What I call ‘Stream of Consciousness’, also known as ‘Automatic Writing’, is when you write non-stop for a given period of time.
The idea is to literally write each idea as it comes into your head, not stopping to alter or control anything that comes onto the page.
For me, the results are often extraordinary. By switching off my normal analytical, critical mind, I open up a channel through which the creative mind can express itself.
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Shadows fall on the ground
Draw dark lines
Across the children’s faces
Like tribal markings of holy men
Who crouch over a fire
Stirring worries
And thick magic
Into a spewing bubbling pool
Of liquid lava.
Their eyes flash like fireflies
In the darkness
And draw out the spirits of the dead
From the leaf mulch
That carpets the ground
Beneath their bare feet.Read More »
Like a cocoon of silk
Wrapped in jewels
Her hair
Wisped in the wind
A shell curled round a string
Like a forgotten thing
A talisman
Of ancient wonderings
“I’m going to go for the smoked salmon bagel, I think,” Maurice said smiling as he drummed his fingers lightly on the laminate table top. Betty smiled softly too, for that was what he always said when they came for Sunday brunch at Roni’s. And he’d have a filter coffee, an orange juice and end with a jam-filled doughnut.
When Donny, the owner’s grandson, came to take their order, Maurice reeled off his request, which Donny dutifully noted down on his pad, just as he did every Sunday.
“And you Ma’am, what will you be having?” Betty looked up at the young man, his sparky eyes, nose dotted with freckles. She bit her lip, hesitated. Donny raised his eyebrows.Read More »
The platinum waves
curl in, crash and crumble.
A fleck of spray
lands on my lip,
(the Earth’s spittle).
Wind blows my hair
into a frenzy.
Can you feel it, Little Bean?
Feel the tide rocking,
the stones humming.
From the safety
of your cell, your shell,
Can you feel it?
roshnii 