Posted in stream of consciousness

Bitter Pills

Yet another Sunday, it’s the end of March. What the hell?

Prompt- Swallow

Music: Wooden Shjips – Back To Land

Swallow your pride, it’s a bitter pill but it’s better this way.
Say the things you know will sting, slaps against the grain.
Anything to make you walk away.
Swallow arsenic words, poisonous to all around us.
Implode.
Anything to protect you from the mess I’ve become.
He was right you know,
Selfishness choked me on the way down
And I never deserved you.
Spin me into sweet melodies,
They slide down easier than reality.
Anything to hide the truth of what we’ve done.
Once I tried to take a handful of bitter pills
To forget your name, forget your face,
Forget the way I had you stamped in that place.
I fell down, busted my brain instead.
Now my thoughts leak and blend fact with fiction,
I can’t tell anymore what was real and what was just part of the mission.
All because we tried to swallow little bitter pills,
Is it better this way?
I hear they have a pill to answer
To straighten out our brains.
I don’t know, what do you think?
Maybe seeing stars isn’t a bad thing
If the answer is swallowing our pride
And staying side by side.


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Posted in stream of consciousness

Patience Is a Virtue Dear

Sunday, every week ….

Prompt: Patience

Music: I couldn’t settle on one thing today so I picked a playlist on Spotify called Brain Food, it says it’s hypnotic electronic.

Patience

I’m drowning beneath the fluctuating, undulating, slowly rolling
Crushing weight of this water.

It holds me hostage, tied down by sunlight streaming, reflecting, breaking
Against the seams of who I am.

It strangles me with icy grips, threatening to rip me apart;
Pieces of paper against the downpour, soaked and floating.

Be patient is what they say, what’s meant to be …
May never have been meant for me.

But my mom taught me well,
Patience is a virtue, that’s the story they tell.

So sit with your drowning, collapsing fears.
Hold tight to your scrambling, screaming soul.

After all, patience is a virtue dear
And rescue is never near.

We grasp the daydreams
So that we become the reality.

What’s meant to be speeds overhead
Never realizing, missing, the last bubbling stand.

Sit tight with that patience there.
Help, well help is over there.

Not watching for your drowning hand,
Or your fleeting splashes.

Everything that’s meant to be
Is tied by seaweed,

Held strong to the collapsing floor;
The thin barrier between always there and nothing more.

10 minutes done.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Mnemonic Rhymes With Demonic

It’s Sunday again, stream of consciousness … free flow … there’s got to be a better title out there for this.

Prompt – Mnemonic (ok, wordpress. Ok.)

Music – God Is An Astronaut – The End of the Beginning

Mnemonic rhymes with demonic.

In school we went though a period where our teacher would have us memorize things and recite them in front of the class.

The preamble to the constitution.

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe

The Road Not Taken …

Everyone always rolled their eyes and groaned about it but I loved it.

For someone who has a bad memory I was really good at memorizing that stuff.

I didn’t use a mnemonic device so to speak.

Rather I memorized the piece in chunks instead of individual words.

In psychology it’s pretty well known that the human mind can only work with so much information at a time.

To maximize what you can remember you can memorize things in blocks

That’s what I did with poetry.

I would give the poems a rhythm as I read them

Then memorize them in chunks, blocks of words set to that rhythm.

It’s how I write now too,

With a rhythm in my head although I know that doesn’t necessarily translate.

I always found it easier to remember things when I set them to music.

On the off chance that I actually studied for something I had to have music playing

That way I could put the information to the music and words in the background.

When I needed to remember them all I had to do was remember the song that had been playing.

Much easier than trying to remember the periodic table alone.

Ironically when I went through a period of not listening to music I have a lot I don’t remember.

I was also drunk a lot.

Mental manipulation.

Mnemonic rhymes with demonic.

My sense of humor probably is not translating just like my poetry rhythms don’t.

I can’t really remember using mnemonic devices otherwise,

Although I know I was taught a couple.

There’s one about your hands and the days in a month

And ….

Yeah.

That’s all I got on those.

10 minutes up (good timing).


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Posted in stream of consciousness

Here We Are

Stream of thought writing, I guess this is going to be a weekly thing now –

Prompt – Inkling

Music – Steve Reich – Works 1965-1995

Inkling.

It starts with a drop, a spot of ink infecting, spreading in the water.

It was all so clear

Until

You loosed the ink composed of your fear.

Now it’s here, spreading, floating, clouding

A situation we thought was through.

Tied up and tossed aside

Like a neatly composed pile of trash.

But here we are

Lost in each others eyes.

At least I am.

I have a feeling

You are too but we can’t, can we?

Inklings aren’t enough

They don’t spread through the veins,

Becoming all we are.

Do they?

Be still, they say, let it be.

Let it disperse, the way ink should

Eventually the floods will carry it away.

Except I’ve been waiting

And it’s still here

Floating and spreading

Infecting all we’re becoming.

But of course

They say

There was never another way.

The inkling was always there

Just hidden away by fear.

You’re not scared

And I’m no longer afraid …

So what is this inkling that remains?

Time inches by

Sand through the hole we’ll never hold again.

Spread by the wind like the ink in water.

How many seconds has it been?

How long until this dam breaks

And our infested waters overflow

Carrying away everything we know,

Our fears?

Our belief?

Time’s up.


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