late night daydream

Awake, uncertain, still I wait, for dreams to break their slumber

To call in tongues with wishful thoughts and fears too great to number.

It helps to realise that though I hold him close in thought,

Reality speaks differently and often brings us naught.

The touch of him against my skin, an instant lost in time,

Is 'wakened by a memory and objects held so fine. 

Left behind to torture me and taunt me with its scent, 

Time slides by, no reason why, as tides that came and went.

The material is soft to touch and teasing with its wonder,

Left here all by circumstance? My heart and soul to plunder?

I breathe it in and slip it on, relishing the maleness

I never want to take it off, as it imitates his nearness.

'It will look good on you' he said, and set my heart to pounding,

I'm yet to stop and take it off, for with it I'm abounding

In love and something beautiful, but still too raw to show it,

For though I feel it deep inside, my soul is yet to know it.

The bane of my existance.

As I begin my heart pounds in queer anticipation and fear; anticipating a loveless encounter and fearing the inevitable unknown. An anxious grasp on my heart has shattered my reflexes, causing each movement to be rushed and clumsy. One after the other, in quick succession, my defences fall. A spoken word is shocking and my breath catches in my throat. I force smiles and fake an openness that defies the logic of the situation. The repetitiousness of dutiful routine provides some comfort, but the imaginings of a scorned heart cannot be stilled. Images of unrelated purpose and instance swim tantalisingly by. The colours before me, though bright and diverse, hold no satisfaction. I find escape in each inkling of possibility, turning to run from responsibility and chore. Time begins to resemble thick honey, dripping slow, heavy minutes. Soon, I console myself, soon I will be done. I do dislike working in homewares.

anxiety

Uncharted sleep is severed by the touch of something real,
burning liquid sears my chest, heart clenched in fists of steel.
Images of broken truths torment the twilight hour,
half understood realities dissect my weakened tower.
A revelation unexpected, believed with much duress,
It feeds on my uncertainty and delights in my distress.

Teenage Musings

My youngest sister recently gave me a harddrive that contained an entire folder of writing that I had begun when I was probably 15. It has given me great amusement to read through it all, and remember how clever I thought I was! Decided to share a few of the things that I found. Keep in mind I was 15!

Poem:

It was a cold and wintry morning

Bees and birds were still,

Not a sound was stirring

As I ran up the hill.

I looked back only once

To see if they were there,

But I saw nobody

Through the thick and smoky air.

Over the fields and meadows,

I saw a cow did fly

But then it came across to me

And I saw it was just the sky.

A figment of my memory,

A piece of puzzled dream

Nothing that makes sense to me

As I skipped across a stream.

A bullet whizzing fast

Through my tangled hair,

They are getting closer

I wished that they weren’t there.

A footstep falling faster,

Closer than I cared

I closed my eyelids tighter

And dreamed of my warm bed.

My mind it wandered backwards

To better days and years

I smiled in remembrance,

I blinked back falling tears.

It was so much better,

When none of them were here

When every day was spent

Without a worry or fear.

But then they came in numbers,

Growing more each day

And soon we lived in horror

As they pushed us away.

My family all left me,

Without a smile or a glance,

To go to somewhere better

Where they could have a chance.

I was left alone

To wander through the night,

Visions of the horror

Blocking out the light.

Screams and tears and pain,

Eyes that cry unseen,

Bitter, closed in memories

Of a dark and haunted dream.

Somewhere in the distance,

A scream of pain and fear

Breaks the haunting silence,

A scream for all to hear.

It took a while to realise,

Though while it wasn’t real,

The cry of bitter agony

Was mine alone to feel.

The sky it turned to white

As I lay with arms stretched wide

But soon the blackness followed

To lie down at my side.






Not sure what the motivation for this particular piece was, but I found that a lot of my writing was very dark and depressing. Do not feel the need to write with such darkness now!

I open up my eyes

I hear a teardrop fall

A cracked and broken heart

A mocked and tortured soul

A heartbeat quickly slowing

Till silence lifts its head

A moment filled with longing,

A lifetime filled with dread

The touch of a passing hand,

A loved one dead and gone

Come to welcome me home

A place where I belong

No more to see the eyes

That hold so many regrets

No more to hear the pain

That one so oft’ forgets


Just another poem that was in the same folder. There a lot of started short stories as well, I may get around to finishing them and possibly sharing :)

Imaginations of a half-mad mind

The dream began like any other; with sleep.

Through the foggy logic of a sleep-addled brain in the throes of REM, there emerged the scene of a typical school yard. Based loosely on Ouyen Secondary College, the grounds were grassy and dotted with scrappy trees struggling to survive in the harsh Mallee climate. The family dinner was going well, the table at which we were seated facing a wall of glass that looked out over the change rooms.
I need the toilet, said I.
We, (Melanie and I) approached the labyrinth of cubicles and toilets with apprehension.
Great! Exclaimed one of the two cleaning girls, now we'll have to wash the floors again!
The cubicles were open and exposed, none of the choices including the sanctuary of privacy. I turned corners and ducked down behind low walls, finding a toilet that was hidden from the view of the other five or so girls that had entered the maze. A cleaner followed me.
Oh, that's disgusting, she declared.
You can stay if you like, I offered.
Thankfully, she left me to my 'business'. It was messy. I tried to clean myself up but barely succeeded. I was swamped by a crowd of girls.
You have poo on your jacket, one informed me.
Guess I'll have to shower, then. Seemed simple enough to me. I showered in the cubicle beside the toilet and dressed in the change of clothes that I had been sensible enough to bring with me. I tied the dirty clothes into a plastic bag and left the smelly bundle in the caravan.

Tori's excitement was palpable as she led me into a dress shop. She had seen an outfit that she believed would be perfect. As I studied a green, tulle-ruffled dress I could feel the whisperings of a touch on my left butt-cheek. I turned and faced the five-year-old Chinese girl who had been the culprit.
What are you doing?
I'm kissing your bum.
Oh! I guess that made sense to me.
I smell blood, she said.
I smell it too, I agreed.

The ocean sparkled with a million diamonds beneath a startling blue sky. The water was warm and clear, the world beneath the surface a dazzling display of colours, shapes and metallic movement. Fish darted between orange and yellow coral, while stalks of seaweed waved sleepily as we swam by. We collected interesting objects. A purple grasshopper that was chewing on a pink anemone. I saw a fish that seemed to be decorated with gold leaf, but it was only half a fish. Denver showed me her hand. It had become its own reef, a glove of small plants and tiny coral that stopped at her wrist.
Rub it off! I squealed. But she shrugged and googled what it could be.
Turtle dust. She said. And the miniature reef was in the shape of a turtle and no longer on her hand.
We swam to the balcony and went inside.
When I returned to the ocean's edge later Tori had turned Parris into a long pink fish and was tossing her among the coral-choked reef. The barracuda grinned at me as it glided past.
Tori! Get her out of there, she'll get eaten! But pink-fish-Parris was nowhere to be seen. Denver jogged past, her bare feet thumping on the wooden deck.
 Denver! Don't go in there, there is a barracuda! They eat feet! But there was only a splash in reply. Denver turned to face me, confusion written on her face and she tread water. I jumped the railing, ready to haul her back in just as the Barracuda sunk its razor sharp teeth into Denver's foot. She gasped and screamed then flailed as she was dragged beneath the water.
I told her they eat feet.

Scratchings of a blunt pencil

Ok, so I'd never actually use a blunt pencil, those are the worst! 


These are just a few illustrations of mine that have been scanned already. Plenty more that haven't been!

The graphics stuff

Went through some old folders containing some Graphic Design work that I have done over the years, and chose some pieces that I am somewhat proud of to show you all. Well, here goes nothing.