I keep forgetting my plan.
I forget keeping a plan.
This blog, blog, it sound a bit like a blob, a bubble.
This blog is dedicated to some sort of poetry. My word program so often wants to correct me, it says, “passive voice, consider rewriting.”
Ok, I am considering. This language, yes, it may be clumsy or full of funky mistakes.
That is for your entertainment.
Now what was that plan again?
This blog, it is interesting.
The Primal Scream
The end of all
The beginning of anything
That has not yet been.
Drink out and die in tears
For the bird that rose
From the ashes.
Alvinda Hall 1994
You don’t think I can write, or read or be anything at all.
Don’t I know?
The girls are happily jumping on the garden trampoline and that is something.
Listen carefully to the raindrops falling. I can hear them, listen to them, they are a link between you and me.
I am laying on the floor with my window wide open, so that the rain and the wind can come in and wet my face and the wind is blowing in my hair.
Do not worry. I have a golden sorrow in my heart; I am broken into many pieces.
I can’t find them all. I am looking. I can’t find the pieces. I find other things while I am looking. I found you. Are you looking as well? Do you want to be lost? Do you want to suffer? Do you want to lay your head in my lap?
Will you let me hold you and say, nothing matters, because there’s us and that’s all?
All what people think and say and whisper to each other doesn’t matter.
They will die without reason and live without soul. We will be free.
I wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy new year.
Wait for the wind whispering truth about you and a labyrinth and a rainbow and a black sun and a bright star and your eyes.
Three thousand years since last, we met. We was then a breath of wind over a see.
Three thousand years since we met.
We were transparent and strong.
Three thousand years since the meeting.
You think there is no fight.
You think I have no right.
I think, therefore I write.
To understand, my dream so sad.
I am not mad only disappointed.
Be grateful now.
Do not go shopping things created of the tears and blood of our planet.
Standing barefoot in my sandals under a lamppost on the cobblestones.
The light flickering.
There’s a sound,
like hundreds of little legs running.
Metallic little clicks,
I feel them more than see them.
In the space between the cobblestones.
There is a low humming sound to.
They are so small…
Even so, the anxiety makes me stand perfectly still.
There is no insects like these. Can’t be.
They march along like miniature soldiers.
I feel cold metal on my feet.
Crawling up my legs.
A sudden pain,
Then nothing more.