We Bring What We Can

Your photos breathe the beauty of connection

I bring what I can

Your depth of love and willing intervention

I bring what I can

Your wisdom voiced with ageless perception

I bring what I can

Your mysticism met with introspection

I bring what I can

Your analysis, reasoned frustration

I bring what I can

Your healing gentleness and understanding

I bring what I can

Your thoughtful prose and poetry, attention

I bring what I can

Your humour, stoicism, recollections

I bring what I can

Your friendship ‘cross the distance, humbled

I bring what I can

All grist to the mill from splendid isolation

We bring what we can

So many faceless voices, willing

Aspirants of worldly entente cordiale.

In reading and commenting on blogs today, and the word ‘isolation’ running through my mind since waking, I find myself humbled and grateful to be part of this great blogging community. So many others I could have mentioned. So many people everywhere bringing life and thought to their pages. Always reaching out. Bless you all. And, as my lovely blogging bud, Rene, always says in closing her emails and posts – Peace and Love.

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Misericordia

Vicious unsheathed, self deliver,

Stilleto, surely, primed for blood,

Unmerciful, the act disturbed,

Barb inveigled without quiver.

 

Swift, ‘tween slats of ribs, a sliver,

Appointed mark, he missed, perturbed,

Vicious, unsheathed, self deliver

Stilleto, surely primed, for blood.

 

Rondel, coup de grace, with shiver

Stab penetrated, vented flood,

Erred of endeavour ev’ry word,

Mortal wounds, by mouth, the server

Vicious unsheathed self, deliver,

Stilleto, surely primed for blood.

Masked Surprise

This went waaaay off where I was going with it at the start. I fancied a romantic meeting at a masked ball. Fate took a hand. And well, she had other ideas.

Fate had planned their meeting,

How they laughed as they arrived,

Collected motley strangers,

Unsuspecting aught contrived.

Bedecked in costumed finery,

Masks upon their eyes,

Ambience electric

As all hid behind their lies,

Flattered to be asked there,

Dressed one and all as spies,

Agents, Mata Haris,

Sleuths renowned as wise,

Yet none detected counterfeit

In ticketed surprise,

Flirted, danced, now targets,

Fate held them compromised.

Twirling as they partied

They missed their own demise,

Revealed, at last, behind each mask,

Dead already in their lives.

Spied parties to eternity,

No one hears their cries,

Double lives no more concealed,

Fate held mask’d surprise.

I mean, wtf! I wanted romance, I got death. Bloody charming. I might give the romantic version another bash. What can I say? I like the idea of masked encounters.

Fate can bugger off.

If you fancy a bash at writing something based on masks, I’d be delighted if you link in comments so I can visit and read what fate does to your version. Or perhaps you have more control over her than I do. (Shh! Don’t tell her I said that. She’s soooo contrary.)

Big Bit Beautiful

Recent hist’ry, further back,

Nothing born of chance,

Entwine threads and treasures found,

Conjoined in life’s dance.

Ghosts of words, mem’ries bound,

Ugly turns to dust,

Ethereal, spiritual, one love

In which we trust.

Haunted notes from music box,

Motes that swirl from lid

Raised reveal of velveteen,

Box’d coffin where we hid.

Hand to cover, prised, released,

Hinges rusty creak,

Ballerina, beautiful,

Pirouettes, she speaks,

Seeks the treasure,

Finds and shares,

Gifted girl, soul-gowned,

Energy with him reclaimed,

Twin-tuned from Underground.

 

Random click on open mail,

A moment glimpsed in time,

Comment came from words read there,

Here developed as I find.

Grave reminders, must we all

To humility subserve,

But, building up and strengthening,

Big bits of beautiful, all deserve

A second song from music box,

Reminders when we fall,

Composition, love created,

Biggest beautiful of all.

 

Begging The Minstrels

Don’t play those songs for me that set me weeping,

Keep your lyrics locked inside yourself,

Don’t write the words that set my pulse to racing,

Hide them in some pages on a shelf.

Don’t pen the poignant notes that make me shiver

You’re strumming on my strings and take me higher,

Out beyond mere sound and softest downstrokes,

Way out somewhere where the air’s on fire,

Set to flame by rising pyrotechnics,

Your words and music, tone and then your voice,

They play upon my sweetest keys and whisper,

The music flows right through me, I’ve no choice

But to harken to the chords and let them wander

Deep into my soul and give them wing,

You play your words and music, I’m rapt listening,

Don’t stop, keep on, it hurts but let them sing.

Mere words alone can never do this damage,

It takes music set to rhythm, to a score,

Play on, you minstrels, poetry in love notes,

Melodies with muse, I beg for more.

Freedom’s Place

A few weeks ago, in light of the Paris terrorist attacks, I wanted to get off the world. Make it stop, I was thinking inside myself and out loud. I was crying. I know some of you think of me as a little ray of sunshine most of the time, ever optimistic. And I am. Most of the time. Because I work at it. And, deep down, I am a positive person, with a side order of depressive empathy.

So, a few weeks ago, when I wanted to get off the world I almost shut down this blog. I tried to export all my work to a new site but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. I contacted support who got back to me in jig time. But, while I was waiting for them, I opened up a new blog site. There I was going to transfer everything. Start again. Just like I wanted the world to do. Support got back to me, I imported all my writing to save on file to my computer for later export. Who knew it was so easy? But I decided to sleep on it.

And I changed my mind. Woman’s prerogative aside, I had had a rest, a new day had dawned and, with it, fresh hope. It took me a few weeks to get my mojo back. I needed a holiday. But I would have missed writing.

I left the site as it was, name still there, nothing else on it. A fresh place, a free place, a place needing built anew. Just like the world in many ways.

Which brings me to the point of this post.

One of my guests here has enjoyed guesting because her own blog has a definite personna but one that doesn’t reflect the many facets of her. She’s restricted by her online blogging face. And I know she’s not alone. Why else did I want to create a place where I could weep and wail and gnash my teeth without folk thinking I was having a meltdown, going under? I wasn’t. But I did want to go somewhere where no one knew my name or anything about me. A sort of haven, a refuge if you like.

I’m going to let the place go live and anyone who wants to have a place to explore other aspects of their blogging that might not fit on their current creation is more than welcome. There will be no necessity to follow others – everyone has enough to do – there will be no responsibility on the part of facilitators to monitor or schedule, there will be no concern as to who sees, how many followers, what the stats are, any of the bloggy concerns. You can link to your own page. Or not. Up to you.

It will simply be a place where people can be free to be whatever they want to be – in prose, in poetry, in music, in photos, whatever. An experiment in collective creative process.

It will be Freedom’s Place, which is what I called it a few weeks ago when I wanted to get off the world. Please feel free to be an author of any type, creativity, building a new place from scratch.

No racists, homophobes, haters need apply. I’ll delete you. Just like that. But then, I don’t get them here. Just lovely people who may want another place to holiday from time to time.

Think of it as somwhere to have a break. Doing things you may not always do. Writing styles you may never explore otherwise. Maybe you’re a photographer who wants to try poetry. A humorist who wants to get serious. Or a poet who wants to try vlogging (oh that’s me, done that!) You be the judge of what you do on holiday. No one else is judging. Just having a break and letting the tide take where it will. No names, no pack drill.

It’ll be like a kibbutz. Freedom’s Place – A Collective.

Take your old gear with you, hang out, hang about, hang it all.

If you’d like a timeshare, your holiday place for the future, email me at scottishmomus@outlook.com  I’ll fire off an invite to author. And Bob’s your auntie. Booked for when the need arises. Happy holidays.

Be anonymous, go commando, whatever. It’s your holiday home.

 

 

One, Where Two

Meld your mind with mine,

Combine

Delicious abstractions of our essence,

Flood-fill spaces vacant,

Where no other lives in sumptious disarray,

Recreate cell fusion,

Synapsed miles apart to union,

Raise fingertips, extend accord,

Energise the arc

Bounding outer limits cast in physical,

Redeem the spirit of our love,

As I, to you, pour synchronicity,

Compelling and completing

One, where two.

 

Poet’s Corner has issued a Valentine’s Challenge. To join in, click the link to take you there. Still lots of time left. I might manage another!

 

Wildfire

Hi Everyone,

The lovely Anne – Marie read one of my poems and asked me if I would like to feature it on here on her blog to which I replied of course I will! It’s a bit funny to me because I actually wrote this piece as an emotional vomit. Yay for expressing rage! Anyway I hope you like it.

Lisa

 

wpid-woman_of_the_fire_by_music_guard-d6m6r53

 

Woman of the fire

She stands in the spotlight faint hearted
The saboteur waits in shadows
She sings of truth and beauty
She wants her silenced now
A voice gets reduced
The knife slides in
She stops all
Partners
None
Consumed
Hums alone
Inhales, exhales
Tests her feet in dance
Weds the heavenly choir
Raises the curtain to love
Remembers the assault of hate
Stays on hold patiently by the fire

“Some women are lost in the fire. Some women are built from it.”

A Touch

Your lulling touch left me waiting for more
As the beggar longs for warmth within
Have me back in your gaze tonight
Seeing through my shallow heart
Live inside my pained eyes
Silence my hunger
Touch me again
My request
Is you
Us
We are
Me in you
Our souls imbued
Intertwining dance
Caressing your heart; feel
Melding heavenly essence
The howl of nature’s decadence
Rising through desirous ecstacy

~Johnny and Lisa Ojanpera

Hidden Gems

Dulled with hidden sparkle

Uncovered in the core

Polished velvet glove redeems

Golden glitz and more

In where and what

The earth conceals

In muddied waters deep

Gems revealed in sparkled form

Release

We must not keep

The treasures as they surface

In the light of oxygen

Whose breaths we live

 Replenish

So life begins again