A blog for words

Basically this is my writing blog full of interesting words I like, and nice-sounding passages, and reviews, etc. I also write poetry; however, the poetry will challenge the idea that poetry is always pretentious or sad, and you may even see a Limerick crop up here, I don't know! But keep an open mind, I could post anything. After all, I like a lot of stuff.

[whimsyinwords]

Ha! I wrote poetry for the first time in ages - albeit drunk) and I get a message from some spambot... Mmm good shit right.. 👌👌👌

[whimsyinwords]

Being drunk is when I'm pissing And I know I need to focus But my mind keeps drifting To wondrous places. Being drunk is when I'm reciting Something in the mirror Making hideous faces But I still think I'm beautiful. Being drunk is a Nirvana That I aspire to every time I kiss a glass with my chapped lips. But it comes so rarely. Being drunk is the ringing in my ears That stops me hearing stop. Being drunk is a medicine, If not a cure, But sometimes medicine is good enough.

[whimsyinwords]

It is not that Combeferre was not capable of fighting, he did not refuse a hand-to-hand combat with the obstacle, and to attack it by main force and explosively; but it suited him better to bring the human race into accord with its destiny gradually, by means of education, the inculcation of axioms, the promulgation of positive laws; and, between two lights, his preference was rather for illumination than for conflagration. A conflagration can create an aurora, no doubt, but why not await the dawn? A volcano illuminates, but daybreak furnishes a still better illumination. Possibly, Combeferre preferred the whiteness of the beautiful to the blaze of the sublime. A light troubled by smoke, progress purchased at the expense of violence, only half satisfied this tender and serious spirit. The headlong precipitation of a people into the truth, a '93, terrified him; nevertheless, stagnation was still more repulsive to him, in it he detected putrefaction and death; on the whole, he preferred scum to miasma, and he preferred the torrent to the cesspool, and the falls of Niagara to the lake of Montfaucon.

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables. Sometimes, pacifism can recognise violence.

[czrenys]

If you must live, darling one, just live. (K.H.)

[deadpoetsarmy]

when someone says anderperry isn’t real

[whimsyinwords]

Paper Person

I'm a paper person I pathetically permeate Through all strata of society But secretly I am soulless, And nothing really touches me. I am a carboard mask with a smile painted on, I have no mouth which will voice no thoughts. I am a chameleon and a spy, an observer Observing all the lovely people, in depth Whereas I'm unobservable; From the side, invisible, Flat, a rat, no more than a trap. Snap snap. I've got you, and you've got me A decoy So coy A shy boy A toy. I'm a paper person And I'm easily burnt; Tongues of fire destroy me. My ashes are soon forgotten

[whimsyinwords]

Brothers and sisters And all my other siblings; This is not over.

[whimsyinwords]

Great Morning

Good night, good morning, I'm going to bed; The grey November clouds have to suffice For me to crawl to sleep and rest my head Under - I don't think stars even shone this night. Winter nights are long, and this the longest yet And the darkest, The darkest by far. Across the pond from you, Shivering in a wintry chill, In a gothic downpour of rain, In a duvet on an old couch With an empty glass of wine and two mugs - Paralysed, I could only watch. Barely could I even feel, numb from the cold, As you walked into the pond Feet first So that your toes dropped off, Though you never cared about them. You're drowning even now in the mire. They found me at 7 am, a living cadaver; Following my gaze to the screen they said: It's over. So I said goodnight... good morning. I'm going to bed.

[whimsyinwords]

Storm Rider

You got me with a bull's eye, I wonder why You weather the storm just for my Quiet times - so shy Without even a whisper why I cry, I feel I never even try, Even as I try Just not to die, Because I'm a shipwreck in the sky; Storm-tossed on the sly Keep it hidden deep inside Even as my feelings fly But why oh why? You're not some double-dealing spy, You're my guy And you send my spirits high - Overdrive - Oh I could cry Out all your love for me on high, Though my topsy-turvy swirling skies In a hurricane may sweep you by, And chaos follows where I fly, And I make the lightning multiply, And the rain falls heavy from my eyes, And all my patterns are damn nigh Impossible to guess, I Shall bear a beating heart inside Racing in the storm's eye: I for you, and you for I.

[whimsyinwords]

Miss Communication

...... ... ......... ... ... ............ ... ...... ... ... ......... ...... ............ ...... ... ... ...... ...... ...... ... ... ...... ... ... ...... .................. ... ...... ......... ............ ... ... ... ......... ...... ... ... ......... ...... ... ... ... ... ...... ... ... ... ... ...... ... ......... ...... ... ...... ... ... ...... ... ... ... ... ... ............... ... ... ... ......... ... ...... ... ...... ... ... ...... ...... ... ......... Shit.

[whimsyinwords]

Breezehead

Im scattering autumn in the breeze, My mind like the swirling leaves Barely lifting off the ground, And my umbrella’s in the sky, My scarf’s dropped on the ground:

Thank the harvest moon That I still have my Jacket.

[whimsyinwords]

Reaching

I stand in a valley of immeasurable depth, in a night of unfathomable darkness, with a dreamscape of the milky way hanging high above my head.

The vast sky is flooded with stars, almost wholly white; the light so bright the mountains stand out in high and sheer silhouettes reaching up to the sky. Like Tantalus I too reach, but fail to stand out.

I see a star hanging just next to one jutting rock and I know if I could just climb the mountain then I could reach the star, pluck it out the sky and use it to keep me warm and bright.

I stand looking upwards in an unshakeable trance, awe, wonder, and desire filling me head to toe. Even so, I grow aware that I stand not alone and they join me in awe, wonder, and desire.

And I realise that the star hanging so close to that rock is easily attainable because I can climb the mountain, with support I can reach the star, pluck it out the sky, and bring it back feeling warm and bright.

And still the sky has infinite stars, shining white, a light so bright that I clearly stand out, those supporting me can see my silhouette on the sky, and in their eyes I do indeed stand out.

We stand in a valley of irrelevant depth, in a night of unremarkable darkness, with a dreamscape of the milky way hanging high above our heads.

[whimsyinwords]

Cascade

In her grey old age Mother Nature can no longer sustain even half the golden glow she once possessed; she is tired for we have wearied her, brought her pain, and left her bruised and battered. Bitter.

And so the years go on and our Mother ages with us, and the wonder she taught us, she herself forgets. Her tender sunshine kisses are now lost in desert dust; the rain trickling from her eyes now floods.

Our chimneys make the cataracts in her eyes, she grows blind to all the suffering of her children. They fight. They destroy and steal, they divide and then they find they really have been abandoned.

Grey and old, Mother Nature has no more patience for spring, and her summers are not spent so happily, the paints she used to enliven autumn with have grown thin, and winters once bright white are now grey.

With a gaunt face and hoary locks she drifts through the skies completely lost and alone in her thoughts which are not what they used to be, they scare her, she cries. In age, in misery, and in pain.

She shakes her head, seized by a violence, an awful agony. She shakes the sky, and sends the stars cascading. So we see our brightest stars displaced, a flood of tragedy, and we weep through shining brilliance.

And so time goes on and we all grow old, even Mother, even our brightest stars shining above us. The years march on and one darker than any other reminds us sadly of the brightest things.

[whimsyinwords]

V/P/D/D

In those stories that we loved to read as kids there were two things we could always count on: that there would be present one dastardly villain, and a great hero there certain to stop them. The scheming pirates, the wicked witches, the beasties and the nightmares that plagued the pages of our most beloved books, time and again we would see overcome by what’s right and fair, and we’d never leave room for the crooks. Happy endings are what we have been fed, falling off the pages into our heads.

In the stories that they show us on the screens, we see those villains we have always known: We see them, the scheming, wicked, beastly nightmares with their cruel, selfish hearts beating off-tempo. These great men can wield all the power they want and not be truly great for their power is only an illusion of fear, and we will always overcome with love the weakness of hate: we will leave no place for hatred here. We will always be fighting the good fight to stop those villains who keep us from light.

If ever that guiding light escapes our sight and we feel overcome by the darkness, and it seems to us that all hope is lost and that the good fight is not worth fighting, know this: it is again those villains, sowing the doubt into your mind, we know how tricky they can be, how they can lie. But again in our beloved pages we can easily find that we can overcome them if we really try. Don’t be disheartened for the obstacles, just trust what we’ve read can be oracles.

There’s that arch-villain etched out in many a tale, his skull poking out of his black hood, epitome of destruction and of despair, the villain that each of us must face. Devourer of light and all things good – and all things bad as well – The villain even all villains must answer to. Alone, it is true, we could not overcome this phantom of hell, but there’s one more thing that stories can show you: Death can be beaten, like all villains can, by memories, stories – a helping hand.

[bobmanorblogmas]

I'll Be Fine

Perhaps I am sometimes too reckless, and don’t always think ahead, life seems to hold no consequences, and seems a game instead; I can struggle being careful, maybe I’m just careless. It may one day cause me to fall, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Perhaps I am sometimes too scared to do the things I want to do. Those consequences are there after all, hitting me anew with some dreadful implications, if I do the wrong thing in a certain situation, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Perhaps I drink too much, way more than what is probably wise, more than what is probably healthy; it should be no surprise when I wake up in the morning, with a sore throat and head, maybe I should heed the warnings, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Perhaps I sleep too much, and doing so miss most of the day because dreams are just too appealing, though I may lose my way. The waking world has some wonders I wouldn’t want to miss, but my sleeping mind still wanders – but I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Perhaps my grip on money is not quite as good as it should be, and to cheer myself or others up, I’ll struggle financially; I can’t really afford the mode that I like to live in, and I’ll struggle along the road, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Perhaps I can be too secretive, I struggle with showing pain: I find it really hard to sound honest, without just sounding lame… I’d rather not be a burden, so I’ll stay in my room alone, upset, and unheard then, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.

But perhaps I can sometimes accept that I’m surrounded by friends who inspire me, who care for me, and cheer me up to no end; They make me a better person, keep me on the right track, are there with me as I go on, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.

[whimsyinwords]

Fleeing/Flying

I'm drifting off to crystal skies Where no-one fights and no-one lies, Where no-one weeps, yes no-one cries, Goodbye Earth, hello crystal skies. Goodbye reality, you were never a friend, You would always bring good things to an end, would always be there to make my heart rend, Reality is the falsest of friends. Out in to the stars is where I'll go, Into my dreams my conscious shall flow, Sinking deep, and sinking slow, A home in the stars is where I'll go. Dissasociate from myself For my wellbeing and for my health, Put all my problems on a shelf, And fly from here by myself.

[whimsyinwords]

Sticks and Stones

Sticks and Stones Sticks and Stones may break my bones But to words I've gained immunity - I've already felt the Word's keen welt Which brands me outside impunity. The judicious swords of dutiful elite And the rusty knives of men on the street Are the weapons of the Word which wounds me. Sticks and Stones may break my bones But words can no longer hurt me. The lacerations from their scared frustration Have scabbed over hard and dirty. My blood which bled in rage and sorrow, Drawn from a body not meant for tomorrow, Has now hardened and will not desert me. Sticks and Stones may break my bones But now words bring health and unity. Those words I have wielded against my own shielded Body in a vicious self-scrutiny. But now I wield these weapons out, in Pride, Defiant against their stings in my side, And these words are my community. Sticks and Stones may break my bones But words cannot defeat me. Crowns and Thrones I take for my own And you will not unseat me. My skin is callous, my veins full of iron - Your empty words are armour I try on - And guarded thus you can't beat me.