Brown like the ground underneath,
Maybe the spots like raindrops
Unstuck the files of its wings
So it could open the secrets
Of the skies and the seas.
Overlooked so easily,
It only catches the eye
When it dances in pairs,
Two otherworldly spots,
So bright they dim the edges
Of the cage and the street.
It’s a good thing its blue
Is airy enough to remind
Of the deep breath you lost
When you first saw your soul
Reflected in its mirrors.
I’ve been nominated, rather unexpectedly, to the ‘Three days, three quotes’ challenge by herSCREAMINGshadows. Thank you a lot for this! And guys, the screaming is really quite lovely, do check it out.
- Thank the person who nominated you.
- Post a quote for three consecutive days.
- Nominate three other bloggers each day.
The First Quote:
Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans. (John Lennon)
And a little something inspired by it:
The words we write only make sense
Because of the white page behind them.
Maybe we’ll get to reach our dreams,
But that’s a single moment of satisfaction.
No matter how big, it can’t compete
With the hundreds of dinners you rushed,
The special people you didn’t meet,
The experiences you never got to have.
We’re only humans, and we can’t see
Something as large as life at once.
We see many trees and we call it forest,
But maybe every once in a while,
We should find out if it’s an oak or ash
That we ignore by the side of our path,
Take a break, and see the shade of which
Pushes us forward faster after it.
Always aim high, and always aim true,
But the destination doesn’t change
Merely because you chose the nicer path.
So look through the gaps in between
The boxes you’re desperately checking.
You might be surprised, but life
Is peering back, waiting.
I won’t nominate anybody specifically, but if you’ve read this, consider yourself invited to join in the fun!
Hope you all get to experience lovely, dense forests of stunningly beautiful and unique trees. The kind that you don’t mind getting lost in every so often. See you tomorrow!
I’m serving you pieces of my soul
And your shrugged thank yous
Feel more like slaps in the face,
Salt to go into the wounds
I so willingly inflict on myself.
But it’s ok. Souls are organic.
Like plants, cutting little pieces
Only makes more flowers grow,
So maybe I’m keeping my heart open
For the completely wrong person,
But it makes so little difference.
The only right person is myself.
I can keep shouting all the wishes
Of what you should do for me
But, like the rules of genies,
The universe seems deaf to those,
So I’d rather wish you well instead,
And make sure there’s enough
Goodness to go around, and hopefully
It will somehow come to touch me too.
Take all the pieces you want,
And some of those you don’t want too.
I have enough to keep regrowing,
Reborn into the person I want to be.
Storytelling is an integral part of nature.
Writing is an organic kind of growth,
Nurtured by bits and pieces of surroundings,
Its water and sun and fertile soil.
It repurposes experiences to be made,
And lets itself enter the cycle,
Be consumed and provide nourishment
To other minds for further writing.
It’s a tree that forgets to run out of fruit,
The same seeds planted again and again,
Each time bearing slightly different shoots,
And making beautiful natural hybrids.
The inspiration may ebb and flow,
Another cycle to mirror moon phases perhaps,
But it’s never quite gone. Maybe repurposed,
A type of water’s circuit through nature –
A writer’s writing, a writer’s reading,
And a writer’s simply living his life.
There are times when one takes over others
But it just shapes the original crystals
And pours back into one’s expression of art
When it returns to its fluid, nurturing state.
Writing is growth, and always will be.
Perhaps that’s why nature makes its way
Quite so often into bits of poetry.
Maybe they match, two sides of the same coin
Growing together and from one another.
To sit and watch the falling snow,
Hitting ground and spinning low,
While holding hand and arm,
Keeping warmth and chanting charm,
Two hearts beating side by side,
Warmth from cold that helps to hide.
And under sun’s radiant heat,
Glory flowers eyes do greet,
You can feel the chill of night,
Holding still and keeping tight,
Lost and lonely on the fields,
Trembling slight under your shields.
Why to judge the nature’s beauty
When we pass the soul’s duty?
We can feel despite the looks,
Words beneath the covered books.
Constrast will forever hold;
Silver spring to heart of gold.
Lightning wandering through skies,
Wind a-caring scared cries,
Dark’ning night is bleached to ash,
Wild forces are at clash.
Precious lace of mighty art,
Drawing continents by chart
In the auburn evening dusk,
Charging smell of grass and musk.
But bewatch the look of fury,
Answering not man nor jury.
Find the beauty in the beast,
Let the nature be your priest.
Prayer give to uncontrolled,
Turn the anger into gold,
Look for good in each of vile,
Be the one to rule awhile.
The sky unfolds upon the sea
As turbluent as full of glee,
Grinning at the hurried waves
Rushing, running from their graves.
The stormy gray of higher winds
Of dark and death does bear hints,
Hurricanes and swirls of air
Giving sea their black glare
Gray above and gray beyond
This is what makes darkness fond
But as end they will stay calm
Sooth to eyes and soul’s balm.
Gray on gray or blue on blue
There will always stay, those two,
Sky and sea, eternal friends,
Standing infinite of ends.