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@zaywrites888-blog
Poetic Stories Secret Santa
This year
It looks like my Christmas will not be white
But I hope yours
Is full of joy and delight
Candy filled stockings
Hanging from the shelf
Presents adorned with bows
From Santa himself
Fireplace burning
Roasted chestnuts smells
Outside you can hear
Children laughing
And silver bells
Lights shining bright
Upon the Christmas tree
The very best wishes
To you
From me
Happy Holidays to @zaywrites888
Thank youuuu ☺️
You are a house
with shifting foundations
and hundred-something rooms
you’ve yet to discover.
I hope to find you in one
wandering about, slightly
dazed, slightly mesmerised,
your keen curiosity compels you
to search high and low,
so go fort,h little wonder,
hide and seek the things you
never knew existed.
In awe be lost, in awe be lusting
to examine the novelty of discovery
of who you are and how amazing
that is.
@coeur-douloureux
If you showed me kindness right now
I’d crumple like crepe paper in the rain
It’s not that kindness is hard to come by
It’s that I’m susceptible to raggedness
To be unflinchingly worthy of softness in you
Would render me bewitchingly boneless
It’s not because I’m deprived of softness
It’s that I am prone to bending backwards in reciprocation
I wish I were less just as I wish I were more
But, all in all, I wish I were drunk on possibilities
z.a.y 22.11.18
Ps
Name change
adiscoverywithin is now zaywrites888 😬
Rest In Peace, Stan Lee, the superhero of superheroes. Excelsior!
Umph! I can’t wait to read you!
November,
darling,
you crept up on me
with cold hands around my waist
and icy breath on my nape
I shiver to think
or feel
how much more of my warmth
you intend to steal?
your downpours render me chilled
to the bone, drenched to my soul
you are as if the graveyard
of the Gregorian calendar
let’s get you bundled up in woollies
and plied with spiced tea
let’s get some bittersweet savouries
and mint memories along the lane
But promise me you’ll relinquish me to December
without a tempestuous tantrum
z.a.y 11.11.18
Cooingly, a song in my head beckons my heart
into a slight hover over the past.
Nostalgia, it seems, is the soup of the day
and it tastes just like black-and-white movies on a rainy day
On screen, two beloved artists whose chemistry slipped into their real lives
Off-screen, rapt little me, spellbound in glee
This was romance they said, this was the way it was supposed to be
Frolicking in the rain, singing a song
“I am in love, I am in love
Then why am I still afraid of it?
The heart says, the journey is difficult
and the destination unknown”
Cooingly, a song in my head beckons my heart
into a soft swoon in the present.
In the kitchen, alone with my cup of tea,
one leg tucked under my lap,
the other tapping out the rhythm barefoot on the parquet floor
I hum its easy tune, lost in its melody
only to find tears have left their trails
in wake of a song in my head
I can’t remember the rest of the words to
I live a boring, contended existence
Flames of passion are restricted to pages in a book
Don’t you come in here and remind me about the boring part
You, with your trailing fabric made of fire
Licking and lapping at the columns of my stable sanity
I ought to banish you back to the gaol
Where gumption is and should be caged
Mine is a boring, contended existence
Not a blank, untouched canvas to lavish your wiles and whims
Or explore your exhibitionist ecstasy
There is a barbed wire fence around my plot for a reason
And that reason is you - keep out, you deliciously decadent deviant
z.a.y 10.11.18
What is it about a flickering flame that
captures the attention and awe
of a wandering, wondering mind?
z.a.y 07.11.18
Honeycomb Apparition when water swishes over real honey
Writers, poets, musicians, artists
have muses - living, breathing,
mortal muses upon whose
diases the whole world revolves
Language is my muse
most indispensable of indispensable
most rebellious most incredulous
mostly belligerent and insufferable
a muse when pliant turns words to riptide
when stubborn alchemizes allegorical obstacles
choking up thought and throat
a muse clothed in dialect and discourse
swathed in subtext and syntax
metaphors as masks and musk
this muse doth innocuously adorn
when in doubt I don’t despair
lovers will leave
mysteries will unravel
the sun will set, the moon will wane
Language will luxuriate in the void
left in wake of wars won and loves lost
z.a.y 07.11.18
ive been seeing a lot of posts discussing likes vs reblogs lately, so i made a little handy dandy emotion chart to explain how the stuff you do makes the artist feel (based on me)
Pretty darn accurate 🤩
What are the options here?
Feel old, write young
Feel young, write old
You and I are at the cusp of adulthood
Or at least I think so
But what are our options really?
Living, breathing, trying, dying...
The ending is always the same
Maybe that’s why we exceed ourselves
Attempting to radicalise the middle part of our stories
z.a.y 06.11.18
ssseduce me with ideas
big, bulging ideas
on the brink of being voiced
to hear the tremor in your timbre
raw excitement at the verge of excess
I would be hard-press to deny rivet
when you speak with such reverence
of something not yet in your grasp
but how your fingertips tingle with yearning
for those big, beautiful dreams to come true
I’m already swooning at the prospect
z.a.y 06.11.18
Remember to be kind to yourself ❤ click to zoom in and read ❤
Solar eclipse, personified.
Saturday Timely Chuckle.
While walking down the street a Republican Senator was tragically hit by a car and died. His soul arrives in Heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance. “Welcome to Heaven, Senator” says St. Peter. “Before you settle in it seems there is a problem. We seldom see an important Republican around these parts, so we’re not sure what to do with you.” “No problem, just let me in,” says the Senator. “Well, I’d like to, but I have orders from the higher ups. What we’ll do is have you spend one day in Hell and one in Heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity.” “Really? I’ve made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven,” says the Senator. “I’m sorry, but we have our rules.” And with that St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him. Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. They played a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and the finest champagne. Also present is the devil who really is a very friendly guy who is having a good time dancing and telling jokes. They are all having such a good time that before the Senator realizes it, it is time to go. Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises. The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens in Heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him, “Now it’s time to visit Heaven.” So the Senator joins a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time, and soon he realizes the time’s up and St. Peter returns. “Well then you’ve spent a day in Hell and another in Heaven. Now choose your eternity.” The Senator reflects for a minute before he answers: “Well, I would never have said it before, I mean Heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in Hell.” So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell. Now the doors of the elevator open and he’s in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above. The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulders. “I don’t understand,” stammers the Senator. “Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne and danced and had a great time. Now there’s just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?” The devil smiles at him and says, “Yesterday we were campaigning. Today you voted.”
