singing songs of sixpence

a pocket full of rye

everything will be ok

with a raven by your side

curse me with my demons.
 they have already returned with open arms.

hide me from your feelings,
 they have already burned me on my scars.

falling back in my past, my shadow has consumed me,
 we dip our toes into the realms on no return.

sea travellers

"I'm scared, scared that they are just slipping away"

-  he took her chin, and raised her head to the clouds. for a moment they watched the world spin. 

"we live our lives floating down a stream, every body's got the same destination, everybodys going the same direction.  towards the sea. sometimes the stream is gentle, and time is pleasant, sometimes the current is strong its hold us under, the torrent twist and turns, pulls and churns at our hearts. we find  companions along the way, and we float together, alongside each other. but there will be a time where one of you is caught in a different tide, and as you might float in peace, they are dragged away by things beyong your control. beyong their control. if you try to hold onto them to tight, you will tear them in two. because alas, you can not fight the tides of time. but do not fear, for you will find each other again, among the seashells. "

- defeated

Pandora's plea

forever in a day, my heart is slowly fading away.

 a victim to time i cant hold my tears any longer.

 slice my cheeks and burn a hole through my soul. 
i surrender

scorned by my own follies. 

victim of my own misdirection. 

let me drown in a calm sea, floating among red poppies. 

let me sink. 

gently close my eyes, put a flower in their place.

 a reminder of what they lost in their blindness. 

deafened by the screech of your silence, 

and tormented by the absence of your violence. 

hand me a blade, 

the one to you i gave, in my misguidance.

 and i will place it along side me, 

my open grave, a tribute in honor of the memories i have slayed. 

the friendship i have betrayed, the trust i have mislaid. 
watch it decay

tie a bolder to my strength and drop it in the ocean. 

wait till i am colder. older. forgotten over and over. 

then let the tide regurgitate, return me. 
place your pain in the cart and i will carry it on my shoulders.

Pull me into your dreams, but only as a bystander. 

replace me 

but don't misplace me

don't forget you misguided me
with the feelings that you hide from me
the key you handed me
opened the door to my felony.
i believed you
and sinned unintentionally.

for the flowers that blow in the breeze, from the seashells that fell out the seas.

"we wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way,  begin no day where we have ended another day;  and  no sunrise finds us where sunset left us.

even while the earth sleeps we are travellers.

brief were my days among you and briefer still are the words i have spoken.

but should my voice fade in your ears, and my love vanish in your memory, know, i shall return with the tide. 

Although my simplicity may hide me,
and the greater silence enfold me,
when time permits will i seek your understanding. not in vain i shall seek, but so my truth shall reveal itself in a clearer voice, and in words more kin to your thoughts.

and if this day is not a fulfilment of your needs then let it be a promise till another day. 

mans needs change, but not their love. know, therefore, that from the greater silence i will return. "

an adpation from Kahil Gibran, The prophet.

The Puzzelled Dragonfly

in a muddle 

in a puddle 

in a world made of dismay

on a rock in the middle a dragon fly prayed

he was battered 

he was tattered 

he was in a terrible way

from the things in his heart he tried not to say

all the confusions

all the delusions

all the the emotions he couldn't convey

in his muddle of a puddle in his world of today.

punishment's punishments I

punishment's punishments

 

Rain, falling on my sleeves, please, fade it to a softer shade of green,

rain , dancing with the leaves, please,wash away my memories.


pain, dont forget my name ,please, someday soon we will meet again


pain, walking from the shame, please, i think its time to end this game.

sing a song of sixpence - Noah's ark

"Noah's ark"

you wanted to be a lone wolf

roaming the seabed.

and i wanted you to be free

with only me in your head.

you sang me sad songs 

of a girl who left you by the shore.

with a seashell on your heart

i listened to the lion roar.

I'm living alone on Noah's ark,

pairs are walking past

everybody roaming and I'm stuck

looking past the view, waiting for my number two.

you see I'm an owl with tired eyes

wont you lay me down in tide.

I'm a rabbit with out a home

wont you take me back, take me back to alone.

i heard a sparrow call your name, 

he said you've still got your debt to pay,

the name the sparrow called you was a name i cannot say

i will pray another day,

we will be OK.

were living alone on Noah's ark

and pairs are walking past

everybody roaming and I'm stuck

looking past the view, waiting for my number two

waiting for you.

i saw white doves falling in the rain

i heard thunder calling out my name

your held me with a glance

i will stay for one more dance, 

if only you would ask

i don't want to be alone on Noah's ark

where pairs are walking past

everybody roaming, and I'm tired

 of looking past the view

wishing i was there with you

knowing we are true.

the story Board: dancing with my hat on.

some times i dance with my hat on, 

sometimes i dance in the day,

  sometimes i dance to the silence, 

the silence,the sun and the rain. 

today im dancing with small steps,

  together we danced to your heart

tomorrow ill dance to a new sound 

the sound of a heart that wont start.

i miss the dance steps you taught me,

i miss you tomorrow and today. 

i miss the dancing you taught me, 

before the cancer took you away.

for Julie for sophie,

both who were too young.

the story Board: Message in a bottle

... (imagine this written on old music paper, found in a bottle floating out at sea).....


"for the moments we spent, and the memories we found
for the life that we dreamt in the love that we drowned.
tonight i am silent, i am lost out at sea,
for the day that i found you, was the day i lost me.


here is my hearts , amougst the notes and the waves
here is our history, between the music that you played"

the story Board: Skimming stones

Skimming Stones

under the shade of a sychamore tree,
on the edge of a pond sat a he and she.
both who were living with a burdening fee
for the she could not hear, and the he could not see.

and he sat there in the shade of the leaves,
listening to the rustle of the wind through the reeds,
till he heard a voice travelling in the breeze.
singing him tales of worlds overseas.

she painted him visions so clear he could feel.
her words flowed so gently as they tried to reveal
the movement of colour on ripe barley fields
or jewles and the treasure the seas try to conceal.

on the opposite shore, by a moss covered stone
sat a she who sangs songs to the wind and the gnomes

she dangled her feet into the water below

and read the ripples of love from his skimming stones.

tealeaf philosophies- judgment day

"don't judge me by my flies, but choose my eyes,

 for they hold the answer to the prayers you whisper at night. they hold the truth you left behind. 

i was not forgotten

i was not left behind"

whimsical melodies

he pulled back the grass, and wiped his little eyes and whistled to the magpies to open up the skies.

vintage stall photography - rendezvous at dusk

 

slipped on her shoes, the final touch, she was ready to meet him, a rendezvous at dusk

The Drawing Board: Breathing in the full moon

Breathing in the full moon

Dancing on the edge

Hoping soon the sun would rise and

Empty out her head

The Story Board: The beginning

Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.

             who i am you might wonder, in your boredom, as you stumbled across my blog. well i am no one particular. i am just your average Joe, a fellow child, an old soul. currently I am a poor student.

 when you become a Student, life is fun, carefree, ridiculous, filled with lost inhibition, endless parties and lack of responsibilities. The independence is liberating and exhilarating..... Until you run out of money and have to write a thesis, a thesis your future career hangs on.... the future career your family a waiting for and your dad has been slaving for. A thesis you have to get a top marks in, just to make it to the next level. so the combination of intense work load on a small budget has forced me to spend a lot of time on a computer procrastinating. sifting through the Internet and my playing with my own thoughts. last Wednesday i mixed the two together and ...... (drum roll)......................................... TA DA ......welcome to WHISPERS UNDER A WILLOW

 i am bored and looking for distractions. for as long as i can remember i have loved creative writing. i just discovered a friend has been writing a blog for the last five years. it is amazing, he is amazing. and it inspired me to do the same. to open up my mind and allow people in to dawdle through my memories and philosophies, and to look upon the scenery of my distorted reality and warped imagery.

So here I shall escape the mundane and share my world with you. 

Tea leaf Philosophies: Rose Tinted Nation

We may have won the battle, but they never fought the war.

__________________________________

______________________

_________

___

we are living in a rose tinted nation,

trying to live up to our own declarations

avoiding participation in our own rehabilitation

_____________

yet we still choose depression as our safety station

we are surrounded by distorted imagery

illusions and delusions of how we ought to be

fighting for democracy and unrealistic dreams of equality

__________

yet racism still a well known and preached philosophy

we place our goals just within our reach

we use empty books to educate and teach

we memorise our perfect speech, tick the box 'donate to aid relief'

__________

yet obesity is our number one retreat

we follow the rules on how to behave

make notes of what and to whom we gave

pray to god and you will be saved, all our sins he forgave

__________

yet a mortgage pays for the tombstone on our grave

our eyes have closed in this rose tinted nation

as the economy rose we sacrificed our identification

lost our salvation in the walls of our self built concentration

___________

and we pity them with their lack of complication

The Story Board: The Flower and the Sun

The flower and sun,
the song they never sung,
the story they begun.

Once upon a time, in a distant memory, there lived a little bud. Her life was filled with beautiful things, and her mind was filled with beautiful lyrics. But yet she was not full.

She spent her days blowing in the breeze, teasing grasshoppers through the shadows in the meadow. One day she noticed the sun peeping through the leave of the willow trees, she held out her hand and as the sun fell into her palm the little bud over flowed with light. The light slip-sloped over her brim, while she danced with the sun in the breeze.

From that night the sun could no longer sleep, he no longer longed for his dreams, instead he wished he could leave the night, and return to the meadow, under the willow tree, to find the bud, because never before had he met a bud who he could dance with all day with such effortless ease.

So the next day the sun hurried back to the moment, back with the breeze, and the bud rushed out from the shadows to play with the sun. and  they sung and they danced, and the skipped and the laughed and they held hand in grass, they played and played all day...
but at the end of the day, the sun faded away.
And the little bud shivered with cold, her leaves were damp and drooped from the weight of the pouring, spilt light from the sun. as the monotonous tide of the night tapped at her door, she began to feel a deep hollow pain... for the bud did not realize the real effects that the sun had...

For the bud was sheltered, she was not used to being out from the shadows, out in the open, and her skin was fair and pure, and unbeknownst to the sun or the flower, when a bud exposes its soul to the sun for too long without caution, it will be burnt, and when a bud opens it heart to be filled with light, if it is not careful, it will be drowned. And the buds heart was so heavy, so laden down with light, it hurt.
And oh how her soul burned,
it seared with such intensity, the pain was unbearable. And in that moment of pain, the flower grew angry at the sun for hurting her. And she wished she were no longer a bud, but rather a stone. Because a stone can not be burnt by the sun, and a stones heart can not be  filled with light. Light will never overflow out of a stone. And if light can not fill a stone,  then the stone can not be drained of light either, or can it become hollow, and emptied.

 For in the heart of a stone, lies a stone, and in that stone, lies a heart made of stone.

The next day the sun hurried back to his bud under the willow tree, he peeped and peered through the leaves, he flitted of floated across the scattered twigs... but alas, he could not find his bud. For she was hiding in the shadows,
 and shooting him with her silence.

For days and days he returned and spent all day spying through the leaves. Eventually over time, through snippet on the breeze and whispers in the seas, he heard how he has hurt the little bud. How his tantalizing sunrays had indirectly burnt her, scarred her purity. And he was sad. And he was mad. He hated himself, because he did  not know how to go  back in time. He was angry that he didn’t know how vulnerable a bud is when it is fully open out of the shadows, and how easily their petals can be torn away by the wind, and how delicate they are under their skin, so delicate and frail, so easily broken, so difficult to repair.  And he became bitter, for how was he to know that the bud was so fragile.
He was angry because she took his breath away, and never gave it back, and now he was living in a still world, with no breeze,
he no longer could gasp at the moon, sigh at the moon, or sing songs with happy melodies. Now is songs were sad, they were filled with broken lyrics and notes purposely off key. Sometime he needed to breathe so badly he would tear a little hole in his soul, just to feel a moment of a breath. A moment of escape. A moment of release. And sometimes he was so angry at his rays, that he would make them bleed. And he hoped the droplets would fall through the leaves into her hand, and then she would understand. And then she would see what she had done to him. But she didnt.
 Because she was facing the wall. Watching the moss grow.
 sometime she heard the drops, but she told her self it was just the rain, because she wasnt ready to turn away from the wall, and face the pain, to regain and reclaim her vunerability,she was scared to turn around and and find herself looking her reflection, and seeingshe was insane, or even worse, even more terrified  that she would see that she was sane. That the missing she felt was real and not a delusion, that love she tried forgot was real and not a distortion. And that the sun she wanted to forgive was real, and not an illusion. 

And the years past, and the seasons changed. And the swallows left and came back again.

 the sun still did not dream at night. And he was still wounded. And his drops still fell. And in the droplets, were reflections of solitude and broken beauty. And in the puddles was the essence of loniless,. And they still, Still distortion of light,. They highlighted and haunted and clothed the hills and the skies and the willow trees. Always just beyond the shadows. always just beyond the lens. always just out of reach from the hand.

And the bud found comfort in the moss. For he was gentle and kind. But over the years, she could not help but notice that the moss was flat, it was slow and the moss didn’t dance on her palm and she held this against the moss. In her secret dreams she wished the moss would burn her. Just a little. Just enough  just to convince her the pain she felt that day, was not unique to the sun. That the warmth from that day, was not exclusive to the sun. that the love she gained, was not owned by the sun. But alas, the moss could only kiss her forehead open to the door, and show her the path to a comfortable life.
So The bud walked out the door, and turned the other way.

she entered the world with a smile. And she spent her days strolling through the trees, watching the sky through puddles, standing on hills in the distance. capturing moments like the stillness of willow trees in the mist, or the moment the wind catches a cloud pulls it up in lust. And
the bud danced in the dusk and sang to the dawn.
She hung the images of the world in the hallway of her mind, and they filled her life with beautiful things, and they filled her mind with beautiful lyrics.   

but yet she was not full

And she thought that although she had lost the sun and least she had found her path. And she followed her path, capturing lost moments, and collecting trinkclets from the tide. she closed her eyes and let the wind guide her. On her path she unknowingly followed the droplets from the sun, and she unknowlingly slowly picked them up, and put them back together again. slowly unknowing they were guiding her back home again. 

the stillness of a willow tree in the mist

Tea leaf Philosophies: long walk home

and she stood over the stream, and the only sound she heard was the roar of anticipation... like the roar of the ocean on a lonely night. Deafening yet still unable to drown out the silence of a wounded heart.