My Corner of Life

Courage is not the absence of fear, it is acting in spite of it.

[rafawriter]

[linguisten]

how to do things with words

[timetravelingkayak]

They didn’t mention the best part!

[systlin]

Article is at https://www.thaienquirer.com/13861/foreign-affairs-unrest-continues-for-a-seventh-day-in-former-british-colony/

Here’s another choice bit

Slow clap it out for the Thai Enquirer

[crossstitchworld]

I thought the scorched edges were a good touch for this one. Pattern from Etsy seller SoEasyPattern. by Blueopie

[mysharona1987]

[spooky-catboy-angel]

the third poster is actually the funniest fucking thing and it cheered me up way more than the first two so mission accomplished

[wordslifeandthings]

(Recovery) Earned by Unknown Rules

In a moment, 

Between impulse

And duty

There is -

In effort, pushing slow through heavy mud - 

Joy. 

Intended and unforeseen

Not struggled for nor against

For, just one moment, is Joy. 

And I am alive. 

And this is deserved. 

[wordslifeandthings]

She was but a whisper in the night

With baited breath I listened out

For unspoke words to comfort

Unheard pleas for unwanted help.

In lonely nights, which lasted years,

I did not hear her softened speech,

Only echos which filled the room.

The screaming silence of the whisper in the night.

[wordslifeandthings]

[wordslifeandthings]

Walking in the rain

It is raining,

The sky is grey

And the world is dark

And the breeze dances over it all

Like a whisper

It is quiet here,

Each droplet tells a different person

To stay inside

Until it is only me

Taking lonely steps

Along this sodden path.

And this feels

Free.

[wordslifeandthings]

If I were a child,

I would be free!

Or at least I would exist under the delusion that I am

- or would one day be -

Free.

What a shame it is

That we must outgrow whispering

When we learn that secrets

Are no longer secret

Once they have been spoken

If I were a child,

I would be trapped

Under the delusion that

I am free

Or that I would one day be.

And I don't know which cage is worse:

Reality or delusion?

[wordslifeandthings]

Growing up

I had known you only as my mother,

When I met you for the first time,

You already knew me.

You knew me when I was new

Eyes wide and seeing wonders for the first time

Learning joys unremembered

And sadness I had not felt before

Feeling like each moment was the most it could be

The warmest, the coldest, the weakest, the strongest

That I would ever be

As I met myself, became myself, you met me too

But I did not know you until adulthood

When I became aware that you were a stranger

That you had shielded from yourself,

Your past, your fears, your doubts,

And it was time,

For me to meet someone who had lived for decades before she met me,

And that exchange of information

Made me change too,

We are constantly evolving.

When I met you for the first time,

You already knew me,

But I am not that child anymore.

[wordslifeandthings]

Feeling a bit rough

Tonight

I say

Like my emotions are the edge of my finger nail

Or like the croak of the first words in the morning after a night out

Curable by a file

And a gulp of cold water

Not rough like the waves

Or like a lifeless body bouncing along a pavement as it's dragged by a car and a rope around its neck

I'm rough like the edge of a cliff

Like the exhausted step as I stumble on the line between life and life being too much

And if the edge of my nail catches on my sheets as I wait for sleep

I will fix it in the morning

Because tonight I feel rough

[stevenluce]

What the fuck tumblr, thanks for fucking up the line spacing for all my poems for the past seven years

[wordslifeandthings]

I would just like to add: fuck you tumblr.

[gladstoneslibrary-blog1]

Books, books and more books…the tribulations of trying to concentrate when you are surrounded by beautiful bookshelves…

[wordslifeandthings]

Green tennis ball

It rolls...

Along the ground, 

Silent beneath the wind

Unseen against the grass, 

But solid in my hand as I pick it up.

[wordslifeandthings]

Driftwood

Imagine me, bold and good,

And sharp against the sea, small

beneath the sky and sailing

In purpose, like the best ship I could be

Daydream a storm coming

Whipping up the air, clouds

Like heavy words,

Shrouds the light of day,

There are rocks I cannot see.

Then watch the hull crumble

There is the awful crack

And hear the people drowning; No hope

For lost souls aboard my ship,

Never mind for me,

Squint as pieces drop away

And I become so small that

I’m a piece of driftwood

Heading back to shore,

Please hope I find a purpose

Though I cannot imagine what,

Who has a single use for

A square inch piece of wood?

[wordslifeandthings]

Sunrise

Viewed through tired eyes,

The sting of the rims of my lids

Glow

Like the light

Of that orb

As it rises,

And although it is a time of the day

Which I would call night

The purple glow

On scattered clouds

Makes me smile,

In an hour which does not belong to me

A seemingly familiar sight emerges.

It is not close to my nature,

But I feel glad

For each day, the sun does rise.

[wordslifeandthings]

Rock thrown,

It hits,

On the trunk of the tree

That stuff up.

Unnoticed,

The wood cracks,

Small at first,

Then the weight bares down

And unexpected

The air climbs in

And expands

And jams open

The spilt,

The wind blows

And howls

Until the tree goes

Snap.  

[wordslifeandthings]

I was born with perfect skin Every inch was soft to my mother’s tender touch And my rosy cheeks glowed while my father called his infant daughter perfect But as I went about the world, it changed. As I grew, it stretched to keep me in Every cut, every scrape, every bruise would leave an ineradicable mark Every time I brushed past the frame of a door, the microscopic surface of my skin would be damaged And every time I dragged my nails across my itching skin, flakes fell away And I began to call my perfect skin ugly. This wondrous casing which had preserved me all these years Had been reduced to nothing more than an out of fashion accessory It was a broken, old and scarred ugly coat With a broken zip which meant I couldn’t get out And though I cannot shake off those unmerited associations I do my best now to view my skin as still that perfect flesh I was born with Harbouring the memory of every tender touch of love And every determined battle I’ve fought And every time I’ve felt the world brush against my hand. And suddenly, once more, I have perfect skin.