I awoke without thought,
Just blank in my head
And a dream still hauntingly
Hung by a thread,
Unravelling a deepening
Hole in my chest.
My Thoughts Bottle|Blog
Made of Rain – A poem
I can’t touch the heart of the rain, it can only touch me
As it slips right through my fingers
Where a liquid hand can’t be held.
And the rain may have a beat but it’s too soft and quick
To be human and too rhythmic to be alive.
The rain never stutters or skips a beat
And I can dance in it but it can’t dance with me.
I can speak a soliloquy and pretend the rain is listening
But it can never confess a single secret back to me.
The rain may smell like a breath or a familiar comfort
But the rain is everything that has ever felt lonely.
What makes a poem, a poem?
Apparently you can either love Instapoetry, or hate it, with no in between. Today we discover which group I belong to in this little discussion about the rise of Instagram poetry, what it’s done to poetry as a genre, and whether it classifies as ‘real’ poetry. After all, what makes a poem, a poem?
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Drunk on too much life – A poem
I have days lined up in bottles,
Hours pouring out the tap.
I fill glass after glass with minutes
And drink more time than can elapse.
How to document your life (or how not to)
I have a strong desire to document my life. Not necessarily my everyday experiences and errands or even special events, but just things that I see. Some people document other people, some their travels and adventures, but I like to document simplicities and complexities in the natural world around me. Sometimes photos act as bookmarks…
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Costumes of myself – A poem
Maybe tomorrow I will slip back into an old skin
To be momentarily reacquainted with
A memory, for the fun of remembering.
I will cloak myself in a costume of my past self,
Playing dress up in a skin and a mind once mine,
And the wrong-er it feels makes my new self feel right-er.
I will close my eyes and ignore the ill-fitting
Tight squeeze, stretched straps, and snapped seams.
For in a dance of vivid recall I remember: this,
This is what it once felt like to be me.
I don’t know how to do nothing (+ photos from a weekend away)
Some photos from a recent weekend away, and a little journal entry with a few thoughts on how it helped me with my chronic busyness and inability to ‘do nothing’.
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In Between Days (and other blackout poems)
These are a few blackout poems I have created, some recently and some from a little while ago. I like doing these when I want to write something but don’t want to conjure something from the depths of my brain. It’s also an interesting restriction to place upon one’s creative capacity, because there are only…
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I wonder how I look when I don’t quite look like me – A poem
I found you in a song the other day
And you’ve been stuck in my head ever since.
You hide in faceless laughs and sideways glances,
An illusion in the corner of my eye.
I think I see a flicker of familiar and then
You’re gone, lingering as a distant relic
Or existing in only two dimensions –
Frozen in photographs
Where I don’t quite look like me.
A tranquil afternoon in a forest by a lake – 35mm film
I visited the Mount Lofty botanic gardens in the Adelaide Hills recently, which is a quite different experience to visiting the city botanic gardens, especially because on this particular day, it was almost empty, other than a couple of lone wanderers. Other times I have been there it’s been filled with families and other people,…
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Lauren Kathleen 