Darkness is a state of fear or a state of nothingness. It is the nothingness of a total relaxed sleep where the dark acts as a blanket that covers and allows the comforting heat to rise. It is a sheltering cocoon that allows silence to permeate as it stills a jangled mind.
Darkness is also fear. It is the fear of the dark side, a side of which we have no control. It is the world spinning and time marching on despite our desires to remain firmly planted in the now. It is no longer a cocoon but instead it smothers. It is the black cat that sits on your chest and sucks the life right out of your breath. It is in darkness that the heart races and misses much needed beats. It is darkness that keeps us hidden in the shadows. To afraid to come out in case the pain is just too great. It is the fog of a depression so black that you can no longer see.
Darkness is six foot under or soaring with the angels. Darkness is the sweet smelling stroke of a sensual silent solipsist soliloquy and darkness is an ethereal claw that shreds and shatters from the inside out. It is the silent inner turmoil and screams of the tormented and the dammed. Darkness truly is schizophrenic in nature, it has MPD, multiple personality disorder.

Donna

Marguerite

Misty moon maker majestically manages messy minds
Attracting allusive angels once amassed apart
Ruby wrenches reisolates and is rescued
Grabbed gregariously, graciously, gallantly
Unknowingly uplifted in an updraft, upheld
Exquisite ethereal energy entices excellence
Ripples rise as rays resonate redemption
Intuitive instinct initiates the ideal
Tempestuous tamed tempos trustingly tremble
Enlivened essence emits eclectic energy

Marguerite,
Every now and then angels in all their guises need to withdraw, retreat and rebuild. I hope you remember to take your sabbaticals.

Donna I Carr (06/08/06)

I'm too tired and sick to think about poetry. I have too many assignments, too many sick kids at home, too many antibiotics in my system, too much pain in my disgusting ear. Too too much. Ah today I think I will get no sleep again because my damn fucking ear hurts and due to the extreme dose of antibiotics, or the flu, not sure which, I am working at a snails pace. What normally takes 2 minutes takes 20. In short I'm screwed.

So how do you like the glass half full attitude now?

Donna

Current Mood: sick

Mothers Son

Today I was a voyeur and I spied a mothers son
Naive Beautiful masculine innocence
Juxtaposition - a world cruel and conniving

Despite global warming and effluent warring
Boys that love their mothers do grow
Vain, love-blind, impish and foolish

Nice boys struggle from the rubble
Twists, tumbles, deviations, mumbles
But boys who love their mothers are in the know

Thank you for restoring mummies faith
Nice young men are suddenly 'cool' again
A glass half full the good guy wins

DC 2006 31/07/06

Current Mood: content

I am a busy busy bee
Droning away endlessly
The dust piles high
The comb crumbles
Wings slashing
I am asunder
Leg sucks down the
Spinning vortex
Heart ethereally stretched
across dueling bits
of me
A Band snaps
I am trapped
Encircled by an overzealous lover
A disemboweled stinger
Futilely slashing
At hidden enemies

(Donna Carr, 27/07/06)

An interesting day today. Getting a bit better but now the croaky throat and cough have arrived. Bring it on I say. I am an Amazon Warrior fighting off any invasive intruder without fear or trepidation. All right, so I have no choice.

I taught this morning and have a lot of work to catch up on due to my illness status. I need to get a unit of work finished and sew up a garment that I am expecting a year 10 cohort to make. I love creating units and sewing but I wish I had more time in the day. I am not getting to pay nearly as much attention to my creative writing as I would like. I have another 3 assignments due at the same time that I have to hand in my unit so it should make for an interesting week and a half.

I'm not sure what I'll be feeding the children tonight. At this rate it will be what I'm so good at, a rasher of wind and a fried snowball. I wonder if others can manage their time far more wisely and effectively than I do?

Well I better get back to that unit....

Donna I Carr

Another day of feeling dreadful. It was Sue's birthday yesterday and it is the boys birthday within the next few days. We went over to their place because the park venue was changed due to last minute rainstorms. The art equipment gift seemed to go down well but all I could do for the 3 hours we were their was mould my but into the couch.

The clag eyes are receding and instead I have the 6 million dollar man thing going on. Everything is in slow motion. I am walking at a snails pace and just want to sleep sleep and more sleep. This is not fun and I decidedly want to be better. I do not have much time left before my first round of assessments are due and at this rate I'm screwed. I'm too tired to even read. On that note I'm off to bed, again.

Donna

I have a million things to do and to use an overused cliche I feel like a dogs breakfast. Woke up with a coldy, fluey cloud hanging over my head. And today I'm teaching at the hippy bohemian school and have to come up with a PowerPoint presentation before 12:00pm. So what am I doing? Im I taking the initiative ripping right into it? No I'm bloody procrastinating and writing on this blogg.

My eyes feel like they have clag in them. You know, it's a paste that isn't strong enough to be called glue. My eyes arent sticking together merely being prevented from adaquetly closing by a thick viscous crud thats acting like over zealous eyeliner. I wonder what colour my new make-up is? I haven't looked in the mirror yet. Perhaps I could match my clothes to it. Such a shame I dont have puss looking dresses in the closet.

I haven't worn a dress in ages. It's to cold. Beside's I need to regain my trophy wife figure before I feel comfortable in that old sexy, slinky little black number. I wish I could pretend it was the fault of the four kids and school work. But truth be told it's too much wine and enough exercise.

I think that I will momentarily cease procrastination and write that powerpoint. Wish me luck.

Donna I Carr

OK,

So I'm a Douglas Adams fan, sue me. I'm having a go at trying this whole blogging thing. I am a novice who considers herself a bit of a hand with IT. But I feel alien, like a catwalk model (ok so some wishful thinking)in a gorgeous frock squelching in mud with my toes pretty red toenails slipping around a pair of stinky black gumboots. Some aspects of the getup are spectacular but the rest of it makes me feel uncomfortable. I suppose that the solution is to do more of it and then perhaps those boots will fit.

I've been having a ball reading other writer's webpages and bloggs and figure that I'll enjoy the medium. Anonymity and fame all at once. Oh the joys of a perfect blend.

Today I returned home from my prac teaching school to the thunderous applause of the road smacking, whacking, tractory, thingy that is so graciously opening up my quite little hamlet to other Mexicans (Having been here for 3 years I'm pleased to note that I've only another 47 years until I'm a dinkum local). It appreciated my presence so much that it set the walls a quivering. But apparently certain parts of the house remain unamused. Why is it that the lounge area went weak at the knees and swooned to the beat, where as the office remained decidedly unaffected? Strange, particularly because the office is closer to the beast.

I have lots of school work to do so I think I'll stick in a poem that I wrote yesterday and hope that I find enough time to start writing this regularly. This is the unedited version, I'm not sure what it will morph into later.

Tsunami Dreaming—sonnet

High rolling waves shudder towards the shore
Kin wait for their fishermen at the quay
A frothy white head spews forth, trembles, roars.
Mother turns her head from the sea to flee

Babe in arms she represents all that’s lost
A femme vision of innocence and youth
The wave thunders down crushing from aloft
A vicious wicked baby-sucking truth

Silenced sea-scum wails rise in vortex shafts
Washed frothy souls return from the blue deep
Infant apparitions are floating rafts
Haunted but happy little baby’s sleep

The ocean holds secrets memorial
A raging grieving femme pictorial

(Donna I Carr 19/07/06)


TTFN
Donna

This is the first time I have posted to a blogg. I'm not sure what to do next but I am willing to give it a go.