fuzzysoftly

in my hands, furry fuzzy plush

waiting for the weekend

folded softly and neatly

no more waiting

unfurl and twirl

in comfort all day

wrapped warmly

relaxing

unconscious mutterings #493

haven't done this in ages & miss it. so let's see how posting from mobile works!

unconscious mutterings week #493 says :

i say...and you think...

Purple :: passion
Staying Power :: friends
Human :: hands
Garden :: gnomes
Missing :: persons
Sucked :: up
Next door :: neighbours
Poker ::  straight hair
Strategy :: risk
Crushed :: heart

merryhappyjoyeux

sitting in a noisy house wondering what the year has in store.
so many lines and marks and ways to go
how it goes anyone would know??

tarnished

faceless looking inside myself
tarnished endings disappear into the seaside
gasping for reality
toasting glasses clink against the sandstorm of time
each moment passes
ripped from the fabric of itself

snowface

snowy winter swirling flakes winter air bright sunshine cold hands warm cocoa wet mittens gloppy boots snowman snow angel snowball sled boots plow shovel iced trees

seeing herself differently
a reflected mirror image not her own
angry spiteful vengeful facade looks back
a shadow of herself
not who she wants needs to be
an unknown stranger
the evil twin sneaks out
wrecks her happy daily life
shushed and stuffed full of good things
the monster quiets
but silently the twin creeps
speaks out
rears her head and roars
and she does not like it
at all.

"morning feeling"

the quiet depth of the morning
confuses & confounds me.
my senses demand,
implore,
beg
action,
noise,
chaos.
alert and expectant,
wandering the rooms of my mind.
anticipating, knowing.
the silence
is also emptiness.

insects

the subtle scent of incense burning and warm takes me back to summers of my youth. a distant memory, not quite faded from my brain. the smell wraps itself around me, vaguely familiar. i cannot quite grasp the images, they are dream-like and distant at times. and then suddenly clear, conjuring up scenes of sunshine, heat, smoke, a dull rhythm of drum beats and velvet corners. smooth and curving, they cling to the deepest recesses within me.

summertime

green grass lays spinning
twirling flashing around
in a swirling circle whir
sun drenched dark floor boards
leading to the frothy ocean colour
schemed out of winter dreams
dayscapes of easy-ness
sandy feet hand hair
dried suits parched skin
browned in the afternoon skies

secrets

saying too much has always been an issue for her
not saying enough was never a real problem
always speaking, thinking, wondering, assuming, wishing, writing, believing
sharing has been something she's longed to do
with someone, anyone
trusting someone else, baiting them to pass along details
hoping they would not share what was meant to be kept private