Indulgence of Sadness (NaPoWriMo #28)

I feel a black burning hole sinking into my gut,
Its cursed heart growing beyond mine, beating silence into my mind.
Dreams haunted by the past ring with the laughter of time that races only with itself.
Swallowed by despair as soul is sucked into the air, is the feeling of a being
Who could have done but did not do.

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Visa application + stupidity/inability to appropriately respond to unpredictable circumstances + horribly rude customer service = Stress and a whole lot of sorries.

How I even manage to write this lightheartedly I have no idea. This was a vent of my disgusting feelings at the moment. And I know NaPoWriMo was over a while ago…

Anyways, thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

Busker of Disbelief (NaPoWrimo #5)

John Sinclair Cigarettes. Trick Series 1916 .

If you are trying to focus on what he’s doing, don’t.
Hiding his hands under foolish grins like a donkey’s
Our eyes are the fools, only voice matches to ears.
A small tip to the hat, perhaps? To subtly suggest.
Passengers of a story are we,
Taken by flamboyant hands and cups to shake.
The illusionist rotates the power of our
Mind, into a weaving of his own.

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This is a golden shovel, which was Saturday’s prompt -yes I am late and yes I will catch up – based on Robert Frost’s poem, “A Fountain a Bottle a Donkey’s Ears and Some Books.” To be honest I do not quite understand what the line embedded in the poem (read every last word in each line)  means, but there was a certain whimsy to it that made it funny and mysterious. Just like a busker I recently saw performing, who made oranges and grapefruits appear from cups, and a twenty dollar bill from inside a lemon. I have always loved magic, it proves we cannot always trust our senses but also shows that humans love to be surprised and believe the impossible.

Thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

A walk in suburbia

I have always had indecisive taste. In grade 1, they asked me what my favourite colour was; I listed all seven in the rainbow. Last Sunday I decided autumn is my favourite season. It was the perfect day for a walk, full of typical stereotypes, which, in truth is what makes fall so wonderful:

Of course it’s the leaves.

The crunch of curled up shells beneath your feet; the earthy smell of those that have escaped raked piles and large brown paper bags, softening into the brown mush of soil. The whispers of certain lingerers rustling against the wind, echoing through streets of the neighbourhood.

The flutter of nature’s paper in orange, yellow, red, and everything in between – some oscillating gently to the ground, others swirling around vibrantly as if they knew where they were going. A car roars past sending an enormous wave of tiny yellow leaves behind its wheels, glinting gold in the sunlight against a clear blue sky.

 

 

The air is crisp, not too hot, and not too cold. Breezes are cool enough to sharpen the senses and numb fingertips, and the sunshine warm enough keep your cheeks from getting too rosy. It’s weather for denim or leather jackets, boots, scarves, and my favourite, comfy sweaters. It’s layering at it’s best – without the overstuffed feeling of giant heavy winter coats and occasional long underwear.

 The  distant honking of Canada geese and the scurrying of fat balls of black fur that are squirrels up trees reminds me that winter is coming. There is anticipation in the air as the last remnants of summer slowly disappear, giving way to the beginnings of the chills and darkness that will be the next half a year. The soft glow of sun, breezes, leaves – it all makes you feel so close to nature.

It’s a rather thoughtful and reflective season, and I like that a lot.

-thebookybunhead