i will find you deep inside of me hard and firm galore penetrating my hallow heart as i scream reluctantly for more
Author: nicbea
a very curious lass with oh-so-much to say. this blog, a creative space for me and my words to play.
conversation #092314
pedalling along the quiet backstreets of town where childhood nostalgia rustles through the autumn air, there is a calming beauty i have never seen before. perhaps nature’s grace has poignantly hidden herself behind summer’s confusing spell. alas, the fading summer rays flicker out into the early night sky. solace rediscovered in the wake of a…
quarrel with yourself … but don’t fall out of love with yourself.
self-love. tis a precious sentiment, a fleeting emotion, that quite often gets lost in the static confusion of every day meanderings. so very easily confined by convention we tire easily for by the end of the day we are spent; our heart, mind and body given to our children, our partner, our work, and our…
teaching street smarts through street art.
i’ve had the privilege to guest blog this week for two very dear friends of mine. based out of melbourne, australia, “fitz of design” (fitzofdesign.com) is everything creative and play from the wonderful land of oz. if you love pretty things you’ll love what linda and rowan lee have going on. reposting my piece about…
i don’t have a …
i don’t have a fear of falling …. just a fear of landing. free birds are meant to soar.
a hiraeth firefly.
hiraeth (welsh, noun): a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past. (source: berlin art parasites) nearly a year now. reacquainted with the northern hemisphere. it’s a different place than when i left it. or i’m…
retrenched retrospect.
my heart is exhausted. my ambition lagging behind. but to reignite thy imagination for i am near the finish line. ————- if you read my words what voice do you hear? illiterate emotions disposed. it wouldn’t matter what spoken word you heard. for happiness i cannot spell. ————– i sing the tune even though i…
yesteryear’s goodbye.
note to reader: twas the serene, authentic prose authored by bryonie wise that compelled me to write my own yesteryear goodbye. “I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way,…
a repository of aged dreams.
a repository of aged dreams (banked memories); nostalgic files of yesteryear scattered across the mind. but its while searching for that lost feeling, the shadowed face of the girl left behind that i realize it wasn’t you or your heart missing … rather it was me who i had to find.
“the structure …
“the structure of a play is always the story of how the birds came home to roost.” -arthur miller, playwright as i always say even free birds need to come home to nest. who needs structure anyway … get out there and play.
static confusion. 