COLOR OF OUTDOORS

Ridin’ dirty

Posted in Journal Entries by Mandy Joy Poole on 30/03/2014

Literally. It was a dirty ol’ day on the Trans Labrador Highway. But it was awesome. This was a great weekend and it was very much needed.

I’ve been working on some writing but I haven’t gotten it down just right yet, will post when I do. For now, here’s some warm wishes that the week ahead will be a good and productive one.

Cheers all.

Love,

M.

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acquisition;

Posted in Poetry by Mandy Joy Poole on 26/03/2014

i know there’s something you won’t say

an ache that weighs you down

i can see it in the moments you aren’t pretending

it’s fleeting

receding

self

he never says goodnight

but always means ‘good morning’

M.

flankers

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(bitter) sweet november

Posted in Journal Entries by Mandy Joy Poole on 23/03/2014

100_8287I remember the night we spent in the park, sitting on the child’s play set. We drank beer and talked in obnoxious tones until god knows how late. That was the moment I knew we would never work. I think you knew it then too. That was so out of character for me.

I remember the wooden platform was wet. I was wearing my faded black pants with the holes near the knees. I remember picking at the hem near my foot…trying to distract myself from the obvious distaste in the air. You just kept on drinking. I can still hear you swallow, that sound the bottle made when your lips released their clasp.

I remember the light rain and how I was glad, for a moment, because maybe you wouldn’t see that I was crying. I remember my voice shaking. “I’m just cold,” I would respond.

I remember the piano playing at the top of the hill. It was an unmistakable sound that tore away at my darkest feelings.

I remember sitting on the swing and closing my eyes and wishing everything away. Every moment that had passed and every moment that would pass in the next twenty days.

Beethoven kept on playing.

My fingers traced the chains that kept me afloat. It was the most I had ever collectively felt at one moment in time. It was sadness, regret, remorse, disgust. It was murderous, and pleasurable, and it ripped away at the protective layers of my barely beating heart. There was no going back. Just a stumble forward.

The night closed in, the dark a terribly desperate release that almost swallowed me whole.

M.

 

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