Tag Archives: prose

Lunch time fix!

Shall we dilly and dally

Over calories and shakes,

Or are you more interested

In anything with chocolate flakes?

 

Is it indulgent or fast

Treat or the carrot and the stick

That makes your taste buds tingle

When you need that lunchtime fix?

 

Poetry – ‘Lunch time fix’ by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, July 2017.

Photography – ‘Brownie love’ by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, June 2017.

brownielogo
‘Brownie love.’ Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, June 2017.

The shadows

The shadows

They walk passed weekly, daily, hourly with eyes that stared straight through. The expressions go from lively, jovial to blank. A change that says it all. Stone walled faces, eyes hardened to what they really see. Ears that pretend to not hear, maybe those ear phones or pretend calls mask the shadow’s calling. Stiffened lips, pursed tightly closed, not a hello, a grunt nor a groan.

Sometimes, their footsteps and pace will quicken. Too busy to stop, for being busy is a reason for their reaction to be excused. Meal times frustrating, as you see the others stuffing faces. You can plan your next diet craze whilst consuming super size calories. Don’t worry, a shadow will sit, and pray for a crumb, a mere morsel. They won’t speak out as you throw that half sandwich, clear your fridge of out of date leftovers.

Pull your coat around tighter, the scarf higher up. Seek out those gloves that hide in that shiny clutch. Change your boots with the seasons, as they move again. From shadow to corner, and back again. Don’t worry my friend, they won’t ruin your trend. You moan about heat, and then about cold. The shadows’ fashion rail is within that black plastic bag. Shadows that shiver within the night breeze, red finger tips, cold noses, the shadow can’t breathe.

They worry about friends, about gossip or the latest soap story news. Is their make-up on point, did their crush see their new shoes. I will lurk as you talk, without making a sound. My worries the same, only now further down the to-do’s. Adrenaline rushes as they finish their night out, my life already fight or flight without their beer fuelled remarks. Will I survive the night, what do I smell like, can I see sunlight? When I wake I am grateful for not watching that show, but that I survived, alive, with no attack, no bin bags removed.

Walk passed me, walk passed them, it does not matter, we are not friends. I would not show my tears, in fact when one police officer will question that shadow, their help will be refused. Too much pride to crumble, to share with you all. A stiff upper lip to keep the bleak truths from being revealed. The shadows they see, they hear it all. They watch, knowing that most won’t want to, or can’t make a difference at all. You could confirm that you can see the shadows, that they are there, not ghosts or made-up fairy tales. A smile, a hello, a warm drink in hand. Something, anything rather than the embarrassed charades.

Because what if one day, you woke up to, realising the shadow was now you?

Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, May 2017.

 

Do I grate on you?

Do I grate on you?

Get under your skin, but never quite let in.

Do you see me here?

Not just a shape, more than t&a to explore?

Could you hear me now?

Listen to those thoughts and  dreams,

Everything, just ain’t what it seems no more.

Do you want a yes girl,

A turn around and make you smile girl.

Wrapped in those botox coated dreams,

No, everything just ain’t what it seems,

no more.

Do I grate on you?

The way your parents do?

Did you read my CV, or just the label on my skirt seam.

Would you know what I’m worth?

Congratulate on our part in the universe?

No, everything just ain’t what it seems no more.

Do you want a yes girl,

A turn around and make you smile girl.

Wrapped in those botox coated dreams,

No, everything just ain’t what it seems,

no more.

Could this by our day?

Hear you say thank you for what we have made,

Our pretending is done,

No more fat and thin articles to run.

Stopping the degrading in it’s tracks,

Ruining everything trying to hold us back.

One mind, one body, one soul,

One heart, one world.

We will be anything, no categories to withhold,

I want to grate on the world, not be a ghost to pose.

Do you want a yes girl,

A turn around and make you smile girl.

Wrapped in those botox coated dreams,

No, everything just ain’t what it seems,

no more.

Prose – Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, completed April 2017.

Photography – Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

 

Life grater
‘Life grater.’ Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Flower thoughts

Flower thoughts

Thousands of petals, thousands of words,

Were they all seen, were they all heard?

Was a single one missed today or back then?

Are they priceless or regarded as nature’s gems?

Hundreds of flowers, hundreds of thoughts,

Were they all loved, were they all understood?

Was there one to change the current outlook?

Are they appreciated or simply overlooked?

Every one plant, every one sowed,

Will we look after, will we let them know?

Is this a chance to rewrite and photosynthesis?

Are they important, to you or to I?

Poetry – Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, April 2017.

Photography – Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, April 2017.

trueromance
‘True romance.’ Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, April 2017.

A new chance

A new chance.

As the clock strikes midnight everyday,

The new day gets ready for the beautiful dawn,

A fresh chance for you and for me,

To make our mark, in our own unique ways.

Flowers delicately unfolding, blossoming in dew,

Birds delightfully singing their own tune.

Rays of beautiful sunlight bringing the world to life,

Grateful to be alive is the response to this cue.

24 hours reset on the old clock,

1440 minutes to carve a new journey,

Start it, complete it, or let it undo,

It’s up to us how to use those tick-tocks.

Will you take the new chance to  shake up this rock?

Poetry by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, April 2017.

Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

New chance
‘New chances.’ Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Rose remains – World Poetry Day!

What could be said about those remains,

Did they expect the beauty to slip away?

Age must tamper with it’s worth,

The lines and cracks, faults, not stripes earned.

Once too bright, youthful, so in your face,

Now tired, depleted, slowly wasting away.

Rejecting needle fixes,

Starkness, reality now burned.

The rose laid bare causing quite a stir,

No filters, nor plumping or deceiving shapes.

Still compelling attention,

Rose remains an enigma yearned.

Rose remains – poetry by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

 

Rose Remains
‘Rose remains’ Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Rainbow bursts

Oh if only the world would rainbow speak

Speak clearly what they’re thinking

Thinking only what’s nice

Nice, bright and rainbow colours

Colours of love, not lies, nor hatred

Hatred of negative, self-obsessed news

News that’s lead to a new wanting

Wanting to rainbow speak.

 

'Rainbow bang' art work by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.
‘Rainbow bang.’ Art work  by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Poetry by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Art work by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017, photographed also by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

 

Never again

Her tiny frame, vowed never again. Never again, would she listen to what was endured. Never would it have to be endured. Never again, would she play third party…

Having only been asleep for what seemed like minutes, she stirred in her room. The room small, dark, yet usually comforting and familiar. Trying to decode why she was awoken, realising there is no sunlight glaring through the curtains, she laid there, still.

Her heart beating, and although no exertion was required, that heart started to thump. The beat faster, stronger, almost ripping through her frozen still body. A sound she would know too well, the voice not of a stranger, but of the one who should protect her, guide her, love her even. The father’s voice billowing around the house despite the night time hours. Tuning in further, she recognised those cries from her mother, the other protector.

He was mad. Vulgar with his language, his tone. The swear words that girl could not comprehend, the names called she had never heard uttered before. Volume of his nasty ways getting louder, the ping-pong between shouts to cries getting faster in time. She couldn’t move, for fear of being heard. The tears stinging her cheeks, but no noise could escape her mouth. Another episode, memory etched of being that one in five statistic.

Slam! The little ears heard her mother’s body hit the stairs. Not a comedy slap, but a heart-sinking thud as the body collided with those steps. She could hear that he was stood above the body still not content enough to let this slide. Bang! The porch door bounced better than the mother did. It flew open with such retaliating aggression. Delicate ears hearing the scramble for the front door, the shaking of the door handle as the female tried to escape that aggressor. No keys, and it was locked. His retaliation was to lock her between the front door, and that solid porch door.

What must she felt to be locked out, yet in, in the middle of the night? Was she trying to be quiet for the sake of us, when we could already hear the drama involved. Was she cold, afraid, or angry?

It didn’t matter what she had done, what she had said, or promised at all. For the child just begged in her head that he would walk away, say sorry, or just get up and leave one day. Whatever had rattled that big cage, did not excuse what the girl could not un – hear that very day.

That little girl was angry. Angry for being awoken. For not being a normal child, asleep, dreaming of the next day. Bitter for not being able to stop the monster. Fuming for what he had made her mother endure. Scared for where he would head next, if he could find her awake. Fear froze her to the bed, but in her head, she was already downstairs opening the door, chucking him out, calling the police. Phoning anyone, for this was all their little family secret. Tucked away from family, friends, prying eyes.

No recollection of when she did fall back to sleep, or when she awoke. No memory of whether it was a school day, or a special day, for it had already been tarnished either way. The mother in bed, sleeping like a baby. Covers first, and then clothes later on, hiding whatever damage had been done. Scanning the room for evidence, to squash the thought it might of been just a bad dream, she finds them. The broken glasses, the bent and cut wedding band ring.

Her heart sinks, and sick rises. There was no dream, no nightmare, no make believe. This time there was evidence, something to show their special family secret. She willed, begged for someone to ask about the missing glasses, the forgotten ring. But mother was not brave, maybe blessed with forgiveness, a second, third chance, who knows. Verbally, the lies started to unfold, the girl listening, watching to excuses pile up. Nobody would believe the girl, that laid awake in the middle of the night, when the two protectors, life givers would construct such a barrier of lies. So it stayed consumed for a number of years, eating away, causing nightmares, worries, stress onto the child. Just as predicted by that young soul, when it did emerge, it was still denied. Rubbished by all, minimised, excused. He swarmed and charmed in a suit, and with that car. Yet, the exterior however flashy, can’t hide who you are, the real past.

The monster on the stairs has yet to face real consequences for what happened that night, that week, month, year and years. Perhaps his real sentence is a lost daughter, grandchildren he has never heard laugh, nor speak.

Never again would she listen to those excuses, to hear those whimpers upon her pillow. Her patience with those actions would vanish that starry night. No one, no exceptions should have to fear for their life.

Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

Written 2017.

Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

 

Quarter life crisis…

If they really exist? Or perhaps it’s a change of motivation, new thinking, or enlightenment?

Ever been really bugged by the same, simple idea over and over again? You know the one that seems to not only creep into your day-time distracting thoughts away from the mundane, but the ones that now tip-toe around your dreams too?

That’s where we are, the site is, or rather I am this month, this week, today. An urge to do more, new things, expand on what’s already been done. A quick search of Bing, and apparently I’m too young for a mid-life crisis. I have to, need to be ok with this, as there’s now no excuse to buy a car I can’t afford or even drive, yet.

However, move over Bing, because perhaps Wikipedia can diagnose this new itch better.

‘The quarter-life crisis is a period of life ranging from twenties to thirties, in which a person begins to feel doubtful of their own lives, brought on by the stress of becoming an adult.’ ( Quarter-life crisis, Wikipedia external link )

Hmmm, except, that becoming an adult thing, should of really been adjusted to by now. 15 years since I departed the home of my birth mother, and I’ve survived nappy changing and night feeds, and other not-so-shiny past times. There might be an angelic glow of enlightenment after all….

Back to reality, and whatever it is, or whatever it shall be called, I still have this itch. This itch, drive, or crisis idea to not only photograph more, paint more, make more, but also to write. To write long, and meaningful. Funny, witty and experience sharing. Noting letter by letter, sentence to paragraph to page, a bit more about where I’ve been and what I think. We all think, we all experience, it’s whether to share that is the question.

To curb that hunger pain of writing, tapping, painting, clicking, you might now stumble onto more written posts across this site. If you would like to skip to whatever brings you here already, there will be no hard feelings, and there’s dedicated photography, art, and poetry sections already. On the other hand, if you fancy a read into what makes me tick, past experiences, as a female, parent and generally being a thinking, feeling, homo sapiens then please do. Pour yourself a brew, grab that biscuit (or two, because no one’s counting right?) with the added bonus that thoughts will be welcomed as well.

Whilst that’s the urge to articulate prose contained, for now, it’s time to find a cure for that crisis that makes you want to hold a paintbrush, or three….

Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

 

 

 

Life connections

Life connections,

Those intricate events linked one by one,

Everything said that can’t be undone.

One decision that closes those solid doors,

Whilst alternates open wide opportunity gates.

Blood links that run between family,

Yet friends, lovers can bond and be linked more securely.

Memories that tie us to destinations,

Hearts entwined, souls that collide,

Life connections.

chainlogo
‘Life connections.’ Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces. 2017.

 

Poetry – Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Photography – Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.