ambition I ever had, and want to waste the rest of the day away.

I HATE feeling like that.

Forcing myself to sit at the computer is one thing. Actually writing something worthwhile is another. That’s the hardest pill for me to swallow at the moment.

The truth is I feel lost, and this blog post is simply a stream of consciousness.

I am unsure of what to post, and this fills the void in a rather lackluster way. I like the poems I write (some from imaginative places and some from the emotional truths of day to day life). I want to push past that which I’ve said before, but I’m stuck on how to do it.

Instead I post about knitting (I’ve started a baby cocoon now from soft rainbow/white yarn). I talk about baking with my mom, and other familial experiences. I have posted some artsy endeavours.

Why?

Because my life is random as hell and yet predictable, too.

The rut I’m in seems to be unending, and I look into my past to analyze all the other choices I could have made. I like to think I know where they would have taken me in life, but I don’t.

What I do know is, I need to find something that works, because I definitely love writing and want to do it for the rest of my life. The problem is, I struggle with my insecurities and the ‘normal’ life everyone around is living, the natural progression of their lives. The comparisons I constantly make about my life versus others is a waste of my (and your) time, too.

I need to find a way to work on my book, and shit getting done, too. Searching for distractions is slowing me down too much, and I’m tired of feeling like I’m failing day after day.

Good news though. Tomorrow is another day to make it happen. That doesn’t mean I don’t try and salvage what I can from what is left of today. It means I can pick myself up tomorrow and do what needs doing. It is in me after all.

Thanks for reading my rant, and maybe relating to elements of it. Any tips on what you do to overcome these moments are welcome.

Routine Has Run Amuck

I thought I was making progress, waking up at 5 am, but alas it does not seem to be the case. While I did not have a lazy weekend, I very much wanted to relax with my husband, and don’t feel I got a chance to at all.

That is why on Monday when he asked me if I thought he should call in sick (because of his right ankle still recovering from some random injury), I said yes. I needed/wanted that day with him, and I feel like it set me back a bit. We had a good talk about things, but I also took like twenty-three naps, and felt super lazy. I didn’t post a blog or work on my book.

When Tuesday rolled around, my body had to recover from all the sleep the day before or so it seemed. I managed to post a poem (pretty much about this stuff), but no work was done on my book. I didn’t clean the house, and I left assembling garbage and recycling until Andrew got home (something I usually do at the start of the day).

Now, it’s Wednesday and it’s just after noon. I wasted the morning away on a stupid show (Thanks, Netflix, you piece of shit!), and am just now sitting at my computer.

I don’t think I can begin to describe the frustration I feel with myself.

I want to get my book done, honestly, I really do. And yet…. while I work on it, I am in a realm of possibilities instead of certainties. At this point, I don’t know if my book will flop or be successful. It is that very thought that seems to be holding me back right now.

The other fact is, the longer I take to edit/write my book, the longer it will take to embark on the path of being published (be it self published or with the help of a literary agent). That part could take a long ass time on its own, and I need to keep fighting my way there even if my opponent is myself.

This time loop I seem to be in needs to end, and today, I am going to do just that!

I vow to wake up at 5 am tomorrow (and leave behind whatever delicious dreams I find myself in), and write! I will post a blog and I will get more work done on my chapters.

I will do this day after day. It is abundantly clear I can’t give myself weekends off, or latch on to lame excuses. My routine needs to be reestablished, and while today may be lost in terms of productivity, the week will not be!

It is important to acknowledge that we all take steps backwards from time to time, or halt our progress, but that is when we must turn to ourselves (and/or others) for the motivation to move forward! While it is important to take care of ourselves, sometimes pushing to the edge when it doesn’t seem possible is the best way to do it!

I hope you all manage to find it in yourselves to tackle the projects you’re working on!

Best of luck in your journey and don’t forget to share some of that luck with me (and others), too!

Being a writer is like having homework every night for the rest of your life. ~Lawrence Kasdan

To This Writer

Why I keep writing

 

It gives purpose.

It builds a home.

It joins lives.

It allows for calm, peace.

 

It fills a void.

It answers a call.

It sparks life.

It sedates anger, fear.

 

It adds to the light.

It takes from the dark.

It mediates experiences.

It awakens love, hope.

 

It is medicine.

It comforts the breaking.

It builds the broken.

It breaths help, justice.

 

It takes time.

It ages and dies.

It is born again and again.

It thinks on life, death.

My Poor Tree

I haven’t drawn in years, if I am honest. I used to love drawing, painting, molding clay. It was an amazing thing to create something from the mind, or mimic an existing object/person. Flaws added depth to it though I struggled with that fact.

Being a perfectionist is not great when you want to be creative, and thus I have been hesitant to do anything artistic for a long time (unless it was instructional). Today I decided to pull out a sketch book and pencils, and make something, anything.

It’s simple, but I drew this evergreen tree. It probably sucks, but I am proud of it, because at least it looks how I wanted it to (sort of).

Pencil.Tree.jpg

Art in all its forms bring a beauty to the world that I enjoy soul deep. It is necessary for any creative soul to find their medium or niche in the world to share their imagination, but it doesn’t hurt to dapple in others at the same time.

I have posted a lot of poems, and will continue to do so, but I am also going to be playing with my drawing pencils. Hopefully I will get some paint and canvas soon to fiddle around there, too.

Sorry for the quality of the picture. Cellphones don’t take the greatest photos so I am hoping I can get my digital camera working. Well, it works, but I don’t have the cable required to transfer photos to the computer just yet. Plus I need an SD card to be able to take more than just a couple photos.

 

What I Am Reading

I have officially started reading A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin. I am only two chapters in, but I am enjoying the writing style for sure. I expected it to be similar to J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series yet I am appreciating the fact that it is not.

When a book hooks me, I tend to finish it pretty quick, unable to stop reading it. However with books like Lord of the Rings or The Prince of Nothing series, it took months to read. I did enjoy them the whole way through, but they were painstakingly dull at times.

I can’t explain why I felt A Game of Thrones would be similar to Lord of the Rings in terms of writing. Maybe the hype? Its genre? Anyway, while I find it more modern, or easier to read, it does have a formal tone in its language that I envy. I believe it makes it sophisticated, and somehow makes a book more attractive to readers.

Readers may like easy reads, but many enjoy a more complex story, settings, character development. I want to build worlds like a great many authors do outside the confines of our world, or even revealing fantastical layers of it. I guess that is why I am trying to read the books I am, to figure it out.

A Game of Thrones has inspiring phrases, or fragments of sentences that I might just use for some more poems, or maybe an attempt at a short story. After all I do believe all writer’s go through a period of trying to find their own voice, and mimicking their favourite authors on the way. It is educational, I think, and might do me some good in the end.