the heart laid bare

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push
a strange distance
SWIMMING ALWAYS DOWNWARD
A ONCE-FAMILIAR LANDSCAPE
No Apology
the thunder
tinder
VERBAL PORTRAIT OF A CAT OWNER
critical shortage
the sky we thought we knew
CIRCA SOLEM
almanac
baby
dearest orlando
FIVE MONTHS
A LETTER TO THE UNDESERVING
cactus heart
would we
the fall of giants
paradise lost
Dad
after you've gone
time
a smile from the eyes
trepidation
why so cold
fix this
swallow me
untitled 8
insular
cry alone
robin
quicksand
laces
D.I.S.C.
stripped
waving goodbye
your open eyes
enemy within
mortal
untitled 4
sleepless
OUTSIDER
untitled 9
come dream with me
in the face of adversity
one word
the dark of the night
untouchable
one and one makes two
you burn me
see me
this shaken core
my lover
helen
my room
his words
foolish
rita
chalk drawings
the longest night
stupid skeleton
CLOTHES MAKETH
FIRST LASTS
STELLAR
TODAY
I WATCHED A MAN DIE TODAY
THREE WEEKS
this slippery slope
untitled 5
Arrows
First Kiss
The Talk Of Love
Nicotine
Blackout

see me

I have words 
And they will be heard.
They scream through my skull
Bouncing around, seeking release.
Unlimited to pen and paper, but quill and parchment
Ink and human skin
Scrabbling broken fingernails in dry dirt or smoking metal in the bark of trees.
 
Every look, flicker, flutter, every gesture of eyelash and lip,
Every twitch of hand or shrug of shoulder,
Every breath -
Another story yet untold.
 
Who are you to cage my words?
They should soar;
Unchecked;
Unfettered.
Who are you to still my tongue?
I’ll free it to the wind,
You shall see...
 
They will roar in the cannon of the water on the rocks;
Shriek in the birds fleeing through an airless sky;
Crackle in the inferno that dances from tree to tree;
Whisper in the cries of a starving child;
Moan in the tears of a wounded soldier far from home.
 
I will take up these stories,
These tales from time immemorial;
I will tell them around the campfires
And scratch them on public walls
And send their smoke to the furthest hilltops.
 
The world will hear my words.
It will see me.

© mjc 06 January 2013

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Biography

Daughter, sister, aunt, godmother, friend, public servant; self-confessed hermit, confirmed cat person, sporadic baker, irreformable yarncrafter, voracious reader; occasional wit, voluble shower vocalist, frequent sacrifice on the altar of brain-to-mouth filter fails, random shit-slinger, unrepentant purveyor of puns and dad jokes, writer and poet.

I have always lived by the theory that no matter what you do for a living - if you are compelled to write, if you wake up in the night to scrawl the contents of your dreams on a notebook beside the bed, if no event in your life seems complete without you recording it, if you are drawn to comment upon the world - then you are a writer.

These are my words.