The calm before the storm.
I break my fast musing over my odds of being crazier than the norm.
Booming shutters smash – open and close.
— Brain sensory over load — the cranium structure is deceiving in its form.
The third eye lazily flickers in a state of REM.
Here I am attempting to channel my inner chakra.
I’ve resorted to stick-on Goggly eyes to play the part of spiritualist guru ,sipping on high tea, to awaken my inner rapture.
Dear Goddess Kali can you save me?
from the howling winds,
The mooing cows spinning around me, moaning gutturally for their new fateful flight as fledgelings ?
My house shatters into a myriad of snow flaked, razor sharp,jaggered pieces.
unable to repair the damage .
Take a searing hot iron to my face to smooth out the grimace in my features .
Sacerdotal screams in the night — a man stolen from his lullaby.
Distant but not too far off – I keep my inner warrior on stand by.
In truth, it’s the time of the creatives .
Out come the freaks
brazen in their efforts to destroy,
my favourite playlist titled: sweet dreams.
I wonder who I will be in 12 months from this very hour ?
Where will all the thousands of words I’ve ploughed through with oars
Will I have sailed?
will I capsize?
Will I have ability to walk or be a cripple, dragging myself by the elbows under a storm pelted bleached ,grainy beach?
– Will I carry any legitimate power?
The Temptations won’t knock
They will saunter in .
Oh, it’s to be expected.
I refuse to fall to my knees,
swear my allegiance to make another man’s family richer
Than see mine indicted.
I’d sooner sit on a floor , covered in colours of paint and corners lit with the smiles of my loves.
I’d sooner watch paint dry or read a screenplay loosely based on what I know about when life comes to rouse me with rough pushes or shoves.
Elements balance my kinetic ,
complex feelings of despair.
Change comes with promise.
Fear comes with very little solace.
Motion to a new position –
don’t cower from success
It might even suit my current attire and my inner prowess .
My time to deliver.
Get my due.
For me and my few.
My kind words are still here and my support?
I have some to spare.
I won’t waste it on those who don’t reciprocate
The err is but their own.
Chosen to remain frozen-staring down a hall of , pale, mirrored self reflections.
unable to see
they are not the only ones
Who need encouragement and care.
I swill down the remnants of this blessed meal with the rest of my cuppa charr .
I clamour to suppress my applause.
I catch out the dawn rising with a yawn unashamed ,gloriously
I’m no longer afraid to be the lunatic. I’ve seen the powers of nature.
Forces of rage.
still waters run deep
This insanity is something I hold dear to me-
The great mother gave it to me-
I will set with the sun
It’s my duty to consummate all that is sacred.
Revised stream of consciousness — border line poetry.
*feeling nervous and excited for year two of my Masters , moving home and shizzle like that 😉 ha ha*
Write to recover is what I always say.
Is few of my words leave me whirling with – I’m proud to park, pay and display.
Deals are made,
devils I summon.
People are abused, Charity leaps to a new order of Coven.
I write this way, with careless affray
to not lose a sense that words are tangible,
if I work my fingers to imprint my genetic copyright
Confirming my DNA.
Some might say,
I try too hard
To write for better days .
Left to my own devices. I would live in clouds wrapped up in grey hues-
a cemetery for all the left over fillings
Thrown away, because of corrosive mouth decay.
In yer face!
Borderline – on the rocks.
I write to prove I’m far removed from serving more time, in a straight jacket in New Jack City.
Gangsters running around with silver bullet signed glocks.
I’v’e spent my better days basking in previous glory .
Like butter it melts away the fear of sleeping dormant .
One wrong box and I’d have been mistaken for a Tory.
Liberal with my words, eager to serve and love all my friends with creative pulses .
Tic tacs, I guzzle-colours textured in obscure.
I fight these escapism , inauthentic, paradise bomber impulses;
To get high with — to lose track of time.
I need a potion of artificial wired, chemistry alternatives.
Usually these act as a placebo.
Serve to knock off my crown of free willed determinism.
Courage lives in a mane,
a city near Massachusetts
Puritans might discover I’m Freud in a ghostly slip.
I’ll be hung ,
Hands lie limp by my side.
Bled feathers will tickle the crowd-
Show I bluffed my way into the inner circle of creatives who have a grasp of the
Forever chasing the dragon of stream of consciousness .
My thoughts fail me,
I’m beginning to think,
I’ve become presumptuous.
The kindness in others words — to allay my anxieties,
Overwhelms me .
I tie my own tubes.
I refuse to give birth to a dancer with stubs for toes, phalanges pimped out to strike a quivering echo-like , Margot Fontaine pose.
Inner fear corroborate with the sinner without a legitimate C.V.
The Lakers swan to the crowd
I’m a nutter.
I’d crack a prince just to see a picture of a colourful scene.
Mindful – in the lines.
It’s not important.
Just a visual spray of shamanic chakras to impregnate the rainbow-I foresee.
Leprechaun leave my latin beats to breathe.
Mouth the words of soft brie , camembert and wild boar.
Grant me a baguette — riddle away, and I’ll gather my thoughts to satisfy thee.
Goddess Luna grants a cycle to merge with my rites in fertility.
Thoughts exiled to Siberia-paid to be alone.
My government saves me.
I will put down-
Though I know I won’t gamble it all away.
I win back my losses
Trust me, I know there is always another day.
Write, write , write.
Each word is a middle finger at the writers academia establishment .
I don’t want to be even almost famous.
I don’t need a book with my name on it.
I blog merely to pour my inner most thoughts out — free up my world.
It’s about as poetic as I can get.
How about I insert the word fragrant?
I’m not academic.
My passion is not systemic .
Always in a position to sky dive.
Risks thought about
After I land in the hornets hive.
Stings heal .
It reminds me I feel.
I live by my words ‘cos I’m irksome and caustic within.
I was born walking into webs of contradiction
All I beg is for is a hint of credit
For expressing myself in this audacious fashion.
I’m not here to chat ’bout literary success.-
I’m already thinking about my post party dressed as myself-
the bodacious writer ,
Who is in fact a sycophantic heathen.
*INSPIRED BY A COMPLETE MELT DOWN IN MY ABILITY TO WRITE AND FINISH MY MASTERS*
*If you want to find out more a bout the inspiration for this piece and raise awareness against all forms of violence and abuse-Trigger pictures of me looking bruised -HEAD OVER HERE
If not read below.
It’s not Saturday and I’m feeling non conformist. I guess its kind of my way.
Haven’t done much this weekend — except nursing bruises, swellings, scrapes and down right painful blisters on the mouth.
The lows of last week found me beaten to a pulp like a survivor from a war jump.
Didn’t get no gangrene or scurvy-I suppose that’s better than dying on a row boat at Dunkirk – on sheets of ice.
Spinning around not a La Kylie Minogue mode.
I’m over the worst of the beating-
I “secretly” hope these two bastards gets their come( t)uppence.
It would be easier to get high and escape from the down side-
Look out my window and the skyline is blocked by housing estates.
Crumbling – it’s always a better view at low tide.
Three a.m. wake up calls for months-every time.
The creative freaks come out so, I suppose I’m in good company and I will be..
just fine. 😀
Physical strength is the only thing that let me down in this fight against the Alphas.
If guns were legal I think I would use the second amendment to plea —
Give at least one of the limp cocks a belter.
Only one would be laughing — this bruised weed — always making sure her brood is out of the firing line;
Standing in the shelter.
Ballroom blitz and shammy with my king.
Oh how we will dance!
— cowards should carry around organ donor cards.
On second thoughts, who would want the innings of someone who can’t fight to their own strength —
Run little boys to your Audi and drunk mommy-
The one you beat up on a regular basis.
You think this is a female annihilation version of the crusades?
I’m low not in mood but my body says — sit down and feel your boo boos
My head says life is for living.
I don’t want to walk out of my house,
like a beast or looking like a victim of domestic violence-
Here comes the freak in an endless hued complexion of distracting tutus
The highs are the times when I hear my child laugh, my husband he bathes me and kisses me tenderly,
loves my sense of spirit when I look bloody unsightly.
In truth I look hideously ghastly—
Green beans and asparagus — home made by La Bonne chef, ma Mere.
I struggle to eat more than ever, but I won’t let two stomped out cans put me off the future horizon I’ve cut out —
The scenic view from here is a — plethora of orgasmic sight sees.
Lows inevitably come with highs.
I’ve accepted a hand
taken that step off the top roof.
The next time I’m up their , I’m going by lift.
To dance and rub shoulders with people channeling the same level — hearing a sub woof.
Clearly better days ahead.
Wasted time on talking pin heads.
Its fine, its mine, Its life.
Yesterdays news is on current recycle mode.
This Mary Poppins has already started making UP fresh linen beds.
A break from the toxicity of incurable idiotism — helps me see far up the winding road.
Perspectives easily imagined —
There goes a heavenly striking stair case.
It may not lead to a conventional heaven .
I’ve already stated my unorthodox ways right at the beginning .
I missed the word that rhyme ending three sentences up,
So, I’ll close SOCs by stating:
I’m recharging my load.
I’ve missed LINDA G’S. SOCs -today’s prompt -High and lows
Good to be back – Take part its fun – heres a link!
Though lightness may fade.
Forget words wasted on ill gotten behaviours.
Stuck in a quagmire?
Want to send out the vigil of hope.
It’s in me.
Buried under a thousand haunting ghosts.
Make this a cheerful post.
What is disarmingly charming in this world?
Open my eyes,
Be interested in gazing outwards.
Look back at the words you have’ written.
Be inspired that you wrote them!
Don’t let snide comments sneakily sweep through the back door,
Prevent you from expressing your self.
Sometimes, words in simple dimples are all we need
Who are you writing for?
You have your unique style.
Don’t neglect that self respect cautiously peers out, perched atop , the rotting,
In the basement.
Confidence drips tears for the days when his best foot turned all heads.
Don’t worry .
When has it ever been so difficult for me to type and write and hit publish without a second glance?
Only when caught up in dusty webbed rags of self-doubt.
Shadows change according to light.
Don’t be intimated by what is a mere reflection.
Remember shadows can’t exist without a living body,
Take the power back.
Don’t hide from those who sigh — in disproportionate contortions of their own path .
Happy lights-faeries delight.
blissful smiles stippled on faces
There can be no ulterior motive.
Worry about your own if you are confused about life twists and mysterious genders.
Guilt sprouts up-GMO crops
Pesticides cause all matter to infold my mind
Crucify my time?
flowers give sentiment to humans lost in nocturnal spaces
Eye sight not evolved enough to adjust to a new fate.
Decisive in what I decide will make up my next jungle adventure.
Armed with words and a benign bravado.
I don’t back down to monsters of carpathian.
Audacity and gumption are my greatest weapons.
Shout me down,
I will test that phycology straight back at ya.
Threaten me or one of my own,
I will stand up and defend my home.
Bats of fear — circulating above.
Blood, don’t clot on me now!
This is my fight — yet I won’t battle it alone.
So much I want to put down.
Not in stream of consciousness
No more ashamed of how far down I free-fall into the squid ink mouth of the abyss.
I gripped onto natures own boulderous 😉 safety net.
I seek to retrace.
*Something I wrote in stream of consciousness and then decided to work on it a bit more*
* boulderous-made up word — combination of rocky and bold-
I’m no academic poet.
Talk to me about about syllables, haikus – to be honest, I can only hear the blood rushing to my head.
I started doing stream of consciousnesss posts in 2016. I’ve received positive feedback on here, and now I want to step up my game.
Just for fun, the social aspect and it’s a different way to express myself.
So, I did what I do best.
I went to the poetry workshop, everyone seemed to know what they were doing except me!
I went with my heart, my emotions and willingness to try out new approaches, in tackling poetry for live performance.
It was a cool workshop – delivered by a well established,British poet – Matt Abott –
check out his bio HERE
A collaboration with DREAM TIME COLLECTIVE.
We went through a series of activities with the idea to have some form of a draft by the end of the 2 hour workshop
The theme was political poetry.
Each participant chose a theme that they felt passionately about. I chose ‘Animal rights/cruelty. ‘
I got so much out of a two hour workshop that I’m going to share what I did.
Once we had chosen our theme/subject
we had to ask ourselves three questions
Who does it affect?
How does it affect me?
Why is it important to me or to the world?
A Couple of notes I made:
It affects animals, people, ocean, planet
I’m a lover of animals, I don’t believe that we need to eat meat, or wear clothes or makeup made up of animal derivatives. Because of my knowledge of what animals go through to become a consumer product. I feel it is unethical.
I have my own view of animals. I admire how they are able to evolve and adapt, in a way, that doesn’t have a negative impact on the planet .This shows me that humans could learn something from nature, instead of destroying our home.
2. What Matt stressed is: that if we want our poetry to make an impact writing it to perform , we need a motive, a call of action, an agenda.
Who am I delivering this message to?
What do I want to achieve?
Examples: Do I want to shock people, encourage people to look at solutions to the problem etc..
Imagine a room( keeping in mind what your subject is) and put 5 points/Images using ‘show and tell’ language to come with up with strong words.
tearing of flesh
frothing at the mouth
Place the victim/s in that room.
What are they doing ?
How do they feel?
I had two victims. I imagined a gorilla coming round from another bout of being sedated by electrocution. He was wearing garish make up – heavily made up blue eyes and bold, blood colour red lipstick.
My other victim was human – a female who happened to be dressed up in chicken outfit or as a bird. She had a morbid fascination finding herself in this surreal room with this clearly broken ,macabre gorilla.
Next we had place ourselves in that room -observing what was going on
Horror, what do I do? , retaliate or fight or freeze. I was frozen on the spot. Upon reflection, this is how most of society reacts to topics that make them uncomfortable. They become apathetic.
Next, we had to place the victim outside of that situation/ROOM . Different surroundings. Aware of what they have witnessed/ or know and how they react in a different setting.
I chose the female ,costume wearing bird human and put her in a cosmetic store. The emotions that came to me were conflicting – this victim of societies idea of attaining beauty is thinking ‘ ‘I have a choice’
The next stage was to put these ideas into the poetic form.
Make a poem.
Always keeping in mind what we want the audience or how we want the audience to react.
We were directed to to start to put together a poem of no more than 50 words, or certain amount syllables. The aim was to keep it short.
Keep it punchy.
I wrote about 100 words – possibly more.
Then we had to cut those words in half – 😦
I ended up with 46 words.
This is the end product .
Gaze in the mirror.
Blue sparkled hues
Do I look pretty enough for you?
Tearing of flesh.
Bleached in acid
Reflection never part
Do I look pretty enough for you?
The true freak in this show is
, indeed YOU.
Daisy Willows/ Natasha Bodley
Times up. Workshop over. Get back to real life 😀
Now, I have another to approach to poetry when I write.
Have a great weekend!
I’ve finally received my results for my 1st year, doing my Masters, in Creative writing.
PASS-with merit. I officially can use more random letters after my name — ha ha!
I am now in possession of a post graduate certificate in the Arts and Humanities!
How’s this going to help me with what I want do?
I have a dream.
I do. 😀
One of my goals is to move back to France. They love people with diplomas. I hope to get a well paid job there. I need to book a trip to The French embassy later on this year. My husband has decided he is going to take on my surname and become a French national. He’s English!
He’s not only English, he is Northern, from West Yorkshire.
I need to register my Bella Bee as a French national because even though she is more English than I am. Born here. English Dad and roots. The British government will not give her a British passport because I was ordered by her majesty’s court to register her Fathers name on her birth certificate and now they won’t give her one!
I feel so uneasy about my family not having a passport. My entire life, It was drummed into me to always have my passport (in date)in case, we moved countries.
Which we did- a lot!
Moving on . ( pun unintentionally intended :D)
What’s happening in my life?
Loads of shit- ha ha! as usual.
I’m doing better – I keep making a come back. Oh, life – you little tease!
Dare me to live.
Dare me to succeed!
Daisy’s mental health
Yeah, it’s been.
up and down,
up again ,
very up –
not quite sure
aargh why did that and that and that and ..
did I do that?
Those kind of moments, really.
Surely someone can relate?
Not happy about a medication increase in my anti depressant.
I don’t of any person who is on (high/ highest legal doses) of
Two anti psychotics
Two anti anxiety tablets,
and sleeping medication.
I know my health posse want the best for me.
I don’t bullshit them.
I tell if I’ve been using shit coping mechanisms, good ones. Thoughts ,feelings…
I made my psychiatrist laugh.
He offered me psychology therapy — again .
I was like:
‘Look Dr J, seriously every time I sign up to a pyschologist , they leave!’
All my psychologists have left me half way through doing whatever new pycho babble, current trend treatment , is used, to deal with folk such as myself.
One dude, fell asleep in a couple of our sessions.
So, I was like
‘ Listen, I know how to use CBT/DBT, I know how to communicate and talk. I know what keeps me well . I just want a cure’
Another laugh escapes from Dr J.
He is a legend.
A legend ? yes, but not a wizard 😦
He totally gets me and I feel I have a choice in medication changes etc..
I’ve asked to come off one of my meds because I don’t see the point of being on it. It hasn’t helped me.
These meds have affected my memory. I’m terrified of getting Dementia. I’ve been on (legal) tablets since I was 13/14 and I’ve never been off medication.
Talking about memory.
I’m using my creative outlets to start getting into the open mic poetry scene .
I love performing but my memory is really rubbish. I’m going to brave it by doing more live poetry next week. I’m excited. Nervous. It’s all good.
I have my final year of my MA to keep me — super occupied. There is a lot of work to do. For part of my thesis ( check me out)
I’m thinking of using my blog to interview creative folk who live in my community to talk about, their work, (durr!) Creativity and their mental health. My photographer mate is on board to take pictures. Some people have shown interest — yeah!
My heads occupied which is good.
How will doing this help me with my thesis and final work?
Well, I am going to use this year of discovery and research on the link between mental health and creativity as an alternative form of therapy to cope with life’s unpredictable moments.
Then I will have loads of inspiration to write a film script (120 minutes) on a character ,who , is thrown back into society after a long stint in mental /prison institutions , and who is looking to find him/herself and another way of being and expressing him/herself positively, in society.
The opening scene will kind of look like this
I have an ending – (a bit abstract at the moment) – saying there words:
‘I look around for the first time with clarity. And see I’m exactly where I need to be. Around the misfits. The beautiful misfits just like me.’
DAISY’S UN NAMED CHARACTER
It’s all early days and I still have 4 scripts to write, a critique and a character analysis on a famous playwright to do before the final chapter.
All in all. I’m alive, optimistic-ish, full of emotion, drive, passion , a pain in the ass but just doing my thing.
All terribly boring really… 😀
So, I am back!
I can’t commit daily to blogging but I have joined a group on Facebook.
Shout out to Gary @ fiction is food for adding me.
It’s a website for us!
I’m a newbie, its good be around other bloggers again. I’m hoping it will keep me off Facebook and keep me connecting with people like yourself. People who use their time more productively. Doh, oh the irony.
One rant before I go : I wish people would stop leaving public posts about my appearance on my Facebook.
If you ever happen to read this
I know you are having a shit time dealing with your own weight issues. I’m well aware of mine. Please take a look at yourself. Look after yourself first. If you don’t – FUCK OFF!
That is a wrap. I know. Hilarious! ha ha!
Thank you so much for reading
Time to step out and live real life..
Catch up soon!
What’s everyone else doing with life? Blogging?
I’m genuinely curious to know.