Fear Hooks Us Tender

fear oozes
through the cracks in our voice
striking us dumb
with the tying of tongue

amid the white pallid hue
of a sheet washed
one too many times

hairs stand to attention
in goose bump formation
twisting in turmoil

the limits of our sanity
leading us weak knee'd
to the corner of wits end

where frayed nerves
are overpowered
with the stiff stench of fear

and back bones
jump out of skin
long discarded as shadow

hypersensitive pain
s~t ~r~e~t~c~h~i~n~g
into the fear
that hooks us tender

Linking up with Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

I Write

I write

to tether myself to this world

lest I float away

I write

to avoid so much introspection

I find myself inverted

I write

to cut pain from my soul

releasing fear and terror

 

I write

to spill my guts

so you may identify its contents

I write

to crack myself up

and put myself back together again

 

I write to

to ignite fires in bellies

starved of words

 

I write

to face the reality of today

punching unfairness into tomorrow

 

I write

to unwind the tightly coiled springs

of the bed I made

 

I write

to lose myself

so that I may find myself again

 

I write

to dislodge the iron mask

that hides the inner truth

 

I write

to capture memories

for my mind has storage issues

 

I write

to hold a candle flicker

to the dark crevices of my mind

 

I write

to free myself of the chains

anchoring me to the past

I write
to bandage gaping wounds
that identify me

 

I write

to see, to feel, to touch

 

. . . . . and so I write

 

 

Linking up with dVerse where the topic is Manifestos

************

Goodreads Book Giveaway  

   

The Edge Of Silence

by Kathryn Dyche Dechairo

Giveaway ends April 02, 2014.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.          

Enter to win

Stealer Of Time

 

a grotesque predator
stealer of time
turned uglier with sound
holds you captive
with bolts of searing pain

a survey of your armory
reveals no effective defense
against blazing hot talons
that claw and drag
                            pierce and stab
their torturous ascent

"it's all in her head"
shatters the silence

lying twisted and contorted
coiled in the shadows
the irony splits you open

Writing, Graffiti or Art

Is this simply writing?

 

 Is it graffiti?

 

 

Or is it Art?

 

 

What do you think?

Scintilla Project: Preconceived Notion

Prompt: Write about a time when a preconceived notion or opinion (about a person, place, thing etc) turned out to be wrong.  What did it take to change your mind?
 

Sure I've used crayons and pencils, paint and felt tip pens, even glue and paper mache but no-one would have ever called me creative.  It seemed like one of those indisputable facts that just was.  I never thought to question it.

 

Then in my early thirty's a chain of events changed all that by becoming a catalyst for this somewhat strange and inspired journey I found myself on.  It was as though the 'off' switch had suddenly been switched back 'on'.

I experimented with many different mediums but loved the way I was able to lose myself in the process when I painted.  When I sold my first painting online I felt validated in some way.  That someone else truly saw me and liked my work enough to purchase it and hang it in their home.

If someone had told me all those years ago that I would have given up a career, moved to America and become an Artist I would have laughed in their face and thought them a little crazy . . . but having sold my work online and in store for the past two years, I guess the joke is on me.

 

Searching For Silence

searching for silence

her thoughts too

lost amongst the noise

 
reaching high, bending low
tearing the place apart
her frustration intensified

 

shaking her head
she had to laugh
at her own absurdity

silence was never lost

she just had to stop screaming
long enough to hear it

The Weight Of The World

Looking down at her hands she marvelled at the whole world resting there.  Her body just couldn't contain the joy she felt and she began to dance.  Moving across the floor with the weightlessness of a feather, her smile shone bright and the room echoed with her laughter.

She didn't see it, the obstacle lying just ahead.  As she tripped and stumbled she observed her movements like a film in slow motion.  Unable to right herself she felt the world slipping . . . slipping . . . slipping from her hands until suddenly the weight of it landed squarely upon her shoulders.

Her knees began to buckle and the weightlessness she'd experienced just moments earlier gave way to the most incredible pressure.  The world was lodged firmly and no matter how hard she tried she just didn't have the strength to move it.  Just when she thought the pressure would consume her she felt his arm slip around her waist . . . . . holding her, holding the world.  With the weight shared everything seemed bareable again.

Scintilla Project: The End

Prompt:  Tell a story that you haven't told yet. Give it a different ending than the one that really happened. Don't tell us where you start changing things. Just go.

water pulling you under

slipping away until all air gone

the fight, gasping at life

******

She found herself drawn to the water's edge and stood there a while.  As the sand shifted beneath her feet her gaze drifted lazily towards the horizon.  The sky was a deep blue, mirroring the intensity of the ocean and the sun sat high in the sky.  A trickle of sweat rolled down her face and the slight breeze felt cool against her skin.

Her gaze shifted downwards and feeling the gentle pull of the water as it swirled around her ankles she began to inch forward.  Goosebumps rose to cover her flesh and she gave a slight shudder.  Her steps were tentative at first but once the water reached her midsection she gave way to the cold and began to swim.

The gentle rocking motion of the water was comforting, soothing and she soon found herself lost in thought.  Turning towards the beach she smiled, life just didn't get better than this. 

She didn't see it coming . . . the large wave that wrapped its arms around her and pulled her under.  Spinning out of control she was confused and disorientated.  Round and around she rolled unable to get a solid footing.   Tirelessly she fought to reach the surface, to catch her breath, but the grip of the ocean was strong and had no plans of letting go.  In that moment fear gave way to acceptance.  She felt the fight  leave her body and a calm descend upon her, it was time.

Beautifully Different {#reverb10}

Prompt: Beautifully Different

Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.

Ooooooh this is a tough one and I've been staring a blank screen for the best part of the day.  Different I can do . . . . .

Being British (Welsh) & Living In The US

I'm a fairly shy, quiet and private person and don't like to draw too much attention to myself so it was an interesting experience when I first moved to the US.  Suddenly, without even trying, I found myself drawing unwanted attention each time I opened my mouth.

I would say as little as possible while I was out running errands to avoid the inevitable conversation about my accent.

I've gotten used to it over the years and am now able to smile and thank people when they tell me how much they love the British accent and I even laugh and smile when they think I'm Australian.

My Little Fingers Are Bent

I was born with two bent little fingers and the funny thing is my uncle's are exactly the same way.  It certainly made playing the piano and using a typewriter interesting!

Vertically Challenged

I'm short, scraping it at exactly 5ft.  I know I'm not the only short person out there but I often find myself in a room of people towering over me which can leave you feeling more than a little different. 

Growing up I used to use a hand mirror to check how the top of my hair looked because I figured that's what most people would see when they saw me!

Loner

I'm a bit of a loner, I swear I was a hermit in a former life.  A lot of people just don't get how I can spend so much time alone with myself (maybe they know something I don't) but I've always been that way and I kind of like it.

Not Wanting Children

When people learn that I don't wish to have children they either think I'm selfish or a child hater.  Truth is I don't hate children at all, I've just chosen not to have any.  I love my nieces and nephews, I just couldn't eat a whole one (tongue firmly implanted in cheek).

Super Emotional

I'm highly emotional  and cry at all sorts of things.  It can be embarassing, frustrating a hinderance but beautiful it is not.  There are those that look beautiful when they cry, but not me.  I have the ugly cry down pat.  I look as though I've been smacked around the face with a frying pan and I get all blotchy and red.  I'd love to be able to control it, but sadly I can't.

Beautifully Different was harder to articulate so I thought I would ask those who know me.  Here's what they had to say:

Husband:  "The combination of your eyes, smile and aura make you beautifully unique and different from everyone else".

Sister:  "That's easy, the way you love".

Mum:  "You're thoughtful, caring, have a a smile to die for and the fact that you're my daughter".

Brother:  "Being such an outgoing person creatively but not sociably".

Sister-In-Law:  "Your ability to live with a Dechairo and still remain a calm, centered person".

Yvette (Friend):  "1. beautiful (def) wonderful, very pleasing or satisfying... 2. different (def) not ordinary; unusual... so if 1 + 2 = x then I think x = your art!"

Tony (Friend):  "The fact that you're a career artist? Not an easy feat to pull off."

Maggie (Friend):  "Your talent and your kind heart <3"

Their responses made me cry (told you I was emotional).

It's all too easy for us to focus on our faults but if we choose to truly look into the eyes of those closest to us we might be surprised to find our own beauty reflected there.

I’m participating in a 31-day blogging challenge called #reverb10, responding to writing prompts that encourage you to reflect on the past year and consider hopes for the coming year.

One Word {#reverb10}

I recently stumbled upon #Reverb10, an annual initiative that encourages you to reflect on the past year and to send out reverberations for the year ahead by responding to 31 daily prompts.  I thought it would be a fun challenge so  . . . . .

Prompt:  One Word
Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you're choosing the word.  Now imagine it's one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

There are so many words that could describe my year (unpredictable, tentative, momentum, discovery, acceptance) but if I had to select just one it would have to be 'PLAY'.  For it was through giving myself permission to 'play' that I discovered a love for mixed media artwork and in a sense found myself. 

At first I felt like a newborn fledgling, a little shaky and scared, teetering on the edge of a precipice, wondering if I really could fly.  I inched forward, breathed deeply, closed my eyes tight and made the leap, fearful that if I looked down I would find the ground rushing up to meet me.  Tentatively I opened one eye, then another.  Fear gave way to surprise, exhilaration and excitement, I could fly!

As I head into 2011 my chosen word would have to be 'SOAR', for now my wish is to fly more gracefully and in doing so attain new heights.

What one word would you choose to describe your year?

Eyes Wide Open

Sleep is like an allusive state that my body instinctively reaches out for yet seems unable to grasp.  So close you can almost touch it, but for now it remains out of reach.  Plagued by this weariness, seconds seem like minutes, minutes like hours.  The night is long.

I lay here willing sleep to wrap its arms around me and hold me tight, releasing me from its grip only at sun's first light.  Why is sleep not my friend, its visits intermittent?

It beckons to me, toys with me, drawing me close yet remaining distant.

Listing to the sounds of a house at rest I lay, I wait, I wonder . . . . . will sleep be my friend tonight?