jolondolox-blog

[jolondolox-blog]

Wish you were here

We were born in the countryside between

The docks and the land,

Land of the great of course!

With technological advances of the century

Where the line wasn’t drawn on screens

The domestically abused

Became abusers.

Drug induced mothers -

And Daughters,

Were born to violence,

And withdrawing

From withdrawal syndrome.

In streets brimming with poverty

Working people were viewed

Working other people on corners.

Try living

In the age of aids and Freddy Mercury

With statistics of dole dossers spread over

Placards costing more than a weekly salary.

Darkness filled the nights til

Screeches of blue convoys appeared,

Extinguishing the thriving flames of orange

Unlike the non thriving children of the year,

Who were lost in splattered dots of estates

On unpublished maps, in council flats

Threatened with eviction and

Stuffed deep with depression and

Eating away the dangers in the form of cheap

Beans and sausages and chips cooked in dirty oil pans,

Breathing sighs of relief while

Signing empty postcards declaring

‘We wish you were here!’

Quietly Muttering,

‘It’s a lovely place really!’

[jolondolox-blog]

Winter wonderland

The crunching was heard

The crackling was undoubted and

The purity was raw.

The thousands walked amongst it as

The thousands had before.

The footsteps gained and

The footsteps left earlier, were

The foundation for disaster as

The untaintedness disappeared and

The cleanliness started to vanish.

The contamination occured and

The enjoyment was gone, as

The snow turned to sludge and

The piles of mush spread on roads.

The perfect creation was ruined as

The enjoyment of humans occured.

The human race destroys everything beautiful.

[jolondolox-blog]

Twilight

The twilight of the night

Caresses my heart soundly.

Dividing me like canvasses

On cracked, plaster board walls

Willing me to choose you.

Or emptiness.

Unaware the synonym for emptiness is:

- You -

Blindly I choose.

I accept the hibernal destiny as

The shadows enclose me ferociously

Smothering my surroundings.

The brusquerie of my decision

Confirms that I am trapped.

As my spirit rises above me

I watch it travel to the clouds

Turning to face you

- one last time!

I see your smile widen.

"Now you'll never leave."

And I cannot even weep

For you kidnapped my soul

So me, forever, you could keep.

[jolondolox-blog]

Writers block

I know I've conquered

Writers block

When the page is full of red.

From my heartache there is spillage

The blood merges into ink

Transforming into words on paper.

Whilst bleeding with emotions and feelings

The words simply write me.

[jolondolox-blog]

Refurbished love

There's nothing quite like

a heart that was once broken

but has been repaired

to be able to love once more

and be used as a token.

[jolondolox-blog]

If the Earth had a song, it would be a sombre ballad with a dingy hook that nobody sung to.

#amwriting #SundayThoughts #writerslife

[jolondolox-blog]

Mindless consumption

How I had desired the tranquility, the peace, the influence you seemed to possess - and loathed your ability to only avail it when your authority was questioned.

You were the drug I was warned about – but was mindless enough to consume anyway.

[jolondolox-blog]

'There's something alluring about the way fog seeps in, even if it's purely because you cannot, for once, see past the end of the nose you stick so proudly, in everybody's business but your own'

jolondolox

[jolondolox-blog]

[jolondolox-blog]

For The Writer Who Is Stuck

For The Writer Who Is Stuck

Stories are hard.

I think anyone who has ever sat down to force out eighty-something thousand words (or more) knows this. Stories get twisted. Plot holes form, characters refuse to cooperate, and the words on the page don’t always match the visions we had for them.

Things get messy, and in the end, even the most dedicated planners get stuck.

I know this from experience.

I used to be an planner.…

[jolondolox-blog]

She was aesthetically pleasing, with a face that spoke a different language.The pores on her skin were similar to maps I'd never travelled, and worlds I'd never seen. She had solar systems in her eyes, and stars engraved into her soul, she held a love so pure, so authentic, so irreplaceable, I never wanted to let go

[jolondolox-blog]

Some people know

Some people know what it is like to be called ugly,

To be called fat,

To be nervous for no reason,

To be broke, even on payday,

To be travelling through life,

Unheard and unnoticed.

Some people know what it's like to be scrutinized daily,

Wishing they were different,

Wishing they could do better,

Wishing for a change,

Wishing upon a star,

At 11:11,

Twice a day,

And some people don't.