I’m pondering recollections of my fragmented mind. The swirling images are like butterflies in a net, popping and fluttering. A puzzle—pieces of memory scattered/shattered. The bits flung about. What is this fractured memory?
Tag: writer
-
On Fracture and Inheritance
Fediverse Reactions
-
-
Brittle #Prose #Poetry
BRITTLE
It’s the brittle parts I abhor. These are the parts that are so old that I can’t recall why we don’t talk anymore. And, I loathe them for that precise reason. The years roll by like storms on waters, oceans, rivers, high tides, racing to shore, lapping away at the sands and surf, years gone, wasted into the ancient earth. The living are dead and the dead live forever. I sometimes find reasons why before it slips on by, subsiding into the low-tide.
Stewing in this moment, I search to feel an inkling or a twitch of emotion. I stop. It’s fruitless, but hangs heavy. No stated recall. No intended intent; just satiated denial and dissent. Fractured reasoning, no doubt. Broken connectivity lost to history that fatal reduction of a lost story. It seems clear but is muddled in every direction.
Roiling on the waves for introductions; introductions to the memories that portend. It fairs well when this dream of time spent didn’t end in some calamitous hell. As it always has. But, I saw the truth and truth is light, so it is said. Give and take, is what you get, if that’s the only reason to forget. What kind of life? What kind of dreams get told? Focus for now, on what you can control. Brittle reasoning falls apart, like rock candy on hardened hearts. Control the beast, emotions depart! I bite down on the brittle parts.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Norbert Kowalczyk on Unsplash
#Memories #Poet #Prosepoetry
-
Blog Redesign for 2021
I’ve given my blog a design refresh for 2021. I went for a more calming and soothing color palette and image, since we’ve been through so much trauma and stress this past year (ad nauseum). I’ve also selected and updated my fonts. I chose a more timeless selection on my display font and aimed to balance it with a more rounded, easy on the eyes, readable font for the longer verse.
Anyhow, I hope you all like it. 🙋🏽♂️
#Redesign #2021 #Blog
-
Honestly, I Think Not
honesty is bullshit
it takes sweat
it takes regret, stuffs it
up the, or down the
throat of those you claim to love
or, or, perhaps
those who hang around the fringes
pretending you matter.
i don’t know, it feels
like a sick kind of dichotomy
stetching the wretched confines
of the mind, the worst part of those deep deep recesses
dark dank and rarely visited.
virtuous nonsense, yes virtue
can exhibit signs of it, for sure
i think i’m preferring silence
peace, let’s keep it
sure, honesty keeps one
pure, judgmental, stark
actually
naked and hung out to flake away
into the creeping
regretful silence
that awaits, the chosen preference of the day.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Josie Stephens from Pexels
-
The Laughter
Forever by day
words rain like a roar
though soft and still-like
your world
rememberest
forever change
the laughter
deceased.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by omar alnahi from Pexels
-
AHHHHHHH — Frustration is Frustrating!
Frustration is an unsettling feeling, undoubtedly.
For years I’ve dappled in poetry and blogging. I’ve been skirting the edges of this craft (this art form) since my early days in Art School. Today I feel a calling, a force within, a palpable frustration in my need to write. Why?
Perhaps it is the voice in my head shouting at me to speak! Periodically afraid to voice my opinion in written format has been directly linked to my fear of commitment. AHA!
I literally was just informed of this by that voice in my head again. LOL! I perplex myself at the same time as finding myself quite brilliant. Seriously, I fear committing to an opinion or “story” as I might have to act on something. Well, at least that is the silliness I tell myself. I want to remain open I think, as an artist I should be open. This is the battle, the battle for clarity and fair-mindedness that stalks my psyche. Strange? I know. Stranger things there are though, ’cause people are their own worst critics.
And storytelling (by the way) is an ancient art form that has been handed down through our bloodlines, our bones. It’s a natural human condition (in my belief) that relay’s messages from within. To seek and tell one’s story, or to be sought out by our inner voice to tell one’s story. Poetry grabbed a hold of me the same way. I heard voices in my head (over and over) that wouldn’t shut up. I felt compelled to grab a notebook and pencil. Lo’ and behold — poetry spilled out. I felt possessed. Mesmerized, I didn’t stop for several years. Same as my urge to pick up a brush and paint suddenly — telling a story visually, expressing an emotion, depicting a scene. No different.
Photo by Genaro Servín from Pexels Back to Frustration. Frustration about pivoting my art form. Where do I start? I know other artist’s and writer’s have the same problem. Painter’s stare at blank canvasses, as writer’s stare at blank pages. So it goes. To pivot or not to pivot? That is my question.
I want to master my pivoting. If I can master the pivot, I can effortlessly succeed. Right?
Frustration will cease to exist if I just pivot from it — Ha! (In fantasy world) Frustration is key to understanding my story — understanding the road to take, the story to tell. Pivoting is part of creating. Sometimes tackling the beast of frustration to the ground, is how I proceed with creation. Frustration/Creation. Sounds good to me. I’ve learned to listen to the voices in my head. So, I forge forward. I write. I paint. I pontificate. And I frustrate. But I create, and that is what I live for. Now…what should I write?
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
