Fingerprints – Poetry

Fingerprints

By J. A. Weymouth

 

There is an indentation of the skin.

Deep, thorough as they carry deep, and true.

there is a changing in the eyes – precipitation, condensation –

mellow slumps of the lower eye.

 

She says it

‘s of the truer.

the stiller, still.

 

And less then woken.  The urge to move the glass lips onto the pale ones.

Such shaking and urging.  Thrusting deeper into the mouth.

 

Not so painful but rather an addition to the initial habit.

And yellowing of the printed inner bit.

corner, corned, the cornet.

higher yet.  but not so shrunken.

The magic word.

It’s a crazy thing how times passes you by.  They tell you to live in the moment.  Well, that’s certainly what I have been doing.  Living in the moment.  You see, it goes with this whole, ‘let future self worry about it’ (‘How I met your mother’ reference).  Worry.  I’m not sure if it’s even that.  Motivation?  No.  It’s more like – you want to forget about it and numb yourself and watch the next episode of Boardwalk Empire.

As you all know, those who follow me, this seems to be a common thing.  A pattern is forming here.  I get into a habit, but then I jump out of that habit, back in and out again.  The magic word here?  Commitment.

I guess I’m a commitaphobe.  Through and through.  Ha’, that’s a clever way of putting it.

Oh, and thanks again. Sorry that I have been quiet, I do read your work, and I love reading it too. 

Remember, it’s all about commitment.

Winter.

It is winter here in Australia, and it is my favourite season, next to autumn of course, and during my walks I have taken some photos using my iPhone. Sometimes I get caught up in the moment while I look up and admire the different colours of the winter sky.

I look up at the tops of trees and love how they appear like a misshapen shape with their dead branches and emptiness. There is something certainly poetic about these trees and how they appear with the sky as their background.

There is something changeless and sad and moving in these images.

Here is what I have come up with.

*All images are by me, Jesse.

The Life Dilemma

Oh boy, is life busy at the moment.

You forget how quickly time can take you from one destination to another, from a month into the next. Oh boy indeed.

If you haven’t noticed, I have been terribly busy, but like I said, you kind of get lost in time when everything is rushing around you. You have to make a choice. A healthy social life, a productive job, a productive writing life, dating, blogging. Which do you choose? Well, it seems impossible to balance it all. However, I’m getting better at it. I’m still in my mid 20s, so I have a lot to learn.

Life’s been good, but it’s time to start sharing what I’ve been up to.

There has been a fair bit of writing – I have nearly finished my book and I have just started another short story. No poetry atm, I’m afraid, but I have an idea so I will be working on that this weekend.

I have also been reading A LOT. I think I’ve read about twelve books within the last two weeks. Do we call that research?

Speaking of books, I went to a recent book launch. The author of ‘The Rosie Project’ Graeme Simsion came to town and spoke to a very large audience. He was brilliant. He actually made the effort to speak to his fans and signed books, in fact he signed mine. We had a chat, too. I’ve been to a few book launches/book readings in the past and a lot of the time the authors tend to have quite awkward social skills. Graeme was not awkward at all. He was funny and brilliant. Quite the lovely man. I recommend reading this. It is a fantastic read. I’m not used to reading romance/humour stories but this one works. It’s quite quirky and the main character has aspergers and he doesn’t know it. It’s set in Melbourne and New York City (two of my favourite cities in the world).

Work is busy. Busy busy busy. I was in charge of the year 11 exams… So that’s over but now I have to work on REPORTS. Oh dear god is work BUSY! Don’t be surprised if you don’t see me again for another 3 months. haha.

Hope you are all well and thanks for sticking around.

The Thimble and Me – Poetry

The Thimble and Me

By J. A. Weymouth

 

There is a fundamental sense of loss,

Discredited, false, sapling mind that is –

too claustrophobic in its set of ideas.

 

An infertile thimble now stationed to toss,

Only, at the bottom end of it can I see

Some form of worth.

She takes every opportunity to waste life.

 

The tall one does not seek the knife,

Don’t misunderstand this as a euphemism for suicide.

 

Only luck can handle this.

 

And with an open palm

Can one hold onto the channeling of joy –

Such freshness is met by widened eyes.

Life and other things.

Hi all,

I’ve been calling this period of absence ‘a catch up of missed opportunities’ since I’ve been spending a lot of this time to work on my novel, read the books I’ve been meaning to read, and of course, read the material suggested by you kind fold.  Thank you.

It has been a busy time and of course – a time away from the internet. It’s good to get away from the business of the buzzing net (although you can’t quite escape Facebook). And you forget sometimes how distracting the internet can be but of course being absent means that I’ve lost track of the posts submitted by everybody else. So, I look forward to catching up with you all and I look forward to the amazing posts you all have no doubt submitted over the past few weeks.

I think I might make some kind of commitment to keep track with you, that although it is good to get away from the internet, it is also very important that I stay in contact with all of you because I do care about what you share with us. So, what I thought about doing was commit myself a week of wordpress, and bloggi-goodness, and then a week off the net, of utter commitmeant to read, and study and focus on the “novel-novel”.

Now, I have a few things planned for you all this week. I’m going to share some of the adventures I’ve had over the past couple of weeks. Nothing too special, I’m not really that interesting, but it would be good to share it with you anyway.

Also, I have a few poems and short-stories to be submitted.  Watch out for those.

Love always,

RedPlace.

And the hard times get… easier?

Balance seems to have returned to the universe. And once again the pen hits the paper. The wordslinger returns. Or am I just reading too much Stephen King these days? Ha. No such thing.

I haven’t looked at writing my book since November, but at least I can look at writing my poetry again. Since, for I while I had given it up. And at times I thought I had given it up… (duh-da-duhh…) permanently. I think at times I might just been a tad dramatic.  Maybe it had just went away for a while and then, it decided to return again. Just as well, it’s nice to know that I can do something right… every now and again.

So, I’m rambling.

Well, it has been a fine life. Too busy of course, teaching year 10s, two year 11 classes and a year 12 class. It’s all serious business of course and I have no time to think, let-alone write. That’s okay, though. It’s hard but it’s good. I’ve got things to look forward to and a goal all planned out. I’ve just gotta get the book finished. So I’ve gotta find some time to get it done after all this socialising and working and reading and working and eating and socialising. How am I ever going to get it done?

Despite the hard things, I’m still motivated to at least get some poetry done, but I have to get into some form of mantra to actually get THE BOOK DONE.

What do you think fellow writers?  What routines have you committed yourselves to? What wordslinging doctrines do you follow?

This is a Red Night (Poetry)

This is a Red Night

By J. A. Weymouth

 

This is a red night and

out of no where

two pairs of eyes meet.

 

Coffee stained glasses

and raised eyebrows

 

Applauded men

with white/left winged suits.

 

Freeways, miles,

and girls with boy-cut bobs.

 

This is a roaring night of dancing.

Key-board notes.

Mad Men. (the seekers) – Poetry

Mad Men. (the seekers)

By J. A. Weymouth

 

Entrenched beneath

guessing

as the shadows dance in the hallways of darkness,

a footstep is taken, into the lamp lit room.

 

Solitary is the hint behind the eyes

the fool seeks the company of mad men.

 

His face is only half of the moon,

and tempers with the light of world.

 

Only darkness and blood can enter

though this is no gory tale.

 

Just a simple mad man

wondering,

meandering into

the hallways of others like him.

 

And so they dance.

Something new, something… blue?

I like this time of year. You feel warm. You feel fuzzy. Somehow the light shines through the end of the tunnel and you rekindle with your motivation. I wonder how long it lasts? Is it really only because of the extra Vitamin D that we find ourselves such the merrier?

Hmm. Maybe not.

Maybe things just have an ‘expiry’ date, and somehow, things reborn. Winter is just winter.  Spring comes around again.

Today has been a mixed week.  A combination of being somewhat lonely and somewhat stifled. It is that dreading sense as a teacher, that one day, you’re going to have to face ‘them’ again. Yeah, I mean the kids.  Today was my first day back and it wasn’t so bad.  Actually it was a lot of fun.  I also took on a lot more responsibility as a teacher.

Weird.

I had a weird day.

Weird… in a good way.

Now, one of the reasons why, I figured, why I haven’t been writing a lot of poetry these days is because I haven’t been reading a lot of poetry.  I used to just read the classics.  Yes, a lot of Coleridge, Blake, Dickinson.  Nothing modern or recent has really caught my attention.

Do any of you have recommendations? I would love to have a read…