Oh Kismet, your poison cup stains my heart
Our memory taints my soul.
your scent deep in my lungs,
such beauty seared in each blink.
I ache for nights when I looked at the stars
and did not see your name
when the breeze did not moan our tortured song.
Oh Kismet you’re a tsunami swept ocean
yet you deny my destruction
I must settle for second best
a mere ripple on a mirrored lake.
Forever I wander without purpose
to search for warmth from another galaxy’s sun
and drown in day-breaks eternal ember.
Picture by JP Valderrama.
I’ve been a bit lapse at writing a blog item for a few weeks now. The weather here has been phenomenal, and yes I am even talking about the oppressive humidity. Oppression and all things dark seem to fine fodder for writers and poets. You only have to scroll through Facebook to find quotes and poems about loss, darkness, depression and heartbreak. Me? I’m using the time to look at my website more objectively, tidy up some poems and short stories and pen some new work. The humidity if nothing else means when I can’t sleep I write. So watch out for more work on here.
Brightest blessings, Lillith.
2017 has ended – at least for the “working aspect” of my life. Today is the last day I am in the office until the New Year.
It is not easy being a full-time employed working writer; and as I clean my desk for the final time this year I have discovered in my office desk (third draw down) a host of writing prompts, attempted poetry and thoughts. Mainly documented on phone messages, meeting agendas and budget documents. Hopefully I will be able to use these over the holiday break to put into something more concrete – and understandable.
I have learnt one hell of a lot this year. Taking two creative writing papers has ignited the passion I have in writing and I have two E-Zines that will be ready for publishing in January. Short Stories that I hope you will enjoy. I have already signed up for another paper but in something completely different that I hope will colour my work in a different direction.
I envy those who have the fortitude and faith to write full-time. I believe that you need to be disciplined; something my personality is not cut out for. (Note: this also goes with dieting and exercise) I write when an idea comes into my head, or when, as Michael Chabon in his book The Wonder Boys puts it, the midnight disease keeps me from doing anything else. I need the door open to the outside regardless of the weather and I now cruise Spotify daily for host of instrumental writing inspiration playlists. I love the feel of actually writing pen on paper before editing it into the pixelated form you get to enjoy. I try to write neatly, double spaced for the first red pen edits. I will have black coffee rapidly cooling, or tea during the day. A spirit (tequila, whiskey, bourbon) on ice at night.
For now, blessed with the early December summer I am going to finish my Christmas shopping, set up the sun umbrella, my large outside lounge chair, the ice bucket, a superb bottle of Marlborough sauvignon blanc and a relax with a couple of books. Then when it feels right I will open up my new writing journal, check the ink in my worn Parker and sort through these office prompts.
The scent of you on your pillowcase has gone
I am loath to wash it
just in case like you
it might return.
This place has too many memories.
I am trying to scrape them together
scrapbook them into some sort of tag eared worn diary
My mind will not still
will not focus
and will not remember
just the good times.
The tracing of your fingertips on my face
soft words of love spoken in passionate moments of bliss.
All I remember is the front door was in desperate need of a paint
and I only noticed as you left.
Sunrises are remarkable things.
Even if you are not religious or spiritual, being present when the day is born is amazing. There is a sense of peace, the colours are spectacular and for one small moment in time the world seems an okay place. Thankfully the sunrise shown above was tropical and warm and hit me in the stomach the way a harsh bourbon burns an ulcer.
Similarly a sunset sliding slowly into an ice-chilled cocktail is the penultimate way to end your day on a tropical island. The sun leaves blood smeared fingerprints over the azul-baked sky that turn deep crimson then purple and are edited by stars as the night breathes in.
I’m working on a series of new poems for another Zine. It will be based on kindness.
The concept started when I met a very interesting (and somewhat handsome) young man who was giving away, for a small donation, a copy of a meditation book at the University. The conversation went something like
“Wow, pretty lady you look like a hippy from the 60’s”.
Now I have to interject and say that there was definitely two ways I could have taken this. One: Offended to the max, after all I am reaching a significant birthday this month and there are days when I feel much older than I am. Or, two: I could take it the way it was meant – I was wearing a bright peacock colored caftan top and distressed jeans and just had the roots of my hair dyed violet, it was a beautiful day and I was loving life!! So I replied…
“Hey there you, isn’t it a gorgeous day!”
We spoke for a while, mainly on why he was where he was and handing out the books, what spirituality meant to him, the pros and cons of DMT meditation, the state of the world etc, etc. I could have stayed and spoken to him for hours.
Because unlike many young people I meet these days he maintained eye contact, was respectful and most of all kind.
Since then I have come across a lot of posts on the book of faces, Instagram and Twitter the concept of kindness. I guess with all of the tragedy in the world at the moment we all need to take a step out of our own comfort zone and extend some kindness, warmth and love to our fellow travelers on this revolving orb we call home.
Look out for my Zine – I’ll let you know when its out!
What makes you write? What influences your words? Full-time or Part-time? Do you have a muse? I must ask these questions of writers many times a week and there does not seem to be a standard reply.
Mostly inspiration comes from external sources; a sunrise, a kiss, an argument with your lover. Occasionally it comes from sunrises/sunsets, night skies and peaceful vistas. Many of the works that inspire me, arise from another author’s personal demons, trysts or betrayals. I am trying to find my own niche, something I can write about with fresh eyes, hope and dreams.
I guess the adage is true – If you want to know a writer read between the words and lines.
Recently I completed a paper at my local university. Nothing demanding, although you were required to hand in assignments each week, and a final portfolio of poetry, prose and short stories. I used the time to relearn some of the basics of writing poetry and short stories, and experimented with non-conventional writing styles. I found it very inspirational. It also got me out of my normal routine to meet some incredibly talented students which initially was very daunting. But I am pleased to say that I held my own and have even participated in a few public readings of my poetry.
I am no “Sir Elton John” where, when in the groove, he can pen a perfect piece in a matter of minutes (I admire his creativity immensely). I edit, re-write and edit many times before I publish. There are a number of unfinished pieces that I am still to find the right words for, normally there is a series of “XXX’s” just waiting for the word to drop in, like the piece I was so angry writing that I will need to tap into that anger to finish.
Right now I want to pen more pieces that spread kindness, compassion and hope, perhaps to balance the negativity anger and loss of direction that is felt worldwide.
Off to a meditation session in the hope that it will marinate some inspiration.
IF you think writing poetry is daunting you should try writing a blog. I’m on my fourth cup of procrastination complete with my doodle book and I still can’t decide how to start this. I have a great quote from one of my favourite writers Jason Kynge on my wall telling me to try “…, something vaguely inspirational and short”.
THE problem is I have never been good at the short thing. Inspirational comes and goes, hence the reason I put pen to paper (or fingers to keys) and try to make sense of what spills out of this chaotic and sometimes dark brain. But short? Hmm I guess that is what editing is for.
SO why the website? Because I am seriously delusional if I think that my work will be picked up by some world renowned publishing house and win a Pulitzer or Man Booker Prize. It aint going to happen no matter how shiny and enticing that glimmer of hope might be – I am a realist, a creative realist.
WHAT I have found is that writing is relatively easy compared to the endless hours you spend marketing and promoting. I still work full-time, but writing is less of a hobby now and more something that I do because it feels natural.
I write whenever I can. About everything. Eventually it will all go into some sort of published work(s), for now it is being submitted for poetry prizes and through FaceBook, Twitter and Instagram so feel free to follow me on these portals if you have the time.
Thanks for popping by and I hope you will be back.
Postnote: Look it was short! The next post might be “Inspirational??”