From my window, what can be seen? Freshly mowed lawns, a blanket of green. Billowy branches of myriad trees Lazily loll in a summery breeze Suburban houses stand in a row Windows like eyes, what do they know? A car whizzes past to the end of the street Birds flutter by with a chirrupy tweet Telegraph poles against a cloudless blue sky A man on his Iphone slowly shuffles by Shade from a tree falls across the road A van is parked, neighbours empty a load Summer lingers, the sun fierce and intense No one is keen to chat at the fence I keep to myself, I like staying inside Watching, wondering, weary yet wired The road is now searing in the midday sun Doors and blinds close, air conditioners hum A grey car appears, a curious cube shape I stand at the window to goggle and gape A haughty cat defies the sultry heat To silently slink along the quiet street Tail arched she stops to choose A shady spot where she can snooze Visitors pull up and walk into next door You rarely see children outside anymore Our road curves around like a horse shoe Some homes are old, others brand new The gate is shut next door at number nine Across the road there's a for sale sign The people in these houses I hardly know What do they do? Where do they go? I stare out the window and wistfully wonder If it will rain, bringing lightning and thunder No, it won't, I think this out loud The sun is too bright, I don't see a cloud Yet there's the promise of a violent storm It's autumn now, and the weather's too warm Everything is brightness, mission green and baby blue Bushes, branches, leaves becoming a rusty gold hue I reflect upon this mundane suburban scene Where things aren't always what they seem There are stories out there, of this I am certain One more glance then I slowly close the curtain.
With my imagination I can behold Mysteries, stories, tales to be told Search through the archives of my mind Ask probing questions, transcend time I'm sitting, just staring, so it would seem Dreaming things that make my eyes gleam Thinking up magical words to create Making up characters, deciding their fate Lost in the wonder of words I discover Finding a rhythm, then writing another Sitting in bed, pen in my hand Come to me now, dear words, I command When I have written, I like how I feel Something shifts and inside I heal In a quiet corner where my books all reside Another notebook, words jumbled, I've tried With a laptop and imagination, I tap away Contented and happy in this simple way Flying away in both heart and mind Along with the wind, to see what I'll find Past houses, trees and curious people A windswept beach, a sombre church steeple Thinking of questions, pondering answers Daring to dream, take further chances To ancient lands of haughty queens and kings, Creatures and serpents and sinister things Grotesque visions that make your heart lurch Yes, imagination is the highest research! Outside the window, the rain starts to fall I'm lost to my imagination's beckoning call I weave my words, unaware of the time Oblivious to the washing, now wet on the line! Suddenly I see my dear Mickey Blue Eyes Who looks out, aghast, and hastily cries "Didn't you hear it?"I give a sheepish no. It's hard to believe I didn't, I know. I said it before, but one more time... Imagination is the place you will find The research for all the things you ponder True glory and hope, visions of wonder Of course imagination is the highest research It's always a blessing, but sometimes a curse!
Abruptly I have to crash back to Earth, Be present and focused to prove my worth So I must explain, I often feel misunderstood I'm a wistful dreamer whose intentions are good Although imagination does take me away It's how I express the things I can't say It's not laziness that you think you see This is the magic of imagination for me I'm sitting, just staring, so it would seem Dreaming of things that make my eyes gleam With my imagination I can behold Mysteries, stories, tales to be told... Linking up for Friday Reflections with a poem that is inspired by the following two prompts: “Imagination is the highest form of research” – Albert Einstein. Use this quote in your post or as an inspiration for one. What’s the one thing you wish others understood about you
Do you think imagination is the highest form of research? What's the one thing you wish others understood about you?
It's another fabulous Friday! I'm joining in again for Friday Reflections with a lovely little poem based on the prompt: If toys had feelings. Write a post or story and get creative!
IF TOYS HAD FEELINGS
If toys had feelings, they'd hate the toy box Barbie would emerge, shaking her blonde locks "I'm free!" she would shout triumphant, and then March off, leaving behind bland old plastic Ken Toys DO have feelings, that delightful doll house The complex jigsaw puzzle, the cute cuddly mouse Huggable, lovable teddy bears sit all in a row Their expressions hide all the things they know If toys had feelings they'd be alive Full of adventure, daring to strive Round marbles gleaming ethereal hues Ballerinas perched in glittering shoes If toys had feelings, the little Lego Man Would bustle about his magic Lego Land Suddenly it's clear there's more than you can see You'll fly the wishing chair, climb the faraway tree! Toys have feelings, I believe they do! Just open your mind, you'll see it too! The rusty toy truck forlorn and dejected Mr Five has left him alone and rejected Building blocks scattered with abandon and glee Played with by all day by creative Miss Three A train set whirs along the track, chug-a-chug-chug Match box cars weave around the pattern on the rug Toys have feelings? Why yes, of course! See the quirky grin on the quaint rocking horse? The rocket ship that blasts boldly to the moon A music box moves us with a melancholy tune Dainty cups on jaunty saucers, a tea party for two Don't hurt their feelings, whatever you do! Sip the pretend tea and sigh in sheer delight Cherish those toys with all of your might! Toys DEFINITELY have feelings, I have decided This fanciful thought must not be derided Toys recall the feelings we didn't think would last Joy, innocence, childhood memories long past Toys remind us of the playful side of life To make time for laughter, cast aside strife Enjoy those toys like you are still young Their magic and mystery has only just begun!
Writing one for this post is proving to be problematic. It's Monday (a bit of the old Captain Obvious there) and the beginning of another week full of exciting things. Using exciting in the sense of rather ordinary. Additionally, another week ended in which I did not suddenly become a millionaire. RUDE. Because I was all set to begin my new life of luxury. And while we're on the subject of beginnings, which we are. Just an FYI there. Because I do tend to waffle and have a short attention span. I can't promise I won't meander onto another subject mid paragraph...
What were we talking about again? Oh, yeah. Beginnings. Life began for me one balmy day on January 15th 1971. Well, I assume it was balmy. I don't actually remember. That would be pretty impressive if I could, but I can't even remember five minutes ago let alone the day I was born. However, it's a fair guess, considering that January is summer time in the good old land of Oz. Also known as Australia. Which is where I was born. Each birthday I do remember has always been hideously hot. In a surprising coincidence I was born in a hospital in the same suburb where I currently live 45 years later. Yes, I've gone far in life. Winning! According to my Mum I was rather reluctant to leave the cosy cocoon of her womb. She spent hours and HOURS in labour. I finally arrived at around 6 pm. Just in time for dinner. Typical. Throughout my life I've shown a distinct lack of interest in beginning each day. Read that as I hated getting out of bed. Mum would be calling me and trying to wake me. When I finally surfaced I was grumpy and surly. Beware anyone who committed the heinous act of glancing sideways at me. Especially my brother. "Muuuuuum!" I would wail "Mark's LOOKING at me!" As an adult I'm still not a morning person. I never spring out of bed eager to begin my day. In 1976 I began kindergarten. I remember clutching a red suitcase, unimpressed by the proceedings. Many years later I was terrified of the new beginning called high school. Even more scared when it ended. I had no idea what I wanted to do when I grew up. Still don't. But I trudged off to TAFE and a couple of years later I finally began working. It was a shaky start and I never really found my footing career wise. Enter Mickey Blue Eyes and the beginning of being a wife and then a mother.
Without a doubt the scariest beginning was my breast cancer diagnonsense. I began the most challenging ride of my life. And now it's all over and yet only just begun.The start of a 'new kind of normal'. Adjusting to life as a breast cancer survivor. Have I mentioned that that I don't really like pink? Yes, I WILL survive. Now let's all break into a rousing chorus of the old Gloria Gaynor hit.
Hang on, I prefer The Carpenters. And this song fits in with the theme of the post. Sorry, I couldn't help myself.
I even tried to write an eloquent and deep poem about beginnings full of my thoughts and feelings and shit. Totally nailed the shit part. Check it out:
This poem needs to have a snappy beginning
To hook you and have you instantly grinning
Something unique, using words to entice
To make you read on, and then read it twice
So why do I sit and just stare at the screen?
How do I begin? And what do I mean?
There must be interesting words I can write
To make you a fan of this glorious site
All I have to do is simply commence
Just tap away, I don't have to make sense
Think about all the beginnings in my life
As a daughter, a sister, a friend and a wife
Even then my life had only just begun
When I was expecting son number one
The start of this thing called being a mother
Then soon I welcomed his cute baby brother
A family of two had now become four
But wait, said fate, there has to be more
Alas. our dear baby boy number three
Didn't survive, it just wasn't to be
Dismal days with housework a bore
The joyful birth of boy number four
Along the way, many shaky starts
Fears and struggles with heavy hearts
But for every beginning, there is an end
To make way for change and start again
Seasons change, days come and go
Learning to live with this constant flow
Decisions to make, life is curious
Emotions change, joyful then furious
Bored, elated, forlorn or excited
Impatient, determined, defeated, delighted
Battles fought and ultimately won
Playing The Carpenters We've Only Just Begun
Beginnings are hard, but so is the end
I fear you may never read here again
Through all our beginnings we're never alone
And that is the end of this woeful poem.
Hello there. Anzac Day is upon us. While I've never actually attended a dawn service, I do have some very deep thoughts regarding war, and have had ever since I was a little girl. In fact, I wrote a poem about it, when I was a mere ten years old. It is truly heartfelt. That, or just a woeful example of exactly how much Enid Blyton I was reading at the time. I'm sure if it had been about a cheery subject I would have managed to put in the phrases 'smashing' and 'jolly good' somewhere. Here it is, complete with my spelling mistakes: DISASTEROUS WAR: War is a disastrous sight, War is a beastly fight, You can hear the blasting, Oh war is so everlasting, War is gloom, its such a doom, I hope it stops very soon. War is death, it takes away your breath. War is blood running in a stream, War is being strictly mean, If you think war is not a fight, It's a awful,disatrous, terrible sight, War is blood pouring, guns roaring. War is hand grenades flying, People crying, also dying, You work all day, in a blood-thirsty way, War is madness, but if you think deep down, it's only sadness Now the war is gone, I hope it's gone for good because I don't want it back so soon after all this awful gloom. People die, cry, fight. Oh I don't want that destructive sight! Guns roar, blood pours, You can't think how people cry, because their beloved friends did die Oh I hope the war doesn't come again For I really must think of the lives of those men.
My year 5 poem, dated 28th April, 1981. At the bottom the teacher wrote: 'Some deep thoughts, try not to repeat yourself.' Hmph. Didn't she recognise my brilliance?
Yep, such brilliance. I'm not sure why I didn't become the next Sylvia Plath after that effort. It's hard to pick out which is my favourite line, with such stunning observations as: War is death, it takes away your breath. Yeah, that is kind of what happens when you die, dear. War! What is it good for? Absolutely NUTHIN'!! According to Bruce Springsteen and myself, at the mature age of ten. Genius. I mean, just check out that rhyming: War is gloom, it's such a doom, I hope it stops very soon. Why did I stop when I was on such a roll? I could have went on: Those guns keep going BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, I'd rather hear a happy tune, Before I am a total loon! OH MY GOD! *gasp* I've still got it! I'm a poet and I didn't know it!! I need to get back to it immediately. Otherwise I am completely wasting my genius. And what does a ten year old, budding, tragic bogan, genius poet look like? I'm glad you asked. Observe.
My Year 5 school photo, when I was still cute. Sigh.
Thank God my Mum had the foresight to keep my old school books. She must have know I was going to be broke and aimless rich and famous one day. She always said I was special. Now I see why. There is nothing more to add after the blinding brilliance of that poem. I've already left you stunned. Linking up an oldie but goodie for Life This Week. What do you think about war? Have you written any awful brilliant poetry?
Hello! I'm Ness. Mum of three, Karen Carpenter obsessed nerd and quiet, shy, Aspergirl. Usually found in my own little World...Which is why I invented one. Thanks for stopping by!
