Sharing a cool, dark filter. Today is play day!
Photo Challenge: Edge I cannot sit. The edge is too near, too daunting. The cloth is stripped away as surely as my soul is stripped of the bravery to simply sit and let life unfold as it should. I look over the edge of what would bring me rest and
Writing Prompt: Elegant Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt. The waters are not blue. They are the mirror for the royal skies that look down at an elegant white-blue swan reflecting off the mercurial lakes of a thousand lazy yesterdays. The swan glides across the time
Gaia I am in awe. Life. It sings to my soul. New Songs. Honor it now. Earth.
i want to tell you something. i want you to know how sorry i am that i could not save you. maybe it was never my job. i don’t know. all i know is that i wanted to see you flourish in a world filled with people fighting their way
I keep getting death threats from my cells. They’ve warned me that if I keep up this mess about growing my hair without locs, they’ll be coming for me. No ransom. I blew them a kiss. Hope it works.
My mind grows, inch by inch, into a place where all of nature exists and evolves.
we are here to see the impossible sometimes through the night other times through the rain we must see inside self see inside the places we’ve forgotten exist
There is nothing here. Only waves of memories folding over unrelenting experiences. I will no longer question my thoughts, but instead, carve question marks into stones; and diamonds and gold. Carve them into clouds and raindrops and the wind. My footprints will become question marks left behind as I crease
I’ve been away for the last two weeks. My vow to write daily has been broken by debilitating illness. You see, I was poisoned by mold which ravaged my body systemically and to the point of near immobility. The signs were all there, with one member of the household exhibiting
one day, when time leaves snow will be warm and the sun green. the ancestors will return and birth, painless. knowledge drinkable and love no longer for sale. i will be the birds i envy. they will walk in human skin. when time leaves i will understand the un-now and
the moon waits for me. i become the terpsichorean, naked, fragile, unclothed in darkness. my hips are my cauldron. i stir. i stir for the babies not yet conceived. i stir for love and longing. i stir for survival. i wait for the moon. and it waits for me. i
I am not free.
I am halfheartedly searching for a road back to Earth. The other half of my heart seeks a quiet world.
The poem below by Frost is the life I’ve always lived, the road less traveled. It keeps me sane, even as it sometimes leaves me lonely in this world. Most times, lonely in a room filled with people. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a
I read this piece by Yeats recently and it struck a cord. The Lake Isle of Innisfree W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939 I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean-rows will I have there,
The days meld into each other. Each one a link in a chain. The chain slowly reaching into the distance. This is our lives, each day a link creating a chain spanning miles of existence.
I live in two worlds, the world of this blog and my space on WordPress (zajizee.wordpress.com). Visit me there from time to time to explore my words and world.
Photograph by zaji This was the sky over my house yesterday. Such a beautiful sight. The sky is a constant reminder of my mortality. When I am gone, the sky will go on, into millions of years that I will never live to see. Nothing from this moment in time
Photo Prompt: Dinnertime …This week, share an image inspired by dinnertime — whether you take a photo of food or simply shoot during the evening hours is up to you! Photography by zaji, April 22, 2016 @ 11:45 am CST Our little peach tree is coming along nicely. The peaches
I walk the dusty road of false time, seeking angels with broken wings. Only they know my sorrow and how unforgiving the gods can be. I don’t need their lives vicariously, my window is the same, yet I have no wings. I see through the dirt and grime that only
In the space of love and courage, I breathed you in and exhaled the touches you left on my skin. Letting go brings pain and lucidity in equal measure. But I now know myself better than I needed to know you. At times, the self I’ve discovered is a stranger
phallic symbols tiptoe through mind intimate portraits of ebony gods standing on thoughts naked on my embryo filled stomach kissing me licking me stroking me mountains of desire entering my valley of ecstasy lifting me mounting me arching my back in need of more come into me and leave the
Photograph by zaji, April 19, 2016 the park benches wait for children. lonely and longing for the weekend fraught with giggles and bruised knees, they wait for light and dark to revolution less than six times. that is all it will take to bring the children. sneakered and bare feet
Brick red journal. Pleather string wrapped three times, tight, to seal the words inside. Gem stone glued to the middle, circled by a carved and braided sunshine design, a mandala. Spine pleather crossed holding together the many sentences that spill across pages unnumbered. the journal laughs and weeps all at
i am the lost ghost in your gently fading dreams that hesitantly leave you to greet the sun. woolgathering won’t change the trajectory of a life not lived; except in small dark spaces, between cracks and crevices that hide from light and life seeking itself. there remains the remnants of