Creative Writing

Poem/Reverie

The darkness beyond my dreams has held me for so long, but now I wish to undo its grip on my shoulders. The sickly fingers unloosen their hold and the pale Winter sun peeks through the trees of my mind and the leaves lie dormant in their unmade buds for a time when they will unfurl into juicy green leaves of Spring and Summer of the time when I am confident, creative and sure.

My feet grip the rocks along the ragged shore more surely as I tread over each slippery one to my next perch of greater freedom and understanding. The waves echo my every thought, my every sigh, my every doubt, but they never cease to roll in and crash upon the shore. There are some things that I can be sure of, that make me feel everything will be fine and the sea is one of those things: it gives to me so much, even when I am unable to give, lost in my troubles, in my dark, foreboding thoughts.

I twirl in a madness of infinity, where the ending of this is unattainable, I can not stop. I cry in fear of the endless dance of confusion, the speed of which is dangerous and wild. My satin pointe shoes are tattered with the fierce dance I perform. The dance of death of the illusions I feel within my mind. Suddenly, a gentle hand guides my pale hand and hold my body into a pas de deux. I am sheltered from the theatrical storm I somehow created and I feel the safety of his hold. We dance in unison, I am no longer alone in my maelstrom of winds and rains. A spotlight shines upon my partner and I and he lifts me up high in the air then dips me into a beautiful swoop. He is my conscience, my rationality my support of myself, when all is lost I rescue myself and begin to believe that I am okay.

The dust falls off my now spangled tutu and the bodice reflects the light on its encrusted jewels, that are my talents or strengths. I now spin on the tips of my toes with effortless grace, which is beauty in motion. My partner is always present, I am always protected and I dance with an enthusiasm unmatched and unequalled. We are compatible, he and I we complement the other, I, the passionate emotional one and he, the gentle, consoling, rational being. Together, we hope to dance forever, combining the strengths of the other, which are just the parts of myself, that fuse and transform when I know and accept and understand the difficulties within myself and the trials and tribulations I face that need the courage to perform and to partner in adversity. I watch these dancers and think of their efforts and , yes, they are beautiful, if only for the brief moments they exist in my dreams and imagination, where the ballerina finished the pas de deux with a flourish safe within the masculine dancer’s arms in a perfect pose of art and classical pattern. They are my mirror to the phantoms of my mind whom I respect with reverence as they are talented and light in their movements. They help my own dance in a world or treacherous rocky ground and troubled skies. Yet there will always be the skies of blue calm, the first star painted with gold light in the twilight sky and the moon pure and sure like a white gown of a debutante ballerina dancing her first performance with all the enthusiasm of the premier of something new and untainted.

By Kylie C.

Blinded

In the moment of silence
The busy-ness surrounds
Laughter, chatter, voices calling.
They're monotone
In the quietness
Seeing all, hearing none.
I watch images. take from
Codes of noise
movement
colour.

Nothing shapes –forms
Words take flight
It's restless, senseless
In this moment of calm
I watch the movement change
A kaleidoscope of colour
noise
movement

Till the picture fades
Black and white to - grey
The busy-ness stop
Darkness shapes movement
noise
colour

The Sunday Afternoon

It is quiet
It is sun-scorched
And lonely
But homely
I come home
Every Sunday morning
To be with the folks
And wonder amongst
The colourful gardens,
Getting soaked.
And to mourn
About what has happened
And, with dread
What might occur
In the future.
The sun,
Which spoils all my fun
And sears my brain
Like the hectic sound
Of an on-rushing train.
I think of the distant
Past
When I was alive
And I cast
My mind
Back
To the good, warm days
Spent with
That effervescent girl
Who is so red, red
Beautiful
And who radiates
All-love
And natural charm.
It is hard
To remember,
Without
Dismembering
And dislocating
My present life
Which is so filled
With dark, dark images

And torn apart,
I, with a start
Am jolted
To reality
And the sound
Of the dishwasher,
Moaning
In calamity
Turning over
Its heavy load.
And the little sedate murmur
Of women’s voices
Playing bridge, in the lounge
The black hole
Of dark, dark
Depression
Fills my soul
With unremitting,
Hunger for love
And, yes,
Another
Sun-drenched
Day
Has begun........

By Irwin Booklin
Sandringham Lodge, Johannesburg, South Africa.

A time to win

Running up the mountain
On a long and windy road
The summit is still far
Behind me are runners
Breathing on my neck
Not long to go
Keep on running I tell my self
Hold to your strength
You can do it it now
One more step across the finish line
And there is a time to win

Time

Morning has broken
The bird outside my window
I listen to her rhythm
Paced and calmed and the she flew
Back into the dream I go until she comes again

Julie Zseggo Creative Writing Session

A Time

I remember us as children
On a bliss day, her birthday
She's married now
Walks slower
Smiles less
There is a time to play.

Morning

Red eyes, four more chapters to read
I lean on my elbow
I loosen my arm and lie on my side
It's still dark outside, morning will release me.

Released, I'll never look back
On this seemingly trivial time
Of never-ending night.

Rivka

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