words words words – Page 35

March 29, 2015

morning ritual

under the shower: a reflection
wet and bare
skin showing
clean, gleaming

pearls merging to wetness
steaming
as the water whispers on and on
arias sung alone
private unknown glee

later, dressed
sitting at a surface
cup in hand, porcelain smooth
eating what was made
by recipes written

private perfect memories
held in immaculate hands

bliss
.

March 28, 2015

windfall light

thus, written:

Zeph, my friend
you would know
of the greatness in open spaces
green and bright

between the words
and whispers
that moment, after dark
the hesitation
the palpitations
rising with the hand to light

hoping for beauty
to come true in impending dreams
that vast tenderness
that antithesis of night

March 22, 2015March 22, 2015

3:01 am

simple thoughts
so late at night it’s morning

sometimes all you have
is a bed to sleep
and some food to eat

the sky is bright
they call it light pollution
birds are actually singing

sometimes all you have
is a lamp to see
and a book to read

the silence is so loud
i can hear every move, breath, beat

sometimes all you have
is that quiet space
filled with hope and memories

and then it’s clear, deep down:
what i have is you
not a dream
but the complement to me

it’s 3 am
and the birds are still singing
.
© 2015 threegoodwords

March 12, 2015March 16, 2015

I wrote this some time ago, during one of those bad moments when the realisation that I just was really truly absolutely ohmygoodness definitely not there yet was very real. Ah, but the great thing about great writers is that, never mind how they make you feel like last week’s left overs, writing-wise, they also help you know that it is possible to do better, be better, try your best. Reading their writing is, next to the great story, also this lovely gift: somewhere, somehow, someone was able to touch that thing that is divine and turn it into perfect word-gold. Terry Pratchett was one of them. Dear Sir (he was knighted), you’ll be sorely, sorely missed. You made so many people laugh and think and feel and laugh again so many times, the world has really lost a true genius today. Rest in Peace. Or as the Librarian would say:
Ook!

…

Gosh, if I could only come up with something like Überwald, Bess Pelargic, The Agatean Empire, 71-hour Achmed or the Octarine Grass Country. Or simply the Anthropomorphic Personification of the Ultimate Certainty, the Grim Reaper a.k.a. Mr. Door. Terry Pratchett is a genius, a real and true genius, though I still think Rincewind is complete and utter twerp. The Night Watch with Commander Vimes and Carrot Ironfoundersson + rag-tag band of misfits and miscreants, the Witches of Lancre + kingdoms and villages, Ms Aching and the Nac Mac Feegles, the University faculty + Librarian, and all the city Guilds + C.M.O.T. Dibbler, Mr Lipwig, Ms Dearheart and whatever new Scheme Moist von is up to, and then, of course, the Patrician with ever resourceful and loyal Drumknott, they’re all breathtakingly, mind-bendingly, side-splittingly fabulous – but Rincewind just puts me off. He really really really annoys me. The only great thing about Rincewind is The Luggage (Sapient Pearwood! Imagine! The madness! The magnificence!). Barely managed The Colour of Magic, and only because I sat through that ghastly mash-up of a movie. Afterwards I had to read it. Rincewind is that character who just makes you want to reach into the book and slap people, meaning him. Though some of the scenes with him in it are utter hilarity.

…

Oh and one more thing: Really, the Luggage. The Luggage. I dare you to come up with something as hilariously insane as the Luggage. Go on. Try it. I shall sink my reading teeth into it, promise.
j.d.

March 8, 2015