imagine this: it is a winter night and all you want to do is rock up to a dark room, the flames of a fire and sip on the local beer on tap. venue if choice: the wesley anne, the high street local that is rich in old stable decor. her major source of light is simple old-fashion candle. …
tassled hair.
the girl sat quietly in the corner playing with her hair the others danced around her nobody seemed to care. the boy perched himself on the sidelines patiently waiting for the ball the others played around him as if he was only two-feet tall. the girl’s hair now tightly braided the dancing continued on she…
crumpled litter.
she sits there, taunting me. her crisp clean front flawless blue lines. flirting with me to caress her, one cursive stroke at a time. she’s whiter than linen only doesn’t smell as nice easily crumpled litter should i leave her scrapped, behind. she craves to be touched even a meager scribe would make her just….
the poet v. the philosopher.
i’ve been sitting on this topic for a while now. contemplating on how to best articulate the difference between two of my favourite proses: poetry and philosophy. for as long as i can remember, i associated poetry with art, philosophy with thought. and if my mind were to get really fancy in putting the two together, ‘artful thinking’…
getting lost … while riding a bike.
the great hemingway once wrote, “it is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them. thus you remember them as they actually are, while in a motor car only a high hill impresses you, and you have no…
johnny cash cool.
it was the 1950s. elvis presley was building his fame and the young man in black was just beginning to walk the line. the ring of fire hadn’t started burning … but sam phillips was right in saying, “that cash, now he’ll be a rolling stone”. the scene was flooded with rockabillies and folksters, the outlaw generation…
my twenties, roaring indeed.
somehow without realising it i woke up this morning to a very profound realisation: i had turned 30 years old. in brief contemplation i felt quite empowered: a new era, a coming of age. it doesn’t feel like turning 20, which more or less was an extended hangover from turning 19. no, this feels quite significant, quite transformative. quite…
saluting the sun … meditating with the moon.
[note reader: penned for a while i feel rejuvenated and strong enough to share … what follows might sound quirky or loopy but it is a personal practice and it has brought such peaceful beauty, leaving me inspired daily] in the months that i have embraced meditation my thinking has been more sensuous, my mornings more…
home.
I remember this place, My small town home. The brisk northern tundra Where the lumberjacks roam. I remember this place, My beloved concrete city. Whose tall tower and cultures Is what makes her so pretty. I remember this place, My quaint, quiet capital. Along the frozen canal Where true love was lyrical. I remember…
old journals.
i read today. the author who intrigued me was myself. and it was an overwhelming experience to say the least. perched on my bed in my parents’ house where most of the words were written i took the lid off of an oversized shoe box and sifted through more than a dozen notebooks and diaries. from…
static confusion. 