Along the Riverbank

The willow who does it weep for?
In the scintillating blue
It's tears are very colourless
But they make up the river too
Set across a blue sky
The willow weeps some
Weeping so long now
Can't remember what it started for

When the tree evolved
Did it cry?
When great big bombs filled the sky?
When children, filled with their own tears sat beside it

No the willow weeps for weeping
It does not weep for you
It weeps the essence of weeping
Into the river blue
So then all the beings that love the river too
Get to see it sparkle
During day,sun,moon

Shadows

The stars light up thy face
Thy face looking in the window
Why so full of shadow thy face?
Why so full of shadow?

Milk

Ever heard of pouring yogurt? I call it milk :)

Amusings

Weird huh my blog is called amusings but
I never actually wrote any down. Ah well really I think you should just find the amusings in your own life and share them with me. My amusings are my writings and poetry. Now my muse

The world feels small and big but little
Small and wide yet fat
Malnourished
Grieving, laughing
Circling and drawing lines
Like a work of art
A complete mess
Made with love
Loathing
Concoctions
Formula
Death
Birth
Age
and
sound
smell
emotion
basically

A new time

I notice now that my writing is changing.
More mature or serious. I admit that I didn't like
for a while. It scared me as change does. Yet lots of things
have always been changing and I never was scared.
This though is important to me.
So that's why it's so petrifying.
Though maybe it's only me:)

Formally English

In doubt I have made the unkempt desision of not posting on my blog.
The reason defies the progress. My heart could not go without writing, the interminable void it left me. Although I say these words I will have to make clear. I write for a passion and passion can not always be thrown at the same thing. So if I don't blog I'm most undoubtly lamenting it or writing elsewhere. I may go through ghastly stages with my writing and I may happen upon untapped inspiration. The stories of short I have decided not to post. Centrally because they take too much of time and are aggravating to read upon a computer screen. I find poems are flexible and fit anywhere. Small and compact. That is all I have to say even though it is mostly to myself. It is the proper thing to do.

Short stories

These short stories are difficult to write. Everything must be acccounted for and thought of carefully. All the ideas in my head dissappear while I figure this out!
Then you have to capture and withold attention. Not too long not too short it has to make sense. Nah I'm just overthinking it right? When I'm done one I might just post it up :) Watch this blog!!

An explosion of words

I need more words!!! They dissapate befor me in a and incredoulous superflous circle.
Kraggigalting of jelly lumps. Gummi gloop. Sickly stickerjicks. In so my retrospct becomes a tedium of tedious. Then the dastradly cretins urchins and coral attack me.
Blocking the swirling slipping consious tempreal lobe of my ankle. Spotted rain and fluffly clouds with thingamogozzles. Glitter squids and sparkly beach balls. Soft smelling quilts fuzzy hair spoingy curls. The neverending ocean. OK better stop sorry to the people who are grammar, spelling and logic freaks. I don't really need any comments on it. You should try it floop fly people. ;)

Writers block

Ta da! I think I'm bursting through my writers block. Sometimes it's a really long time. It's like this. My mind has this huge wall straight down the middle. Seperating left from right. The right side is the fun side with all the creativity and colour. The left tends to be more moral and boring. Sometimes I get stuck on the left side so I have to knowck down this wall. Ocasionally I break through but I get scared and retreat to the left sealing up the hole I made. To seal up the hole I used concrete this time usually I use paper. Ah the mysteries of the mind.

Things that drain

Things like the sun make people happy but it drains so much energy. A fire on a winter's eve takes energy. Dancing in the rain takes energy. A day out with good friends take energy. So I remember some law I learnt in physics 'energy can not be made or destroyed it can only be moved from one form to another' So where does that energy go? I'm thinking it makes memories or gives you that happy feeling. It's not the warm and fuzzy type[feeling fuzzy isn't too good in my books] It's just indescribable in a descriptive way. If that makes any sense.

grass

More greenish topics my blog is green though.

A blade of lush.
A quiver which trembles under a blow.
Not meant just a flick.
Of a beetle yet it loses all life.
The weight of thought fury, terrifes it.
When a sharp blade comes rumbling towards.
The mashing screaming cuts it down.
Grass grows back greener than before.
A lot like an innocent.


Ok i hope this is ok bit nervous about [send out to world wide web, seems heartless]

New

Spring all new no more dead things.
trees will burst full of green
daises and buttercups grow underneath
the sun will warm my feet
i will throw my shoes off
sunhats sunglasses
sunscreen and sand
the smell of mown grass
sunburn
lemonade glass
icecubes
rain
almost summer still here
so much more in spring than ever more

Trees don't grow to the sky

I came across this phrase. I admit to do little searching on it just a quick google.
The websites didn't make sense and here I am. Trees do grow to the sky where else would they grow? If you were a giant sure they wouldn't grow to your sky but to a rabbit yes they do. I just find that a bit annoying and yeah I am being preachy. Post a comment if your not happy or would like to shed some light on this phrase.

Pain

Has anyone ever stepped on a thistle? They are extremly annoying pointy prickly weeds that come up in the midst of summer. Just when you want to run through fields barefoot. Some are small unassuming, those are the ones you watch out for.

Yet I wonder would it be better to just run through fields barefoot anyway. Maybe its just the fear of pain that keeps us from doing what we really want. I mean even if there is one nasty bugger in a field. There's probably 100s of daisies.

Food

The end of us all
Was the start
A fire burning bright
Aromas giving sight
To lands far off
Distance was no matter
We could smell what they smelled
The taste in which we revelled
The peace that instills
Or insatible craze it gives
The guilt
Yet the world is unspoiled

The effect it has is great
Something worth to wait

Being mature

Maturity is splendid
Yet you have to live life to expend it
Not trying to be
Simply being
Learning with glee
Or by simply not seeing

Maturity is great
Until you see saggy wrinkles on your face

Scary people then me

I've been reading blogs and trying to find cool ones but everyone is either super philosophical or depressed. Its ok though i'll be in the middle k? Thats where everything i know is. Its really big and i can explore not forgetting myself.

I remember Roald Dahl once said something like Being a writer is hard you wake up in the morning and no one will tell you to sit down and write. A writer has no schedule
Its true

Cracks

As the ice walks underfoot
I wonder
As one crack appears
I see hundreds jump
30 fall
Millions step back
Wondering to bother at all
Could they jump?
Was it worth it to maybe fall
One tells a story
Of the water beneath the ice
Another says the thrill cannot be beat
Of not falling in as ice cracks into the abysmal creek
Who to believe the millions wait and ponder
Ice ablates a little longer

R.I.P Gustar Sacapuntas Maria Fitzgerald you will live forever :)

Christmas Tree

The christmas tree disparages wilting as it goes
New year resoultions go buy with the cold
Oh christmas tree do you resolve?
Not even one so small?
The chrismas tree wilts further

As I take up the adronments of tinsel and baubles
The chrismas tree wobbles
Then comes the lifting of chrismas tree tall
It has shrillved up now nice compact small
Into the back of the car you go
To the chrismas tree recycling plant
To meet others shiverlled up vagabonds
There is no fairy at the top of these trees with a wand
Before you leave perking a little
You tell me of your resolve
I wish to be adored again
Pity on the fool
A sad old christmas tree gone round the bend