the heart laid bare

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the curse
Under seige
Beyond the blues
Introspect
Balloon
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

the fall of giants

Their footsteps trembled the world for us.
We quaked from the echoes of their presence
As we lived among giants.

As children,
We watched breathless
As we caught our first glimpse.
Our faces turned to them like sunflowers
And some part of our hearts stuttered
And began to tick in time.
Always behind the beat we followed,
Pale imitations
Of the giants that walked among us.
We reach out hands and grasp to touch greatness
If only for the smallest of moments,
And cherish forever a name written by the hand of a giant.

They pulled notes from a guitar that the maker never dreamed were there,
Or walked on silver wearing many faces,
Or sang songs of the stars
And we thrilled to the scansion and beat,
Convinced that we could fly among them.

Our giants shaped the world for us
And we sway like long grass at their passing, as they pass.
They fall and the world becomes still
And silent
And so cold.
And we hold the pieces of them that they left for us
Above our heads to catch the very last of their light.

#lemmy #rickman #bowie


© mjc 19 January 2016

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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, 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.