Reblog – Your Disapproved Skin – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Another post that has HIT HOME. I believe this piece will grip you as it did me. I applaud Paul for writing these truths as well as he did.

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Warning: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples need to know there is an image that displays deceased people.

“Australia Day” January 26 marks the anniversary of the arrival of the first fleet at Port Jackson in 1788. For most indigenous people this is known as invasion day. Their treatment to this day has been brutal and in the least one of denial and rejection. It is a hard history to read and on the part of the colonial architects, even to this day, a very shameful history. I am one of many Australians who would rather move the celebration to a new date in conjunction with a dialogue with indigenous peoples as to how to achieve that. But then I believe that nationalism and patriotism are poisonous, as history and our nightly news shows, so maybe no day is needed.

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Photo: Australian National University: Aboriginal men in chains in the…

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Reblog – Refashioned

This short piece packed a lot of power in it! I absolutely loved the strength it embodied. This definitely HIT HOME for me. 🙂

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By faithhealthandmusings

I’ve ended my life
many times,
only to come back
a little fiercer
and harder to kill
than the time
before.

            
I write “because it pours forth with or without my authority.” – the writer

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Reblog – Lingua by Candice Daquin

Hope you enjoy this piece by my friend Candice Daquin. I adore her! Her words are magnificent and her emotions exquisite! I fell in love with her writing about mid-2018, and have been following her ever since. She writes what’s in her heart every time.

TheFeatheredSleep

If you saw everything in retrospect

What language would you hear?

Climbing through cumulus clouds

The color of death valley

Sand strewn prayers

Over scraped knees and heavy cello bow

You slapped me backhanded

I watched myself

Fall like water

Wet against the sound

It excited you to see

Blood on my lips

The outline of violence

Lacing time and roses with secrets

You look out at a stark dull day

Feel glad you have the assurance of what stands rigid behind closed doors

We wear bright smiles at parties

The golden couple, they admire our rehearsal

Like pedigree animals who mask their bad nature

I’d bite your hand

And he’d fill your throat with glass

The lowered sun casting a haze over

Our magnification

Teaching darkness to obscure the simmering

Hand pinching my thighs open, striking

Quiet match of fire beneath

I hold onto your dismissal

Like butterflies

Slipping…

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Reblog – LOVE’S FIRE

Blind Wilderness’ “Love’s Fire” captures the excitement, and also the compassion and tenderness of the emotion we all long for. Beautiful!

Longing
For that safety
That holds like a blanket
Warmth seeping into your cold bones
Chills quelled
Love’s fire
Burning into the heart of you
Bringing you back to life
You breathe again
And live

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Reblog – Open Heart by Phoebe Munson

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Phoebe (PMU) is a wonderful artist/doodler who caught my eye back in late 2017 when I first became a part of the WP community. I always look forward to seeing the new creations she publishes on her blog – The Daily Doodle

This artwork struck me as being so warm and inviting reinforcing the message of the words. I hope you enjoy as much as I did!

A Suitcase by Randal A. Burd, Jr. via Vita Brevis

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Empty House – L.S. Lowry

A suitcase lies among the many things
Abandoned when the owner left for good.
Exposed to elements, old mildew clings
To fabric torn and peeling from the wood.
The dusty handle still emits a shine
In places that endured the frequent grasp
Of hands too hurried by the railroad line
To put on gloves or lock the metal clasp.
What irony! A suitcase left behind
Speaks more about the trip it never made,
Found useless for the task it was designed
When owner passed from substance into shade.
The things that matter now won’t matter then.
The cycle ends only to start again.


About the Poet

Randal A. Burd, Jr. is an educator who works with the disadvantaged in rural Missouri. He holds a master’s degree in English Curriculum & Instruction from the University of Missouri. Randal is currently the Editor-in-Chief of Sparks of Calliope magazine. His latest collection of poems, Memoirs of a Witness Tree, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books in Summer 2020.

It was wonderful to read each line and feel the elements present themselves in my mind. Randal did a great job of making me feel the loneliness and emptiness of the scene. All I could think of was “poor suitcase” as if it were feeling pain. Bravo!

Published on Vita Brevis 1/6/2020 

Reblog – Faceless by Natalie Swift

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John Noonan – Unsplash

Unfortunately, the blog no longer exists. I didn’t get to know Natalie well, but she was one of my favorite reads. I realize that nothing stays the same and for whatever reason, she doesn’t write anymore. It just makes me sad when blogs sometimes just fade away. I hope Natalie sees this post and knows her words touched me. This piece reminded me so much of my thoughts and feelings during the terrible teens and tumultuous 20s. They sure did leave some scars. This was originally published on August 4, 2018.

Faceless

It all started as a game.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been a people-watcher.

As a child, I would watch people for hours before even attempting to talk to them.

I’d scrutinize how you spoke. What you wore. When you laughed. What you liked. Whom you talked to.

I would watch and watch, try to figure out who you were. What you wanted.

And once I put together the pieces of your identity, I would form my own, making sure they clicked.

It was like a puzzle that only I could finish and it amused me to have that sort of power over you: to control exactly what you see.

But under all of that, I’d ensured that I was that girl:

The girl you want to speak to.

The girl you share all your secrets with.

The girl you like.


I flit from one person to the next, as graceful as a butterfly.

Always smiling. Always pleasing.

You come to me when you don’t have anyone else, and it’s my shoulder you cry on, it’s into my ears you whisper your darkest secrets.

I soothe. I comfort. I encourage. I motivate. I charm.

And when I’m finally alone, I laugh.

I laugh at the world, at how gullible you are, to think you know me, to trust me the way you do.

I laugh till I cry and then I cry till I can’t breathe.

The tears never end, it seems, they flow and flow relentlessly, leeching me of everything.

The real joke was on me, all along.

And I’d never realized.


I look in the mirror and don’t recognize the shadow that looks back into my eyes.

I don’t ‘like’ her.

I despise her.

I see myself wrapping my hands around her throat and squeezing until the light slowly fades from her eyes.

And then, I realize the girl is me.

The irony: I’d gained the affection of everyone else, only to realize that I couldn’t win me over too.

Alone, I’m a coward. I’m despicable. Spineless. A doormat. A hypocrite.

I morph myself to suit the people around me. My very identity is built on everyone else’s desires.

I’m no one without someone to please. Nothing without a task to complete.

And there is nothing left of ‘me’ now, of the person I could have been.

Before. Before all the masks.


When I look back, all I see is crushed dreams, and when I look forward, I see an eternity of nothingness.

But it’s what I see when I look within that truly scares me.

Underneath all my masks, I am faceless.

Reblog – Loneliness and me

I hope you enjoy this piece as much as I did. It was achingly human.

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Loneliness and me.

  

 

I found myself dwelling in the past
looking for the remains of the old me
wondering, how I used to feel.

What I found was

The love in my blood had drained
The trust I had in people had died
And the loneliness had embraced me
Since the night I stayed awake and cried.

Should I fear it, I questioned
What makes me a human, I don’t feel it anymore
Its been a while since I have felt a touch

I haven’t been touched in a while
touched by kindness
touched by love
touched by affection
I’m locked inside a prison of isolation

No one has come to see me yet
No one tried to free me yet
No one seems to be bothered by my absence
No one cares if I’m doing okay or not.

So I’ve decided to adopt it
Embrace the loneliness to used it for good.

I shut myself in
far away from the world
from the world where nobody cared anything I said

I start to live on my own
inside a big empty hall,
I start to explore,
explore the walls
see if they can protect me
or can they be broken by the storm

The storm lurking outside
waiting for me to go out
so it can devour me from inside

I live by myself
drawing, writing, praying.
drawing poetry, writing stories and saying my prayers
so I can learn to appreciate my solitude
and turn my flaws into art.