Tag Archives: microfiction

Handwritten Pages #20 Sunlight

He grasped the early morning shafts of sunlight striking through the gaps in the curtains. Strips of sunbeams speckled with diamonds of dust. Harvested like shards of honeycomb, stored in jars and placed around the house as lanterns. He spooned mouthfuls of amber twilight from the jars and ate the light to satiate the darkness.

 

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Handwritten Pages #19 The Baptismal Slough

Under the shelter of the summer storms clouds he waited, held within a womb of humidity, his body slick with sweat.

As he drew breaths, held deeply then exhaled slowly, the skies rippled and pulsed, heaved and held back their waves before splitting above him in a gushing of waters.

The tackiness of his sweat sloughed off like old skin beneath the baptism of new rain.

A midwife to his own rebirth.

Renewed skin, perfect in its newest gloss, dressed in the lifetime of variables: family, work, love, pain, futility, faith, doubt, hope and sex, until worn threadbare, stained and tattered. 

And he would wait for the next storm, for another baptism, another cleansing, seed to impregnate the soil with his vision of himself.

 

with acknowledgement to Bruce Dawe and Shakespeare

Handwritten Pages #18 The Kiss

Their kiss was a reintroduction to joy; the passionate self-belief everything would be ok in a screwed up world when the screwed-uppedness manifested in a constant shit-storm that threatened to drown them and salt the earth in the aftermath.
To get there, invitations slipped in as ordinary moments as the antithesis to pain’s physical form: meals in Tupperware containers reheated in microwaves and eaten with grief and gratitude; cups of tea with phones ignored and flowers as prayers for healing.
And in the end, the scraping away and the shovelling of shit to make manure for a broken soil leading to the kiss of forgiveness and the parched desert of intimacy soaked with rain awaiting the bloom of wild flowers.

Handwritten Pages #17

 

Standing inside the phone booth, its panes of glass crumbled to hail stones on the concrete floor, with the receiver cradled against my ear, I pretend to put coins in the slot while listening to the dial tone. The static drone a soundtrack to the anonymity of pain. Stabbing the numbers in a sequence I have never forgotten, hoping to call the ghosts of the future to tell them not to wait up for me.

Handwritten Pages #16

 

Autumn of Cheeseburgers

I walk through the autumn of cheeseburger wrappers drifting on the updraft of car exhaust with only enough change in my pocket to buy you and me an ice cream cone.

Finding Meaning Between The Black Lines

Blackout poetry, or erasure poetry, is unique in that you are working with a predetermined set of words. You can blackout or erase as much or as little as you like. Form new words and phrases from what exists.

But what does it mean? A recent conversation with creative collaborators posed this question and one suggestion was that blackout poetry was a search for meaning. Firstly as individual; secondly for the audience. 

I compose firstly for myself, then for an audience. However the text also exists independent of me as creator. 

With that in mind, I took the initial post that sparked this discussion and made three erasure poems. Each time I looked for something different; another angle, a change of perspective. 

For these I copied the text into a document and used the highlighter tool. Hence some fragment spaces.

There were a couple of words or phrases I returned to, a focal point or locus for writing but I had to deliberately move away from them to forge something new.

Was I looking for something of myself in the poetry? I am not sure. Sometimes there is an identification with the text. At other times it is an enjoyment of the construction of language. While perhaps it is also a disquieting of the soul and heart when darker ideas and phrases emerge.

I don’t think there is a clear answer to the question. If anything, the new text raises more questions. Questions that may have an answer or questions that may provoke a dialogue.

I’ll leave the answers up to you.

#1 Traces of Light

screen-shot-2016-12-18-at-10-09-30-pm

#2 Stillness and Shenanigans 

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#3 The Countless Hours

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Zentangle #19 Dissolving

image

DISSOLVING

the thought of
gradually dissolving
is to 
lose faith in 
the flesh and blood
beneath the skin

 

If you would like to purchase the original piece above, it is yours for $10 (inc. postage and handling to anywhere in the world). Drop me a note in the comments and I’ll be in contact. It will be mounted and signed.

UPDATE: The piece is now SOLD.
You can buy postcard prints of a selected range of zentangle pieces or purchase a calico tote bag featuring Coloured Pencils HERE.