So I had to make a vague attempt to tidy my hovel. Which turned up a stack of notebooks over the last year or so I seem to have been writing in notebooks, and then putting them down and covering them with things like some kind of poetry squirrel. I found these scraps (somewhat edited) from some workshop last year. So I thought in keeping with the new year’s flow I would share them with you, comments and advice welcome as they are basically first drafts. The first piece is definitely some free writing and I have kept it in prose poem format for now. Second one appears unconnected so have made it into something else. I am normally better at writing the process in my notebooks but this seems a bit lost in time!
A vision for this wicked stage, many desperate looks thunder in this unseasonal weather. Grey and oppressive, feel it in the nasal bone, no way to clear it no ear popping relief for the sky this week . Waiting for the release peals of thunder bring, calm not frightened now that my hair pins will attract lightning: a wicked lie from a wicked girl to a credulous one. The cynicism well developed was not there, then I was shellless and believing. There was no evidence or rather, still, not enough for me to believe in the cruelty of the world. Though I never found sleeping easy and my distrust of birds started then, their beaky cawing against brickwork, reminder of another sleepless night. I had tried to deafen myself, avoid what the lofty window was telling me.
I have never journeyed wild
too fond of cartography and plans to be open
realise there is a freeing I could do with
feeling bottled up by wasting my life in bottles
there is the sensation of time dripping
obey the whims of my chemistry
subject to grand delusions
and a heaviness in all my limbs