Poetry Archive :: Grace

The haiku, on the other hand, goes from strength to strength. It’s the fact there’s structure that makes this much easier to write. My ASD brain thrives within structure.

I gotta fix that and see if there is the means to allow chaos to thrive more…


Grace

Calm, unruffled shift
compose yourself: commencing
graceful attitude.

Ignore fanciful
focus instead: rotating
facets reflecting.

Develop passion,
enquiring: development
mind’s enlightenment.

From depths of belief
soul’s true calling: reasoning,
remake this life, whole.

Emerging, reborn
eloquence: serenity
perfect conclusion.


Blue Sky Thinking :: Doubt

[INT; Alt’s Brain. Things have definitely improved since our last visit. Papers have been filed, cabinets are slowly being refilled. The skeleton staff of GUILT and REMORSE are beginning to make some inroads, revealing lavender walls and a dark blue carpet. GOOD and EVIL have their own separate desks, on which are piled roughly even stacks of folders, behind which is a whiteboard with a series of To Do Tasks marked in red and black.

GOOD returns from the coffee machine with two mugs, placing one on her desk before taking the other to BAD, when she stops, face creasing in confusion… ]

GOOD: How many sugars did you say again?

BAD: I’m going to write this on a Post It and staple it to your jacket. Every day is the same: I say two, you repeat it after me, then off you go and forget!

GOOD: I *think* there’s two in there, but the best way is for you to drink it and let me know –

BAD: It’s BLACK COFFEE woman, I can’t drink that now, it’s far too hot!

[DOUBT suddenly materialises between them, dressed only in underpants and a reindeer headband.]

DOUBT: There’s no sugar, you were distracted by Beauty at the water-cooler again, YOU FAIL!

[As quickly as he appeared, DOUBT is gone, leaving the faint whiff of Stilton in his wake. With a heavy sigh, GOOD trudges back to the machine. BAD watches her with a satisfied smile. These shortcomings were always her undoing…]


I tried yesterday to explain what is like when I experience a mental overload. Then it occurred to me that poetry might be quite useful as a descriptor in this situation. This poem’s existed on the hard drive for a while, but never with a confidence to use as explanation. The time has come.

This is my brain, folks. It’ll be here all week.


Doubt

Disparate threads, basic command
thwarted, abortive path untied
slack flax unwoven, memories
playback fast freeze instruction,
coil induction feedback loop
return track, switch back, look out
reload to starting point.

Every action, reproduction
remember how, order direction
exhaustion, normal purpose
fatigue makes it worse, rehearse
varied needs, cover all, enthral
then overload, as brain explodes.
Noise, sound, panic compounds.

Sit, breathe, withdraw, ignore
wait, noise abates with time
blissful calm, relief morphs doubt
I’ll never find my way back out.
To dream, one day, far away
dissonance dim history.
Then sleep, escape myself.


Poetry Archive :: Mellow

Writing haiku has never really presented a problem, but this restart will give an opportunity to try and be a bit more creative with my imagery. Life, after all, should always be about improvement…


Mellow

Exhale, entwining
bramble’s thorn: protection sharp
relief, juice running.

Seeds burst, explosion
air filled arousal; inhale
winter’s cool foreplay.

Stretching days contract,
hour sacrificed: dark gods
conjure fresh secrets.

Bare arms warm wool-wrapped,
chill morning glass: pumpkin spice
flavours memories.

Summer hanging on
fingertips, slipping: fallen
leaves mark, transition.


EX/WHI :: Part Thirteen

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Chris is awake, bolt upright from cold, wet grass, looking around in terror, pretty sure that he was dead about thirty seconds earlier.
This will be the second time his heart has stopped whilst in active service: considering where the last one took place, it is considerably less stressful to be alive here trapped in an alien simulation. He looks for Ami: she’s standing, staring at him with a mix of relief and trepidation before moving his side, checking pulse, as body is gently pushed back to fully horizontal.

This time, there is no objection to her actions: on reflection, lying down’s no bad idea.

‘Because I am a stickler for protocol I’m gonna ask you some questions to check for brain damage. Name and Social Security number, please.’

‘I believe I still am Mark Donald Chambers, 075-26-1431 and I was dead, right?’

‘Very much so and I know as a result your heart’s gonna want some time to recover quite apart from whatever else was rearranged in your body. What’s today’s date?’

‘Friday, June 15th 2018 and you need to explain what just happened.’

‘I will but not yet, not until I’m sure we’re not being eavesdropped on.’

‘You know we are now?’

The nod is almost imperceptible: back at the pillar, his partner wasn’t losing the plot, something happened she couldn’t explain. If he hadn’t reacted so strongly to that touch –

‘No more questions, try and relax.’

‘Aren’t you gonna ask me who’s the joke for a President is right now?’

‘At least you don’t have Brexit to worry about. Be grateful for small mercies.’

A backpack is somehow behind his head and Ami’s fatigue jacket across aching chest as suddenly, Chris is shivering uncontrollably: shock. Almost instantaneously air agitates, now familiar movement as reaction to his condition: a low camp bed materialises to their left, something he’d use in combat training along with blankets and a stainless steel canteen. About to try to get up, a sensation of weightlessness negates any effort and he’s literally floating off the ground, moved from concrete to canvas without ceremony. The blankets float up, down to cover his form, jacket gently placed back into Ami’s lap.

Chambers won’t say another word until prompted: Bishop knows they’re being watched, possesses a ton of intel it’s currently impossible to communicate and he is best serving them both lying here, being a good patient. None of this phases any more, their hosts owning total dominance not only of life and death but the laws of physics, yet Chris just wants to sleep for a week. The thought is acknowledged within subconscious by someone out of his field of vision, and this is no longer psychic sensations. Whoever it was who communicated with Ami in her head before he died also understands the need for immediate recovery.

‘I will provide induced unconsciousness to allow cellular regeneration to complete. When you wake, there will be opportunity to communicate with your partner unhindered.’

Chambers is satisfied because they are being referred to as partners and not subjects there is no danger, right before losing consciousness for the third time that day.


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Blue Sky Thinking :: Guilt

[INT; Alt’s Brain. This place resembles a badly-organised office, with filing cabinets open, paperwork strewn across soft, padded desks, chairs and work-surfaces. In the middle stand GOOD and EVIL, both dressed in matching white and red suits respectively, staring at the mess, before turning to look at each other…]

GOOD: Okay, so we’re in agreement: cessation of hostilities until this place is returned to some form of functional order, yes?

BAD: Agreed, and it might be an idea to locate the staff. After all, it’s only been a month away and her brain resembles an explosion in the Amazon ‘Back to School’ section…

[A pile of papers next to a filing cabinet shifts and falls, revealing a woman fast asleep. She’s dressed all in black, with a cloth mask wrapped around the lower half of her face.]

GOOD: Well, there’s someone, what is she supposed to be doing?

[BAD pulls out a small tablet PC from his pocket and hands it to GOOD, who scrolls through a document. Her face crinkles, then enlightenment is located.]

GOOD: That’s Guilt.

BAD: Bet they’re not the only one sleeping on the job. I’ll handle the rude awakening, you see if you can locate Organisation in this mess and we might have a fighting chance of getting somewhere…


It is said that guilt is a strong motivator. I prefer my life not to be ruled by such toxic emotions, but eventually there is always a reckoning. When yours arrives, make sure you’re ready to deal with the fallout. No emotion, just facts and truths are enough.

Always know your exits.


Guilt

If there were memory
these accusations thrown,
hate, recriminations
annoyances unknown:
something more than disquiet
undoubted disbelief
at least complicity
not seeking your relief.

Your histories held close
forgotten in my time
both grief and anger burn
your torture not sublime.
Removal of our past
choice, history rewrites
compassion isn’t lacked
our countless nasty fights.

Happy to play villain
easier coat to wear
feel free, feign ignorance
that part of you not there.
These toxic memories
have always been the case
renounce harsh hate for love:
put feelings in their place.

If this means loneliness
an ostracism made
decision instant, right,
my cards already played.
Your guilt will not redress
through other’s words and deeds
leave now, and close that door
only your heart that bleeds.


Tomorrow

Oh look, it’s September: how time flies when you’re working non stop instead of actually being on Holiday… there were some breaks for enjoyment, and the last week has been the most relaxation managed all month, if truth be told. However, it is BACK TO WERK tomorrow with an early start and ALL THE POETRY to return to what is still technically Summer until the 23rd. What can you expect? Let’s break it down:

MONDAY:

Blue Sky Thinking.png

Poetry now also happens every Monday because a) I need the practice and b) this site deserves more original content. The best ones may (where rules allow) be used for contests, but I won’t tell you if or when that happens. This is important, repetitive exercise just like those push ups and lizards at the Gym. Do them often enough, and you get good.

TUESDAY:

Pictures at an Exhibition

Also, photography needs some thought and effort. Those holiday photos require uploading to Flickr before some of them get recycled as personal blog headers. As a result, there should be a post a week about pictures because it’s the effort required to start taking more care of what gets seen, plus the impetus to push me out to other places as inspiration. The World is what I make it, after all…

WEDNESDAY:

Write Now

To round off the triumvirate of new features: Wednesday is the day we’ll talk about writing generally. Whatever takes my fancy will be fair game. It’s the reminder that I take Thursdays off to do just this, and there needs to be more thought about process and WHY stuff happens than is actually the case. There also ought to be some effort to try and plough through my backlog of books…

THURSDAY THE MAGIC HAPPENS so no blogging, okay?

overthemoon

FRIDAY:

ExWhy_small

We are currently two weeks behind on episodic fiction (I tried, it wouldn’t happen but last night the breakthrough came) so we’ll soon be back on track. The backlog will be posted as we head though this week and I’ll also be updating this ‘logo’ at some point to something far better, so watch out for us getting back on track. It’s a salutatory reminder of why routine really matters, and why holidays are clearly counter-productive…

THE WEEKEND:

Poetry from Twitter gets reposted. I’m slowly working through the old stuff, re-editing where needed, improving where required. It’s a constant work in process, literary equivalent of painting my own personal Forth Road Bridge, with all the Iain Banks significance that drags with it. It is now more reassurance than chore, and the means by which sanity stays front and centre. There’s also some REALLY good work in there.



The more I think about it, the more confident I become that this IS good work.

If you don’t believe me, come start reading the Blog regularly and make the decision for yourself.

EX/WHI :: Part Eleven

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Here is a place where Chambers can be in his element.

It’s taken a while for brain and body to co-ordinate successfully, but this is good, up front and nominally in charge. This is the place in normal life where everything is most comfortable and confident too, even if there are moments when brain screams otherwise. What’s noticeably different from previous missions is a tacit belief that if he can’t cope or there’s a struggle, his partner’s beyond reproach.

Ami’s demonstrating an almost psychic ability to cover his shortfall, implicit belief that’s what will keep happening. However, they’re in undiscovered territory, and both have shown signs of mental stress. He needs to be ready to cover her at a moment’s notice, and instead of the responsibility rankling it’s all part of the excitement. If she falls, he’ll pick the woman up without a word, because that’s the job trained for right from the start.

Chris is fairly confident that had they’d met earlier, he’d not want to throw in the towel.

That resignation letter would have made it to the Deputy Director’s Inbox this morning.  Superiors had forced an increasingly unsuitable selection of partners into his orbit, which only served to strengthen a desire to work alone, when all that was really needed was someone who understood what he was and allowed that to happen.

It is as if he’s known this woman all his life, mostly as a result of their shared interests meshing: this could have been so much more than just a job. He might have begun to enjoy himself…

‘Okay, this is new.’

They’ve turned the corner, into the street where Hotel should be, but instead there’s a large, white space: this is a simulation, another inescapable reminder. In the centre of the whiteness is what looks like a giant Roman column, except it’s floating several inches off the ground. Ami’s at his shoulder, making no move to approach, and so Chris waits for reaction.

‘So, what do we think this might be?’

‘I was kinda hoping you’d provide me with the answer, ‘cause I’ve got nothing.’

‘I can’t be expected to do all the thinking here, that’s not exactly fair. However, I’ll provide a theory, and you can decide to agree or argue. Sound like a plan?’

‘Yup, this works, away you go.’

‘This is the point where you were abducted -’

‘Can we find a better word for it otherwise this is cheesy Sci Fi and I don’t buy that.’

‘Okay, this is the point where you entered the simulation, so maybe they can’t reproduce it because that point needs to remain tied to the reality that is the actual Hotel -’

‘You don’t have a clue, do you?’

Ami’s hands go to her face, a second before he realises she’s crying. The temptation again would be to offer physical reassurance but that’s not what the woman needs, so he comes to stand in front of her instead.

‘I do know know what’s going on… I just… please, whatever you do, don’t step back.’


 

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