Sit. Be. Breathe. What if you were the world and the sun was the body and this whirling circling endless dance was keeping you entrapped? Stay. Rise. Set. What if you hello’d every morning and goodnight’d every evening to an expressionless moon whose eyes never wept? Quiet. Silence. Vibrations. What if I don’t want to try harder and I don’t want to move faster and I don’t want to forget what I feel is what…
Along an unkempt path, I wandered, passing crippled bushes arched in obedience to harsh winds, like lepers longing for a warming touch, a sun that seldom visits. Echoes of slate dwellings; long abandoned for the lust of progress, jigsaw the land with unsteady plates and hints of heather race the sea air in search of recognition. I was a stranger, trespassing In a wild place ravaged by spirited beasts that buffet and slash in relentless…
As an inquisitive child, I created magic with brush strokes soaked with colour, weaved tapestries of binding lines, shape and texture. I locked life’s essence into paper mirrors, etched through a lens. I sculpted beasts and curious castles that came alive in an unlimited mind. Child’s play was my gift from the gods; an endless ocean of possibility that I was cleansed in. Anointed their instrument, I made music with splats and scratches, fingers and…
She beams at me with that look in her eyes. The ball cuts through the air, her gaze shifts to the sky. I was never fond of Summer, but one look at that sweet face, Tells me all I need to know about this realm in it’s true state. A foot in the future, my eyes on the past. My head in the clouds, my nose with the grass. She bounds up to me, and…
In my all girls catholic school, we were neat, we were quiet, we were pretty. We moved soundlessly through halls, fingers pressed to lips. We spoke when spoken to, and sang of a Friday- the elderly prayed for our purity, I prayed for a decent Irish test. We played violins (as tightly strung as we would become) But it never sounded right. Now, I am barely a woman, I am struggling to find my voice.…
If god is real, He is not my biggest fan. The feeling is mutual. -Jenny Thompson