The Social Realm

How often have you been interested enough to wonder, but not interested enough to ask?

Sitting next to various people today, on benches, in waiting rooms, I pondered the question myself. At one stage I could feel the heat radiating off the body beside me, but did not turn to look; did not even steal a glance. Maybe, out the corner of my eye, I sensed a male, with ash blonde hair, but that was it.

How often do we sit beside people without saying a word?
How bizarre are bench situations?

Another stage brought another wandering corpse. Well, they might’ve been, for all I knew about them. Only, out of the corner of my eye, I sensed a brunette, mid-height female, with a blue shirt. The wanderer sat a few seats down from mine although what she did, I could not tell, because I wasn’t interested enough to look.
I wasn’t interested enough to ask.

So, I decided to read my book. Reading is not exactly what happened though. Instead, I sifted through words, each one as weighted as the next. Clearly, I was not interested in reading either. My attention wandered. I wondered. I checked for my lift, which still hadn’t arrived, and attempted a few more pages of the book. It didn’t work. The pages were scanned without meaning, and the words were just patterns to my eyes.

Looking beside me, there was another specimen, right beside me. I glanced very fast and quickly looked away. All I had seen was the brown, straight hair, belonging to a person of the other gender who happened to be wearing a black jacket: the comfy type of jacket, like a sweater.

How could I possibly handle any more of this awkwardness? I mentally slapped myself for not having the courage to take a proper look, but before my skin could increase its socially awkward temperature any more, my lift arrived. I climbed in and we drove off, as I gazed out the window at all the faceless bodies around us. “I see your friend was sitting on the bench outside,” said my dad conversationally.

“Oh! Really?” Oops.

I had been just interested enough to sit.
Not interested enough to look.
Not interested enough to ask.

Written by: Flameheart

content is copyright protected
All Rights Reserved
Advertisements

The Logic Fantastic

I want to pour:
release
the words onto the page, but then I remember:
teeth need to be brushed and business attended to.
Logic overcomes the situation like a python,
twisting and bulging,
divulging
nothing.

Have you checked your e-mails?
The snake increases its might.
e-mails
stare.
I glare:
to-do list waiting in the wings.

Ignoring the potentially lethal hug,
my pen is picked up.
Who cares?
A bug?

Free verse escapes, as aeroplanes of thoughts
compete for the narrow landing strip.
Suddenly, a slimy, long, muscly creature
emerges:
raises its head,
infumed.
Only, I’ve brought my Charming Clarinet
and play the pet a tune.

Written by: Flameheart

content is copyright protected
All Rights Reserved

I wanted to write

A moment ago,
I wanted to write

essays of the sea;
great stories of a golden quest;

the truth;
the best;

waves upon the kitchen floor;
treasures in your beating chest;

tales of way and wow and woe;
tales of passion
tales of ‘go’

all of it,
none of it,
strong or light:

a moment ago,
I wanted to write.

Written by: Flameheart

content is copyright protected
All Rights Reserved

Poetry

Poetry,
like inspiration from a seed,
scent
away to a heavenly place.

Heavenly words.

You smell of
fresh-cut roses.
I put you in a vase.

You envelope;
gasp
into the glass haven;
grow
as poetic branches
shudder
and
shatter
the shards.

Your vines
embellish
the kitchen counter;
awaken
the sombre stove:

a light.

Written by: Flameheart

content is copyright protected
All Rights Reserved

Swirls of Colour

This is an essay that I wrote for school in 2006. It pretty much illustrates how I felt about procrastination at the time 😉

Swirls of Colour:

A girl makes her way to her desk at home.  She must start her homework.  She has put it off for too long; a pang of guilt stings her in her stomach.  Even now her colourful world is beginning to fade.  She must do something to bring it back.  As her pen touches her paper, she procrastinates.  Poetry is pouring out of her soul, colouring her world again.

While she is delving into the world of her imagination, colourful streaks come out line by line, page by page.  She thinks about her homework but she cannot bring herself to do it.  She has started something.  It just cannot be left alone.  The spaces on her page get to her.  She has to fill them up.  More words come tumbling out to fill every gap.

New thoughts cross her mind.  Pictures are what she needs.  Twirls and squiggles. Anything that will venture out of her creativity.  Meaningless shapes take form around her words.  She cannot control it. It is as if her page is creating itself.  She is the tool while the pictures and words control her.  They come out of nowhere.

Every now and then her thoughts wander to the homework that needs to be done. It is a daunting thought.  Her homework becomes menacing, like a tiger that has been left without food for a month.  She is the prey. She has to resume her procrastination.  As she does, her drawings become more intricate.  Anything to block out all that is destroying her colour.

It feels as if she has been sitting there forever.  Three pages are written.  Intricate lines and twirls surround the words.  She starts on a fourth page. It will be her final one; she is decided.  This one has no words, just twirls.  She has to fill every gap with a line, a twirl, a dot- anything she can.

She is finally finished.  It is late.  The thought of her homework makes her shiver.  If she does not start it now she will never finish it.  But the tiger is ready to pounce.  These thoughts envelop her, with darkness overshadowing her.  No, she cannot do it, not now.  She needs to sleep.  Colourful dreams, they will help.  Dreaming is so much better than reality.  After all, she is sure she might be able to tackle her homework in the morning…

Written by: Flameheart

content is copyright protected
All Rights Reserved

MyFreeCopyright.com Registered & Protected

For Goodness sake

For Goodness sake

For interest sake

What does poetry look like on this site?

I hesitate

I dare to shake

You look at me

and scream

Whoo wee

Instead

I drop salt gum drops on

your head

and you sprinkle sugar

instead

Thanks

Looks like I was wrong

Should have known it all along!

Written by: Flameheart

content is copyright protected
All Rights Reserved