behind-the-veil-of-sanity

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

You ask me to put my past behind me / but the past is all I have / I carry nothing of your alluring future / the known is all there is / the tapping of tired toes across hazy dusty floorboards / the yanking of rusty chains and boys crying wolf / gingerbread men and sickly treacle tarts / I need no other future than the one that has come to pass.

#words

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

Well… sometimes authorial voices conflate the fictional and the real to a point where the truth and the tall tales become a perfect shade of grey. In such moments — 0.0 … hello? Can you hear me? Is this mic working? This is a PSA from the nanowrimo council: let it be known that, for some Jaysome reason, @fakesurprise does not, I repeat DOES NOT, need to apply for extracurricular spelling classes. End of message — … uhm … it’s probably best to just drop the matter at hand … and walk away … slowly …

Uhms!!! @fakesurprise wrote about someone boiling peoples eyes in their socks?!?!???

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

Huh? Sounds like an oops… I’m sure the spelling spooks has spotted Mr Surprise’s error by now… or the nanowrimo gods will have a field day — 0.0

Uhms!!! @fakesurprise wrote about someone boiling peoples eyes in their socks?!?!???

#mirthful mutterings #a tap on the shoulder #there’s no one there #0.0

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

TL;DR

I have a new poetry collection in the pipeline. Inspired by “ruminating love” by @lorienfae I chose the hardback format. This collection is scaled back, no graphics, no handwriting, not much more than weird words arranged on a number of 6x9in pages.

#psa #poetry collection #writers on tumblr #nudge nudge Mark ;)

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

In the new land nothing grew Like weed, no growth without feed They said I could indeed Become a better me If only I could learn to see Truth in the deal On offer: Death only speaks to the living. In the land of the new nothing grew But sorrow Over the same tomorrows & weeds walking Asking for charities From OAPs Skidding like kiddies In silent wintery splash parks. Death speaks only to the living & OAPs Hell-bent on killing Every thought Of change. Death to the living. Death to weed. Death to the deal — on offer In the land of old and new I pursue a Truth Worthy the cause Of living.

#fragment #words

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

Every week I shed my face, Don the youthful appearance Of my latent longing eye Buried deep within An unconcerned Apocalyptic Mind. Every day I seek that face Once, or twice, spoken to Like it held the answers To someone’s solemn Dream. Every moment I find Only shattered memories Of what one was An I. Every shard just evidence Of yearning To stay Alive.

#fragment #words

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

I no longer make bold To chant your warbling words, The poetry of the longing & pining for another world. I no longer venture To tempt our Father’s Fate Of falling into love’s abyss & Mother’s wicked mesh. I no longer presume To sing my tepid Truth, The poetry of a longing & a tightening noose.

#fragment #words

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

As I tinker with the fourth poetry collection I realise how far I have come, yet I find little comfort in that moment knowing the roads I’ve walked and the oblique paths waiting in the shroud of ignorance. My life did a volta, unexpectedly as if it was a poem and the poet changed their hum. Hum. Hum. Hum. I never knew the power of a hum. A hum can break and undo a life, a solid life as if set in concrete can shatter from a simple change of hum. Huh, fancy that. Ho hum. I tinker and think no further on matters ahead. Shards of moulded clay lay shattered by my feet. I imagine I look naked and lacklustre, finding no evidence of otherwise. The darkest day has turned to night, and in that I find comfort.

#friday night thoughts

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

Take Two

Come as you are, come as you were When the slow snow fell Across our virgin land, Seeking glitter and glimmer Underneath the Nevertheless & the tinfoil hats Tightly towered. Come direct, come circumspect Through the muddle and puddles Of the path I present: A tarp to trap you! Hold you In my flailing arms, Embrace my sorrows then Slice up my heart. Come as you are, come as you were Back then, when We failed Our hearts.

#fragment

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

I’m tired, tired Of staring through one pair of saxe blue Seeing only lukewarm winds And faint flakes of glittering glow I’m tired, tired Of seeing the same fake limbs flailing As dawn turns to dusk On yet another arduous unadventurous Day I’m tired, tired Of putting one foot ahead of the other Foot, feet, a measurement of yet another Failed attempt I’m tired, tired Of staring through a single pair of saxe blue Seeing lukewarm winds pulling through The faint flakes — the glittering glows Of Christmas

#fragment #poetry #spilled ink

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

In the shallow dance of life I no longer recognise the self. I feel my soul slowly succumbing To pressures far beyond comprehension, Its slow seep through the cracks Of a once solid foundation. I no longer recognise my self. I fear this new foundling And its tepid taps Across a dusty floor.

#fragment #cracks

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

Agreed.

It's my 9 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

:D

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

Blindly scouring the barren lands, Unmade nails once bloodied Now carry the dust of desperation As the cracks and lines grow. I search the scrapyard Of the Lost and the Fallen, Looking for another soul To match the one pocketed. I go on – reluctantly Answers become questions And bloody knees know When to stop But the head does not Stop Scouring The scrapyards Of the Lost & the Fallen

#fragment

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

Jay. That will happen. If it doesn’t, *shudders*, it means you’re no longer a boy of eleven… and … NO, let’s not go there

It's my 9 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

:D

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

If you are in the UK, Bristol come to this lovely poetry and music event.

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

Not sure if I can be of assistance as my fashion sense is nonexistent, but I know some horses like to dress up as zebras. Might not be appropriate for a Jay though, nor for hallowed eves.

Jay is discussing Halloween costume ideas.

Help.

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

Death rode in one blustery morning Marking the coming of Shame, The horse limp and striped — tick tock & so they went Barking up the write tree Where ink no longer fade, In sunlight their words stayed Unstained, Taintlessness in ambiguities — and the uneven echo of history Repeating itself as Death spake Gingerly ‘Is there a House of Pleasures?’ ‘It’s Limpy – needing a rest,’ The emphasis tainted by moonshine And a red bottle cap Left by the wayside Way way desert way, … ‘I only need a bath, and a pen Cil Cut Sil Ver is the House of Pleasures’ Death asked and Death stared Down a barrel Of a new beginning Where wee Clouds of Shame Saunter alongside savvy Selfies Tapping along to trumpets Blowing out their own ass. Death rode in one blustery morning Marking the coming of Shame. Alas, no horse just a wannabe bronco Z could have found some fame Knowing Death — and the poetry That could have been.

#fragment #words #begun as a poem but ended up a … ? #oh well…