Tag Archives: words

Making Waves — a poem in free verse

Making Waves

Truth is something

You can’t always see.

A stone dropped

In an unconscious ocean,

A letter written

But never sent,

Pigtails mid-bounce

Caught on a jump rope.

Truth is the story told

To the sleeping child,

A shard piercing

Luminiferous ether.

Truth is in the silence between

A husband and wife.

Truth is disappointing lace.

Truth is 16 years.

Beetroot.

Coleslaw.

Tears.

Truth is a noxious gas;

Plague doctors with beak masks.

Truth circles Black holes,

It is dandelion fruits

On the air.

Truth is something you

Won’t

See

Here.

–AEW

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Dirty Stop Out – a poem

Dirty Stop Out

Left you

In your bed.

Smell of you;

Easily led.

Pizza slice

On my way out;

Rolling dice,

& messing about.

Crunch on snow

to where I stay.

Consequences flow—

Come what may.

Netflix chill

Just another night

Might not fill

What I fight.

AEW


The Lightness of Being Me

Oh I was binary,

In orbit,

Slave to a celestial joy

caught up in once-upon-time,

Text lies, pizza boxes & corsets.

Knocked out by a quasar,

Sobering sense at cocktail hour,

I heard the Word that made me whole;

The Big Bang of truth in a forgotten date.

Set me free.

A.E. Wallace


Kerouac Rules for Spontaneous Prose #13

wpid-2013-11-28-09-00-53_deco.jpg
Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition

Ann: Hey, Sarah. I’m going to try something. Thought i’d tell you cuz I don’t want you horrified and shit.
Sarah: uh-oh. what are you thinking?
Ann: Lemme read this to you, yo. REMOVE LITERARY, GRAMMATICAL AND SYNTACTICAL INHIBITION. That’s what I gotta do for the blog tomorrow.
Sarah: (horrified face) oh god. no.
Ann: I gotta do it.
Sarah: ok. but it is so hard for me not to try to edit it especially if it is not in my own handwriting.
Ann: I know, right? so I gotta do it.
Sarah: ok. oh god… ok.

Ann: (clears throat)”running, rolling, rambling out on that road at a viciously, vivacious speed shouting out in the vernacular voom-voom-vooming aloud…”

Sarah: oh god. oh god.

…AND SCENE.

Note: Sarah is more than just my work colleague..she is the Spock to my Kirk. The Stabilising-Editor to my Freak-Writer…also my watcher when I get far too drunk on port to know what is good for me…but I digress. Once I read this out loud to Sarah, I said, “This was fun. It actually was pretty good.” Sarah laughed then said, “Yes. actually it was pretty good. It could have gone so wrong.”


Kerouac Rules for Spontaneous Prose #2

Image“Submissive to everything, open, listening”

 

Just as I left the Tube station at Camden, my ears danced on the various snippets of conversation of the people who moved about their daily routine. They all seemed to know who they were, what they were saying, what life was about. Determined, strong-said and bountiful with existence but dead inside all at the same time. Little snippets. I need to include little snippets of conversations that the people had as they went this way and that in the bowl of human soup that was the entrance to the Underground.


Kerouac Rules for Spontaneous Prose #1

Image

“Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy-“

 

I have nine journals and two diaries. None of them completed–Some of them with fragmented ideas, ramblings and ideas that tease me. Some have nothing in them at all. All of them like some secret vice—like a stripper doing her dance but not allowing me to touch, leaving me aroused yet unsatisfied. But I love them. I am drawn to them. I get angry and walk away. I leave them. But I come back…often when I should be doing something else…when I should be attending my responsibilities. And the feeling is utter bliss of the luscious dancing images the words give me…


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