Saturday, September 13, 2008

I have to choose another title?

I have most of my ideas in bed. At night the house is quiet (sort of) and I have time to stop and think. Sometimes I have some in the morning. So I have decided that when I get my own house I will stay up late and tap into my most creative time. Oh, about my dream house, I'm not going to try to sound professional because it hurts my head. I'm glad my writers block is over.

My house is in Ireland (I was joking about China). As you walk up the path you will see that on the outside is white and you will start to hear loud music (:D). When you are on the large porch, where I spend my evenings lazying around, the music will be unbearable. It is so loud that it takes me awhile to hear you knocking on the door because there is no doorbell. While you are waiting you admire my flowers. All of a sudden the music is turned off and I answer the door, claiming that a sales person comes this time every week. I can tell that you don't believe me but I offer to show you around anyway. First is the living room which you saw over my shoulder. You notice how drearily blue-gray it is but, being related to me for to long, you don't comment. The ceiling is vaulted in the living room. From the door, to your left the wall is covered with windows. In front of you is furniture beyond that, a wall covered in book cases. You don't see the TV so you ask where it is. I smile guiltily and say that I can't remember. Then I tell you I want you to see something. Up the stairs behind the furniture are two rooms that have no wall to separate them from the living room. The view through the windows is wonderful but you can't help noticing the piles of papers covering the floor of my study/bedroom. (Thanks for the lemonade, Libby. It's the best I've ever tasted.) As we head down the stairs I tell you that I thought about jumping off the ledge onto the couch. You're shocked but I quickly say that I chickened out. I'm excited to show you the bathroom under my bedroom. It's olive green, spacious, and has a fish tank. Giggling is all you get when you tell me that you like my choice in colors. Next I show you down a hall that is right before the stairs. At the end is a kitchen and dining room combined. To the left is another hall which leads to four bedrooms. All of them are white and I explain that when I get a husband and kids they get to choose the colors. Above the rooms is a padio on the roof. Proudly I introduce you to my garden. We sit in chairs and catch up on each other.

Drawing pictures is easier. So back to ideas. I wrote The Wind Is Blowing this morning.

The Wind Is Blowing

The wind is coming
Go run and hide
The wind is coming
Try not to die

The wind is coming
And it's gonna be big
The wind is blowing
So dance your worry jig

The wind is blowing
The rain is here
The wind is blowing
The rain is fear

The wind is blowing
Come save the day
The wind is blowing
But it'll be okay

I wrote these awhile ago. (Don't ask me what any of them mean)

The Blood Of Thoughts

A wounded thought you once will find

The blood of which pools in the mind

Stopping the other thoughts from coming

While your original thoughts keep on drumming

Knocking the memories out of your head

Until the day that you are dead

(I don't have a name for this one)

I wonder what I think all the night long

Could it be another's song?

Drifting in this soothing state

Who is one to debate

Left or right, up or down

But I'll never wear a frown

Because this world inside my mind

Is better than any other you'll find

I Don't Want To Help Me

Strapped to a chair

I scream my own name

Why won't I come to help me

Lying in bed

I wish I were dead

Why won't I come to help me

In a room with a stranger

I try to answer what I can't

Why won't I come to help me

Maybe I'm strapped to a chair

Singing my name

That's why I can't come to help me


Eldon and Janeil Olsen said...

I like the description of your house. That's a good idea to let the kids pick the color of their rooms.

The poem your wrote about the wind made me think of Grant and Ruth (Aunt Gail's son) who just went through the awful experience of a hurricane. Water came in under the walls and floods a couple of inches in their apartment. Luckily they didn't have carpet. Their power is off. The storm was very noisy and kept them awake most of the night.

Ken said...

I really like The Wind is Blowing too. I just read Grant's adventures with the hurricane, and I'll bet he can relate. You can read about it here.

Thanks for sharing your deviled eggs.

Sweet Polly Purebred said...

My favorite is the last one, "I Don't Want to Help Me". There is so much communicated in that poem. Thanks for sharing it.

darkfire said...

Oh, I really liked the house description. You are very witty. Keep writing, I love your style.

Berkeley said...

I love those poems! The blood of thoughts one would make good music lyrics.