Secrets in Indigo

Painting | My Summer Wine by Adrian Borda

Painting | My Summer Wine by Adrian Borda

 

You carved into my skin

The promise of a bruise

And I have watched it bloom

Into a sigh.

My body veils in silence

Each indigo – a secret

That longs for your caress

To mellow,

Else to die.

And when the snow falls red

Onto my cheeks displaced

By kisses inked in rain,

I shatter days:

The ones replete of beauty,

Those fashioned into hailstones…

All left for you to salvage. 

Your loss 

To set ablaze.

*

Weekly Writing Challenge: Mystery Ending

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A writer’s holiday from blogging

blood-quill

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” 

— Ernest Hemingway

There is a price to be paid for high productivity. The storm passes, the energy – seemingly boundless to begin with – recedes. Ideas continue to haunt, crashing through the plates of one’s skull and demanding to be allowed space on the paper. But fingers have turned sluggish. They wave away all hurried calls for more. Not now. Now is not the time. They are still caught in the half-dream of the morning, in the worlds that had gifted them stories without asking for anything in return. They long for the feel of freshly mowed grass, for the warmth of a steaming bun. They long for a break from the abstract and a return to the pleasures of life, as humble in their everydayness as they might be.

Today we shall have the world at our fingertips and live life so that we might glean something worth writing about.

Of Truth and Spleen

photography: Dystopia by Ian Hemingway

photography: Dystopia by Ian Hemingway

 

I cower at your feet – 

A docile body – 

With no thoughts of its own

But those of your creation.

Identity depleted 

Of jagged edges all:

I am like him

And he is like the next.

In this – our condition –

Of quieted un-freedom 

We are amalgams of the same.

Are these the truths you seek?

Are we – such things of pity –

That you crave power over?

Yet know that yours won’t be

The only truth to reign

And we shall turn

The tide against itself.

And should our power fail us

We shall imagine sabres –

Or teeth of steel –

To give home to our spleen.

 

*

Writing Challenge: The Ray Bradbury Noun List Twist

2. Your nouns. Create a list of at least ten nouns. (If you can think of more, great, you’ll have more nouns to choose from.) Write a new piece using at least five of the nouns on your list.

My list: Modernity, Freedom, Identity, Creation, Condition, Action, Rulers, Power, Truth, Existence.

Spiralling out of Control | Exploring DC

Why walk in a straight line when there are so many hidden treasures off the beaten path?

There are many a person who goes on a city-break with a “tick list” in hand: a list of things they want to see and do. Of course, when time is of the essence this may very well be the quickest way to get acquainted with a new city. Personally, I prefer to get lost in a new place so that by the time I find my way again, I’ve also managed to make it my own.

Washington DC is no exception to my roundabout ways of exploring. The only thing I knew about my first outing in DC was that at some point I will reach Georgetown. There was no mistaking it once I got there, and here are some of the spirals, curves and zigzags that I discovered on my equally topsy-turvy journey.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Zigzag

The first thing that I absolutely had to stop and capture on film (well… its digital equivalent rather) was this stunning powder-blue staircase. Amazing curves and a colour to match. If you look carefully you will notice that the sign above the door is a steam locomotive! The romantic in me could not resist.

Blue Spirals by Vic Briggs, Georgetown: Washington DC

This second find made me grin ear to ear. How often do bikes go quite this pink? I loved how this oldie was refurbished into a flower pot, and although it is a little worse for wear, I would not have it look any other way. Did you spot the zigzags?

Pink Cycling by Vic Briggs, Georgetown: Washington DC

After zigzagging all around Georgetown, we took a well deserved by the Potomac and let our legs dangle off the curve of this water-side path, so that we may watch at leisure the rowers who were speeding through the heat of the day towards the nearby bridge.

Summer on the Potomac by Vic Briggs, Georgetown: Washington DC

I have to agree with Ben: “The quickest way between two points might be a straight line, but it’s rarely the most interesting one.”

In Matters of Sloth

Smile and Sloth by Vic Briggs Daily Prompt: The Eighth Sin

Acedia or sloth, was first listed amongst eight evil thoughts (the basis of the modern seven deadly sins) by Evargrius the Solitary, a Christian ascetic monk.

Curiously, acedia does not necessarily have to mean sloth. It appears that in the Philokalia, which translates as “love of the beautiful, the good” and is “a collection of texts written between the 4th and 15th centuries by spiritual masters”,  the term acedia had the meaning of dejection or depression.

While depression may very well dim our ability to be sensible of the beautiful and the good in our lives, I should think that by including it amongst lists of “evil thoughts” and “deadly sins”, we attribute a negative agency to those who suffer from depression that is undeserved. So too goes for the paralysing consequences that depression can have, which prevent those who struggle with it to be as active and productive as they are when they are in a healthy place: being unable to work in such cases can by no means be deemed as slothful.

And while 4th century monks may have been ill-informed as to the causes of depression and its consequences, and could feel themselves justified in denoting it as a sin, I think that it may be time to eliminate it from the list.

So instead of adding another sin to the list, I say it is high time we lobby for the opposite.

As for our name-sake mammals, a few years ago I met one of their number in Peru. They are truly beautiful creatures, with soft, shaggy hair, kind eyes and appear to have a constant smile on their lips.  Certainly, they are very slow in their movements and I suppose that’s where they got the name. Then again, they have no reason to be in a hurry.

I’d like to think that perhaps if we too slowed down every now and then, and took our time to observe and delight in the world around us, we would enjoy life that little bit more.

A question to my readers

plato

As some of you may already know: while being a writer, I am also a philosopher-in-training. Currently my philosophy project is on hold, however there are several pieces that I have written that would lend themselves well to this medium.

So here is my question to you: Do you think that philosophy posts would be a welcome addition to my current range of topics, and if so, what subjects would be of most interest to you personally?

Awaiting your replies.

With best regards,

Vic

Through the Trapdoor

Starry Night by Jorge Maia

Starry Night by Jorge Maia

 

The night is late.

Waves flutter at my feet with memories of light:

Belated stars, perhaps elsewhere extinguished. 

I’ve watched whole universes pass

Across the canvas of the sky

And melt away beyond the lake’s horizon.

 

And still you did not come.

 

Soon will be dawn.

The cricket’s song will die away 

And the ravine whence they have made my bed

Will paint its shadows silent.

Beneath this bloodied scythe I’m set to rest,

Never to rise again or feel this life’s embrace.

 

And still you did not come.

*

 

Weekly Writing Challenge: The Ray Bradbury Noun List Twist

  1. Bradbury’s sample noun list. Write a new piece using at least five of the nouns from Bradbury’s sample list, above: The lake. The night. The crickets. The ravine. The attic. The basement. The trapdoor. The baby. The crowd. The night train. The fog horn. The scythe. The carnival. The carousel. The dwarf. The mirror maze. The skeleton.