Writers

Love is strong and the grass is green
You have been mine for long
And we have seen
The changes and the fading of the hours
When even flowers I’d left for you
Changed hue
Though love was always true.

Yet it is hard to be constant
When all around is changed
And rooms and lives are rearranged,
We do not speak of faithfulness these days
Blossom that decks the boughs
Too soon decays
And even things of stone
Wear down to dust
Without a hint of losing trust.

Sometimes the weakest things endure
While harder structures fail,
Even the brightest stars grow pale
Many of the daily things we feel
Are tough as steel
And seem to offer endless scope
But some fall sick even as the grass is green
And prove to be as frail as hope.

I have been faithful more or less
As you might guess
Some hidden things may come to light
The grass grows green and does not fail
I may speak more of this
At the mid of some cold night
As kiss leads on to kiss
But that will be another tale.

wish of land

if so barran
my faming land
but full of wish
to grow lot of seed
her wish is also barran
caues of empty wel
bulls are tired
unable to work
how can plough
is the big question
new age is calling
take help of tractor
lot of rain fall
go to river
land`s thirst not over
haresting of water
no one done
all the rain
going away alon
there is no drop of water
in the well
eletric pumps are stopped
but the electricity bill
is running wery fast
empty pocket of farmer
unable to pay bill
kill his all will
his cry is dry

prakash kshirsagar

Its raging, spreading
Pounding...numbingly

I can't see it, I
Can't even hear it

...do I feel it?
I don't know what I
Feel, how can I know
If I feel it?

It rages
Ringing without rhythm
Somewhere deep within the recess
Of my mind

...if yet I have any

I can't see, but it shines still
An incandescence of darkness
Through the frost of mists
That bite

Dancing to madness, drum beats
That heave, yet won't leave
Asserting mortality in eternity
What is this, if anything it is?

Could it let me be? Could I let it
See, that I see it not?

But yet, my feelings not me, hear it
....losing me

Tearing me apart...losing me

Blue eyes touch my heart
sinking in deeper then the ocean
soft finger tips caressed by him
i taste the sweetest pure sugar kiss
Chorus:flowers rose red/i can't believe i'm rising from the dead.thanks to you i'm alive again/thanks to you i can fly again/you changed me failing is far from my wings
his words give me oxygen
his smile makes me shine
honesty is what makes me start over again
his heart gives me a reason to use mine
Repeat Chorus
Bridge: attempting to mend my black soul
his hero personilty
he's flying my way to make me whole
Repeat chorus
By:Kylie Ann

I went into her room. I found her, the little 4-year old.there, with her coloring book on her small bed, and lots of coloring pencils and pens thrown around it. She was lost in the coloring book. she was scrabbling in it, coloring the pictures, every part of it; the face, the dress, the lips, the hair and the surroundings in the frame. I called her by her sweet nick name and she looked at me smiling and surprised. she left everything in her hands and opened her arms to give me a big hug. I took her in my arms and i didn't want to take my arms off. this is how i feel everytime i hug her or give her a kiss on the cheek. it feels like i run from the cold, cruel world when i see her. i feel safe in the 4-year old tiny arms. i feel that there is still something pure and not messed up in the world. something that is so true and real that does not exist in this world.

i sat down beside her and i found myself tempted to take a coloring pencil and help her. my purpose at the beginning was just to share with her a nice moment and make her smile. it was the purpose of her own fun. And just when my first coloring pencil touched the page in the coloring book, i felt something. something I've never felt before, or maybe i felt it before along ago but i forgot how it feels now. I kept on coloring and i kept on flying. i felt it was liberating. it just took me somewhere away from where i was. I felt like i have been kept in a room. a glass room. A safe place away from all the anger, the sadness, doubts and fears. I am in, they are out and I'm happy watching them from the inside knowing they cannot touch me. I kept on coloring, she was happy i was with her and we were doing something together, and i was happy just because i was away. I remembered me when i was at her age, my whole problem was to choose the correct color for the correct drawing. That i should not deviate from the drawing line while coloring. That my next challenge would be a bigger coloring book with a bigger coloring pencils set so i can go wilder with the the colors and i can color things the way i want not according to the colors that are only available. There, i was reminiscing, thinking and wishing if that could be my only problem nowadays.

We kept on coloring and competing who was gonna finish before the other. I was going slowly, she was going fast. I did not want to win, i just wanted that moment not to end.
Then suddenly, I felt like i had to leave. Like that is enough. Stop dreaming. Stop being in the glass room coz i have to face it. i'm not gonna spend my whole life in it. i did not know why i wanted to leave, or in other words, why i was pushing myself to leave. Was it the sense of guilt that i was doing something that i am too old for? or that i was very laid back, comfortable and i was not supposed to be in a comfort state?
Believe me, i did not have any other plans or to-do things, i just felt like my mind was telling me "that's enough for you, you gotta get up and leave". I told her i had to leave and she just folded her lower lips and told me "no". I asked her why. and just with a smile that is begging me to stay she said "i want to you to color with me". I kept on coloring for a little longer and then i felt it was too much for me. That i was late for something that i was not aware of.Or again, my mind felt that, that was more than enough for me.

We stopped coloring and we started to collect the thrown coloring pencils around us. I was slowly about it as if i wanted to teach her to count them and to know the different colors. But the truth was that i just didn't want that moment to end. I did not want to leave the coloring book. The coloring book that was for me was like my escape. my shelter.

again, i hugged her and kissed her good night. And i left the coloring book to whom it belongs. to a 4-year old child.

I've been journaling for sometime - on and off. There's so much in my mind i want to write. But, I'm not open even to myself because of fear. Fear that I'm disclosing too much of myself. So, I self-censured. But this is not good because I'm not honest even to myself. And, my writing beomes sanitized.

So, I want to read other's entries here to make me move to write what I want to and hopefully publish.

What can anyone say about self-censure? How much openness do we have to write in the open? Is writing really about self-disclosure?

Sick to the bottom of my spine
Feeling my heartbeats louder than ever
Wish I can stop them all for a while
Just give me some time
So I can absorb all the scenes and try to comprehend.
Is there an end?
For all the flashbacks, the ongoing and planned?

I see myself, going nowhere
Out of hope and dreams with no spare
One option, not two
And it don’t help me through
Coz it don’t include you

For then, and now it has been me
Pulling myself together and it wasn’t for free
As I paid every penny for energy
Of brain cells and heart that felt empty

I can see that I have all the reasons in front of my eyes
But they are all in disguise
Overlapping, merging and hiding behind
Each other forcing me to lose my control
To stay in that hole
That’s been taking me down for a long long time

What to do? What to be?
I’m just watching me, waiting to see
What I will do, or how it will be

It’s all well planned
Not in my hand
But tears, and pain are a part of me

Got nothing to do
But think, not conclude
Coz conclusions come after endings
And for me it’s still pending

Till this moment is here
I’ll cope with this hidden fear
And for second thought
I won’t conclude
It is no use

Coz for the end will be a start
That I hope it’s where you are
And then it’s your turn
To stop that burn
And start watching me.

Just a quick note to say that I've had an article published in the magazine Witchcraft and Wicca published by the CHildren of Artemis. It's on page 50.

And they've also reviewed my book, Seeking the Green, and given it the thumbs up. According to my publisher, Capall Bann, the review has bumped up my book sales too!

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At the behest of my wife and a few of my friends from back home, I finally joined Facebook last week. Actually, I opened a Facebook account ages ago, but hadn’t really much with it. It sat dormant in cyberspace for months because frankly, I just couldn’t be bothered. I hadn’t even filled in the info on my profile page, let alone downloaded any photos of yours truly for public consumption. But it wasn’t until a few weeks ago, after my wife sent me a friend invite to her Facebook (she insists on having some sort of email or online correspondence, never mind that we live together, go figure) that I decided to give Facebook a closer look.

I’m a relative latecomer to Facebook, mainly because I’m a bit weary of social networking sites. Past experiences have led me to the conclusion that they are usually stupid and disappointing affairs.

MySpace, for example, is nothing but bells and whistles and thanks to the Artic Monkeys and Sandi Thom it’s become sort of a marketing wasteland for nearly every untalented garage band on the planet. My friends list contains three times more bands and musicians that I’ve never heard of than it does people I actually know. It’s not that I consider myself to be some kind of half-assed David Geffen or anything; it’s just that I don’t have the heart to turn these artists down. Plus there’s that vain part of me that wants to build up an impressive list of “friends” just in case, you know, that cheerleader that shot me down my sophomore year in high school happens to come across my MySpace page, because once she sees how many “friends” I have listed, she’ll see how important I’ve become and live the rest of her life in regret. Yeah, that’ll teach her.

Of course, if you are an up and coming band hoping to break it big via MySpace, well, good luck. Just because my “friends” list is filled with artists and musicians, it doesn’t mean I actually take the time to listen to you guys. Actually in the very beginning, I did listen to the tracks that bands were posting on their page - the music ranging from so-so to absolute crapola. After about the fourth or fifth one though, I realized that pretty much all of them were likely to be pretty bad, so I didn’t bother. Sorry bands, but these cheap videos you keep posting on YouTube don’t hold a patch over going to a live gig; and I get the feeling that I’m not alone in my feeling. Even if I am curious enough about your band to have a listen, finding your latest downloads is a task unto itself because the website is crowded with so many advertisement banners that any information you put on you page is immediately drowned out. That’s a problem with most of these social networking sites; they’re too cluttered –particularly MySpace, and the banner ads certainly don’t help.

After getting bored with MySpace, I eventually gravitated towards Bebop, a site that’s even dumber. Okay, so it’s a little cleaner than MySpace, I’ll give you that. There’s a lot less banner advertisements and you can actually see the information and stuff that you put on there as opposed to Iggy Pop pimping car insurance. You can actually see the skin you’ve chosen for your background. Only problem is there doesn’t seem to be much to do on it. You can post photos from last weekend’s rave when you’re best friend got so totally f**ked up on ecstasy and sambuca that you woke up two days later in a Paris cemetery and you can write blogs and ….well, that appears to be it. Admittedly, by the time I joined Bebo I was already pretty cynical towards social networking sites – in fact so much so that my entire Bebo page is a parody of one – so I got bored with it before I really made any attempts to explore it. In fact after a year and a half of Bebo, I’ve only got eight friends. My other and probably more vexing problem with Bebo, though is the amount of emails I get from women unknown inviting me to check out their photos and or website. Now I can only assume that these photos aren’t from a family vacation at Disneyland. If they are, I’m not interested. If they aren’t…well, okay, I’ll admit there’s some mild curiosity, but not enough to risk catching hell from my better half.

So by the time my wife invited me to join her Facebook, I was naturally, pretty resistant. Then I got a couple of emails from old acquaintances from high school, asking me to be their Facebook(s) friends. Ah, this was a curious development; because pretty much all networking sites boast that they can get you back in touch with old friends, but I sure as hell couldn’t find any of mine. Wherever they were, they certainly weren’t posted on MySpace or Bebo. Apparently, they’re all on Facebook. After 20 minutes of searching I found listings for about half of my classmates along with postings for reunions. I decided to take the plunge and finish my profile. However, as impressed as I was, I still wasn’t quite sold. After all, I don’t even live on the same continent as most of my classmates do; it’s hardly likely that I’m going to go to the reunion.

What finally sold me was Mafia Wars, which is why my wife invited me in the first place. For those who may be unfamiliar, Mafia Wars is a role playing game – kind of like Dungeons and Dragons; except its online and it’s got guns and mobsters. In this game, the more people you recruit for your army the more powerful you can become; kind of like a pyramid scheme. It’s an incredibly addictive game, which can be a bit of a problem. Over the course of the week I found myself ducking into the computers at work to play a couple rounds and last night I actually lost sleep worrying about whether I should get up to bank my money in case another player attacked me during the course of the night. My wife is just as hooked, if not more so. Over half our conversations have been about Mafia Wars and we’ve been fighting over use of the computer every night. At this rate, we’ll be serving each other divorce papers before the end of the month.

I don’t have a particularly addictive personality, so I’m sure I’ll eventually get bored with this and move on to something else. But for now…it’s time to play some Mafia Wars.

Brad Hassebrock
19/04/2009

7842433

- I’m sorry
- I know
- I’m not sorry
- I know.
- I…
- I KNOW
- I didn’t think it had got this bad

This is what my life has been reduced to. An endless, snaking trail of apologies, skulking in the corners of my subconscious with no way out until they throw themselves against a wall and bruise.
And are hospitalised.
Again.

- What seems to be the problem?
(Silence.)
- What would you like to talk to me about?
(Silence.)
- Are you going to speak to me at all?
- No.
(Silence.)
- Do you at least know why you are here?
- Referral.
- I’m sorry?
- I was referred by a doctor who thought I was crazy.
- Do you know what for?
(Silence.)
- Do you know why you are here?
- I told you didn’t I? Referral.
- That’s just a word.
- I know.

An endless swirling mouth of decay engulfs me
Stench
And I cannot breathe
And I will never breathe again

- Alright...why do you think you are here?
- I don’t know.
- Why do you think you might be here?
- I don’t care.
Can I go now?

Please can I go? I don’t want to stay here any longer. I’m bored now. Surely it’s almost time to go?
Are we nearly there yet?

SEVEN

Innocence
Lost
Unfound
Forgotten

- Are you going to speak to me today?
- I told you what you wanted to know didn’t I?
(Silence.)
Can I go now?
- I just need to carry out some tests. They won’t hurt, don’t worry.
Although I bet you’d like them to, wouldn’t you.
- I don’t. Worry, I mean. I don’t.
- Good.
My body screams to let me out of this prison cell
Bright, white light
Glistening
Rivers
Stop.

EIGHT

- You look pale.
I guess you don’t have much blood left, do you?
Tea?
No
- Would you like some tea?
No. I would not like some tea.
- No.
Thank-you.
- Are you sure? Sure you wouldn’t like some tea?
- NO.

I would not like your cup of tea. You have to be seen as so fucking English that all you ever do is make a personal remark, offer tea and a handshake
And your hands aren’t even warm,
the instruments,
why call them instruments?
The last thing they do is play
arms probe
slash provoke
skin shred

FOUR

I despise myself
myself
myself

- Can you hear me?
- Yes.
- Then why don’t you speak?
- I’m afraid of what I might say.
I don’t want to hurt anyone else
But myself
Too many people around me have been hurt
I have killed –
- You’re afraid?
- That’s what I said isn’t it?
- What are you afraid of?
Twisted, mutilated hands in my lap
Attached to mutilated wrists
I deserve no body to destroy
I deserve no help
- What are you afraid of?
physical
mental
spiritual
physical
And who?
And why?

TWO
I feel nothing
I feel everything
I am completely numb
And yet I feel as if all the pain in the world is targeting me
And only me
But it is your fault and you bring it on yourself. Don’t you?
Others feel their own pain but I feel as though their pain is upon me as well
They do not feel pain like I feel pain
I feel
I have to feel
Pain
And so I cannot be numb
But I can be nothing but numb
But surely you feel what you do, and therefore you cannot be numb?
I cannot feel
Or rather I feel that I cannot feel

FOUR

the
pieces of
my life
are broken

am I not allowed to see my own skin? Because you’ll ruin it again. You will make it worse. am I not allowed to look at myself? Because I don’t want you to see what you have done. what is wrong with me? You’re sick. everyone else seems to be looking at me. why can’t I see myself? am I blind? have I lost the will to see?
WHY CAN’T I SEE WHAT YOU SEE?
Because I don’t want you to.
I want to know what everyone is looking at.

I touch
and my face is made of plaster
unmoving
expressionless
frozen
my body unites against me, causing a civil war across my mind

I am always wrong

But so are you

You have never been right about me

And look at where you have got yourself

THREE

- Now look, this is getting ridiculous.
I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours but this really is ridiculous. Stop being so immature and straighten yourself out. I didn’t bring you up to become someone like this, this attention-seeking, self-centred person who doesn’t seem to care about anyone else. Can’t you see that what you’re doing is stupid! You are so pathetic!

lunatic nutcase naked lost freak ugly fat mean marked stupid boring frigid marked ridiculous selfish bitch crazy sinner weak marked rejected mocked despised childish ashamed immature pathetic depleted annoying subservient marked demolished distant cold unfriendly unwanted marked repulsive exposed paralysed powerless helpless
victim

THREE

There is nothing left to lose

don’t turn off the light
for I am scared of the dark
and I would like you to stay with me

- Shh, it’s socially unacceptable that I express pain

I saw my first swift today....

Just one.
A beautiful and inspiring sight.

Summer is near.
©Prettyintelligentprincess

I recently posted two of my new poems on my blog.... please read them and tell me what you think!!!!!

http://pareidolia.blog.co.uk/2009/04/02/poems-5880187/

My poetry attempts are a very private thing so this is the equivalent of you finding my secret journal lying open on the table

I look forward to that glance,that knowing look, as if by chance
That says 'I'm here', just that 'I'm here'
Not to find a reason for my low, not to tell me 'that's the way to go'
Not to promise things will be alright
Not to prove what's wrong is maybe right
I look forward to that glance,that knowing look, as if by chance
That says 'I feel, I understand'
That's not afraid to reprimand
That is prepared to forego self,
And put their issues on the shelf
I look forward to that glance,that knowing look, as if by chance
That gives me strength to last the day
Abating fear and raw dismay
That look that says
'I believe in you,
So wear a smile
And trust me too'

All I need are your soft caresses,
your subtle sea-breezes, the ebbing
and flowing of your heaving tides

The wind and the rain whipping spray from your ocean,
the salt on my lips, and your rhythmic sighs

Misty tendrils reach out for the dawn
from that star-shot failing hour, jealous of the light
Through the vast, remorseless umbrage, on to morn
a path is lit; her dance 'til dawn
The dance of life that guides her through the night

She dances for the stars to please
(she does everything with ease)
Moonbeams frame her every move
(their chance to shine, their gift of love)
She dances free, sublime, so proud
(skirt the shadow's beckoning shroud)

Her dreams are made of light and life

Balmy breezes gently undulating
daffodil seas on warm, blue, spring-time days

Lazy shoals bask, in shady, tranquil depths
of Summer; Autumn trees ablaze, hang, heavy,

ripe and yielding. Moonbeams dance the night away
on Winter frost, so gleaming. You are:

my warmth, my light, my joy, my life. You are:
my love

From your vase tulips bow, wilting, sated;
flame-red heads, unfurled fully, revelling
in their final ecstasy.

So, too, I lie, prone, dissolving softly
in your hot-red, yielding lips

Leaves in their thousands lay fallen in struggle
against wind and rain. The gardener futilely
holds back this autumnal onslaught in vain

"I am conscious of having served England
as I served my own country",the statue's
inscription reads (tainted in part by
graffitti and spattered with wet rotting leaves)

So, rider, on horse, mars this fleur de lys
In praise of just war: an oasis of peace

This is to assure you that
I never fell in love with you
This is just to let you know
I never felt a thing for you
This is confirmation that
our souls never really did quite

entwine
that time

Despite the beauty in your eyes
Despite your Giaconda smile
Despite desires that fooled my heart
True love would never really die

Delicately, daintily (seemingly
forensically?) Daisy tentatively
sniffs out meandering four-legged trails
that lead us (not into temptation!) but,
only dogs know where...
Whilst nostrils, heavy, brim over, with late
Spring's sweet-seductive odour; passing by
surreal remains of children's games that lie,
wilfully-strewn, in the abandoned long,
slow evening heat of Summer, segueing
into extended golden-shafts of Autumn,
penetrating every sun-shy alley-way...
Rounding the corner, emerging into
Winter's phantom-light, Daisy's tiny paw
prints leave fragile, gleaming trails that lead us,
only dogs know where...