Archives For Creative writing

Magical Thoughts

December 9, 2017 — Leave a comment

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When I experience hurt

I indulge

In magical thinking.

Very annoying

For others,

Unfamiliar with the technicalities

Behind my tricks.

 

 

He or she

May say,

That “I” am mistaken in my observations.

But with the wave of

My magical thinking wand,

I create mystical anagrams,

And hey presto,

I pull a bunny

Straight out of

The top hat.

 

Sadly, the rabbits

Only live as long

As the delusion,

And I find it draining

When they keep coming along

Day after day after day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dinner

November 4, 2017 — Leave a comment

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Ode To Social Anxiety

 

Sitting opposite my wife

With my napkin

On my lap,

I gripped my fork and stabbed the duck,

Marinated in weird oriental sauces, so I thought,

Served with a smashed potato,

As I was crushed by an

Intensifying anxiety,

Aware (or thinking) that the two diners

At the next table

Were watching me.

 

My mouth was as dry as the skin on the bird,

My stare as steely as the knife by the dinner plate,

And the guy with the beard and glasses grinned

And whispered something to his wife

Who turned around

To look at me.

 

And I chewed on the meat that was as tough as nails

Between my teeth,

 

And I knew I was not only fighting a losing battle

With my culinary skills

But also, the people around me,

Who I knew,

Found my side profile odd,

And disconcerting.

That was the only explanation I could find.

 

We were on a ship and had no choice,

Our seats were allotted arbitrarily,

At the reception desk,

And my fellow diners, complete strangers,

Now had to contend

With my presence,

Having spoiled their evening

With my glancing and scanning

To see who was watching,

And guessing that they must be thinking

What I knew to be true,

Without validation.

 

I do look odd from the side,

So they say,

And the duck, was really quite tough.

When the diners had gone

I asked the waiter

“What was the sauce” and he said

It was  plum puree.

Plum.

Puree.

 

And the ship sailed along

As we finished our wine

A man sang a song

We were both feeling fine,

And the diners had gone

To their cabins to sleep

Outside there were stars

And waters so deep.

 

But I didn’t go back

The following night

To our table

Beside

The strangers.

The inherent dangers

Of projecting our fears

On each other

Can be put aside

Because

We will never see

Each other again.

 

 

 

 

Water and Ice

July 29, 2017 — Leave a comment
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I recall a short story I had written in school back in Scotland looking out of our window at the whirling snowstorm blanketing our streets, roofs and gardens. We were young. My teacher said we could reach for the stars. I questioned that statement.
It fell fast and hard as we threw snowballs at each other in the back green. We stopped and together the three of us made a snowman. Over five feet tall with chestnuts for its eyes and baby carrots for its lips. I was so uncomfortable, perspiring as a chilly wind blew through my thick wooly jumper specifically made to keep you protected from the elements.
When completed, I stepped back to admire my work. The snowman’s expression was not one of joy but fear. I rearranged the lips physically with my fingers turning them into a smile. But as the snow fell faster the expression changed once again and looking into the chestnut eyes of this inanimate object I knew there was nothing else I could do.
There was nothing he could do either. He had no brain, therefore no courage, no heart therefore no pulse, and regardless of my desire to alter this thing I could not change, I watched helplessly as its physical appearance morphed moment by moment into something I had not created. A thin crust of ice had formed around the body. There was nothing left but a large lumpy pile of snow as icy blasts shot through our garden.
And they told me I could be anything I wanted to be. That’s what the teacher said. Anything. Reach for the stars. And I guessed it was all a lie. I knew at the end there was one ultimate truth. Whatever we were here, we would all disappear, regardless of our understanding of love and hate.
I walked towards the snowman and systematically pulled it apart. I swiped, punched and kicked as the wind blew harder and the fierce biting wind attacked every fibre of my flesh. I crushed this thing until it was gone. The water was still water, the ice was still ice but the man was no more. Because, quite simply, he had never been in the first place.
I looked up at the dark grey clouds and felt thousands upon thousands of snowflakes swirling around me, melting on my lips and blinding my eyes. I was awake and I knew I was not dreaming. I knew I was alive and I knew in my heart I would be spending some extra time in space on this little planet.

My First Drink

May 8, 2017 — 2 Comments

This is how I described my first drink of Scotch. The biggest mistake I made in my life. It was my gateway into a path of self destructiveness that brought me close to death. But the story is about bullies. Alcohol is the biggest bully of them all.

 

The fire was so nice and warm. Dying out of course. A few embers poking through the ashes. I took a drink and poked the fire. Some sparks and little flames popped up. The red spots under the ashes were fading so I picked up a fire lighter and placed it on the coals. For a few seconds there was a strong smell of paraffin. Then pop. Blue flame casting shadows at the back of the fireplace and around the sitting room. Shapes dancing in silence with a beautiful warmth and strange excitement. I poured another drink and sat on the floor in front of the fire. Getting warmer. More comfortable. My worries dissipated. I liked the feeling. The absence of worry. And the blurry feeling in my head. I wanted to chase these shadows round and round the room as the excitement mounted. My mind was telling me everything’s all right now. You can do what you want. Anything. No restrictions. Nothing’s holding you back. Then I fell into a faultless sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Attempt at Book

May 7, 2017 — Leave a comment

I have written 70,000 words about my experience as a kid in Scotland being brought up by a fairly wealthy professional musician.

Both parents were alcoholics but I try to focus on the bullying at school I could not contend with because my parents were always in a state of intoxication. i.e. Steaming drunk as they say in Glasgow.

It’s my first attempt and I put it up on Kindle Unlimited which means you don’t have to pay for it. Or it’s $2.99 from Kindle. Well, I am Scottish.

The writing is either awful or not bad or pretty good but if some of you guys could give me feedback I would be so happy.

It was more a cathartic experience than anything but it really is a weird and painful journey. I hope people identify with some of what I’ve attempted to write. Love you all.

Trap

April 3, 2017 — Leave a comment

Wandering between two points

With no other exit plan

Wondering if I 

Will ever see the light of day

Again

Even though

The sun is covering the earth

In sweet golden light

I am trapped between coordinates

I put in place myself

Over time.

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I try to think

Of happiness,

As a concept

Encapsulated in its own image.

And laughingly believe

I’ll be happy,

Just by bringing to mind

The thought,

 

That thinking happy thoughts

Would then follow

Without effort

And all would be well.

 

But happy thoughts only

Materialize ,

Not by concentrated effort,

But by avoiding,

All these wicked

People From hell.

 

 

 

 

Image from Beliefnet.com

Turtle Doves

February 28, 2017 — Leave a comment

Dove at Sunset over Lago di Garda

Through orange heights,

Through turtle doves,

And through the alleyways,

I see the love

That hope enshrouds

Descend and take away

 

The thoughts I had of one I love

A city far but near

And in its grasp

A homesick dove

For whom I shed a tear.

 

The air is still,

I feel no wind

Inside I feel no sorrow

Upon my hope

My faith is pinned

The dove shall fly tomorrow.

Purposeless

February 27, 2017 — Leave a comment

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I woke up tired today.

Hot sweet

Expressos

In tiny white cups,

Stirred me a little.

 

But  lethargy,

And the heat,

And the crushing  humidity

 

Made me anxious,

Gave me palpitations,

Made me light headed

And confused.

 

I had no plans today

So I sat at a pavement café

Sipping expressos,

Staring at people.

 

And when the dehydration

Brought on

Panic attacks

 

I was no longer tired,

And even though

I had absolutely

Nothing to do,

 

I was terrified

And saw quick stars

And white lines

When I closed my eyes.

 

And I just cringed

At the thought

Of the nightmares

Just

Waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image from medical daily.com

 

 

 

 

Rhetorical

February 20, 2017 — Leave a comment

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I can’t shake off this furious anxiety

That thwarts my breathing, to

Shallow repetitive beats,

Obscuring

My capacity

For normal thoughts,

 

And when I wondered why those

Intermittent perturbances

Should even be?

The question

Answered itself.

 

 

Image from The Odyssey Online