{Pages of Yesteryear*}

I have this addiction to buying and building a collection of empty pages with cool covers, with endless, yet endlessly fading, intention to fill the pages with amazing things. Just before this year began, I attempted to put my thoughts to paper, instead of allowing them entry into the crazy world of strangers we call the blogosphere* Yet another failed New Years resolution, I’ll assume…
Well, here are my few, thinned out and incomplete thoughts of yesteryear, barely changed. I seem to have thought these same thoughts this festive season, as this year slowly draws to a close…
Here’s to growing out of worrying about silly things age unnecessarily draws to your attention, cheers!



She walked along the shoreline,

Stared into the sea,

Drove all night to anywhere,

The stars guiding her along her plea.

She scratched away at her bubble,

Poking and prodding

Groping and grasping

Inhaling, exhaling, losing breath

Deep breath, deeper… serenity…

Pause, paaaauuuse and stop,


Shutting, closing, closed aaaaand off.

She sat and watched the moving pictures,

got lost in the characters and their stories,

wasting away her precious time on this Earth,

hour by hour, day by day,

Always wasting her time

Oh, she was always good at that.

She stared into the sunset,

jumped into the sea,

Remembered all the things in life that made her jump with glee

She took her deepest deepest breath and let that breath run free

Then closed her eyes and saw the stars

Imagined every place she’d rather be,

Back in the arms of her serenity.

DreamScape 2014

Here’s a little piece of me, created, drawn, moulded, edited, delayed,

Lyrics I never planned, pieces of sound I never intended

Scribbles I could never quite make sense of

Emotions I never could quite contain

My dreams reaching for escape,

My inner rainbow bursting to glow

The sunshine only seeping through the cracks

Nature verses nurture,

A burning inner passion stemming from a place of then and there

Soon to come but almost gone

Tightly restrained, but breaking free

Please enjoy this self made story~*



Love this :)

Originally posted on keithgarrettpoetry:

Superman can fly high, he can touch the endless sky,

I am not made of steel fore i am only real, fly, no not i.

Batman seeks shelter within a cave, a mask covers his face,

I am not a caped crusader, strong am i, see that i wear no disguise.

From a spinning web he travels along the building walls,

I am not spider man therefore at times i may fall.

watch him run, he is known as the flash, another with a mask,

No super hero am i but possess do i the power of fast.

The hulk is powerful, strong and holds not many a fear,

I am not a fantasy, i get scared and have tears.

Captain america with his shield is fearless and strong,

I am not one of the Immortals, I stand just a man.

Keith Garrett

View original

Ocean Dipped and Sun Dried~*

Maya lay awake, imagination ablaze- with blurred memories and an age old longing that lingered within her, day in and day out. She knelt up and stared dreamily out of her window into the night sky.

The music was all it took, or perhaps it was the emptiness beside her that conjured up every deluded conversation with Amanda that she knew needed to happen. All the right words carefully plotted along the ruled line, some sinking just beneath the boundary, others jumping up to reach the skyline. Every curve of every word was beautiful and only just dipped in ocean depth, not drowned or suffocated, just lightly dipped. Only to then be warmed out in the sunshine. Each complimenting the next, the words formed swirls only the deepest of souls would have ever experienced.

In reality these words would never exist. Oh, Maya understood that all too well, but her imagination allowed her the deepest intimacy no physical connection need ever disrupt. Hand in hand, gentle… soft… slowly… tenderly… only to last a moment before life’s insanity came barging in through the gates of reality. Four eyes merging to two, a million thoughts fading into darkness as only a soft light gently flows over the twinkling moment. “I love you,” Maya whispered into the nothingness.

Sister, friend, two souls who seemed to have known each other in a thousand previous lifetimes and had grown their bond with each new life. Their physical clothing- still infants, innocent in lack of understanding, but the souls were wise all on their own. One always did become more familiar with their soul the more one truly grew from the inside. And the growing would take forever, but infants only ever learned to walk life’s pathway one step at a time.

As Maya’s mind drifted back to reality, all the so called rationality in the world detached her from her soul once again. Life was nothing but a never ending journey, but her soul would grow her, nonetheless.

Kindred coeur*

Their art had grown in heart in soul
Their art confused…
all the know
Their heart was never quite sure
in which direction to end
Their heart never quite knew which
message to send
Their eyes saw hearts, their hearts saw eyes
Their eyes saw only the inside,
dark and profound,
The light was always too bright for sight to see,
The light showed only shadows, dancing hints of allure in ecstasy
Misguiding the womb, and jumping the gun
They knew it was kindred,
But couldn’t fly free
They caged it up safe,
For the powers that be
but like a caged bird, they never once could flee
For how does a song bird learn her drifting melody
without the slightest hint of captivity
But Eternity, she waited, Eternity stood strong,
Eternity understood,
that never-ending soulful song*

Golden Fields*

The sun shone warm on Maya’s back as she stared out into the fields of the South of France. Spring at Last, Maya thought.  It’s about time. She was staying with her grandparents for three weeks, or was it months? It was so easy to lose track of time in a timeless place, so seemingly cut off from the rest of the world. Maya was eighteen, had just finished school and was more than eager to spend a year sorting through the where, when and what of the next stage of life. France had been her mother’s persuasion, “go take a holiday while staying with family”. It had barely been a holiday and staying with her grandparents had been her favourite escape from reality. It had been years since she had seen them and had cried bitterly when they immigrated. Their farm in South Africa had been the golden days of her childhood, her own little piece of magic in the world, but their home in France had it’s perks too.

Maya’s Grandparents lived in a tiny little cottage at the edge of a large field, where a family of sheep seemed to drift around in their own world, but never leaving each other’s side. Maya had been delighted when the little lamb was born, so teeny tiny, a perfect family of three. Since the day she had arrived, she had stared at these sheep for long periods of time, day dreaming, writing, listening to music, filling her mind with all things that made her long for home. It was generally after lunch when everyone was sleeping that Maya would drift into this world of sheep, home and dreams. Whenever she stepped back inside her grandmother, Meme, would be mending clothing for the few other inhabitants of this ghost like town, or doing crosswords or whatever else would jog her brain. Meme had Alzheimer’s and she could barely remember any English by then, but she and Maya had their own giggles about it, making their own language with bits of English, French, hand-gestures and sounds and whatever else made any sense. Maya did not need things that made sense to other people, she needed things that made sense between two people to understand. Maya’s grandmother was the perfect person to share her own little world with, she was one of the first people to ever tell Maya that she was wise. She had taught her how to be ladylike throughout her childhood, gently telling her the what-not-to-dos of life. She wished everyone had learnt from her grandmother. What beauty, grace and faith she held every moment of her life. 

Maya’s grandfather would put on the news and get the kettle boiling, never a man to sit idle, if there was someone to be sought to and looked after there he was, on the job. He may have been the opposite to gentle, but the gentleness was in his heart. “Me, I love all my children and all my grandchildren. You know, your mother, she’s a beautiful lady, all my children are beautiful.” Sometimes it would be muttered in drunken tones, other times it was simply random ramblings. His grumpy facade could get quite tiresome, but he meant well. Maya enjoyed his company, so what it he complained about every country he veer lived in, so what if he got angry about silly things, he was “mister charmer”, a man of many languages and many humble skills. Maya thought about when he took her to the market. It was like being in an olden day movie, Maya was in a thick European style jacket, boots and all, for it was a chilly day, but it was all so excited. Being an observer, it a pleasure to the mind, so much to take in, culture, things, people, language, the diversity compared to home. The Arab ladies and their strange stalls, the Chinese stalls, Italian, Spanish, like stray dogs looking for a way to survive. The Arab refugees had always fascinated her in France. What was their story, what had they been through on the other end, how were they living behind the scenes, what separated them from the beggars she saw in her own country everyday… Her Grandfather, Pepe, would by from people he had become friends with, he had a knack for befriending the Chinese, from what she had heard from her mother’s childhood. he bought fish from them, bought meat from the strangest people Maya had seen and herbs and spices from the Arabs. The Caucasian French sold your usual boring goods. There were even gypsy-like ladies who sole leather jackets and your standard hippy attire. With his farmer’s buy for the week, Pepe would make the most divine meals, the best Mauritian food on offer ever since before Maya could remember.

Maya longed to spend more time there, but it did get quite lonely. Once when Meme had taken her into town to an old library, she had felt a shiver down her spine at the emptiness of it all. Yes, there beautiful buildings with a beautiful historic village look, but it felt like another time and another place in which she just did not belong. Whenever she went with her grandmother to a church service, it felt empty. There about five priests and a handful of old ladies in the congregation. The church was over the hills an far away, which didn not make anything less creepy, almost like watching an ancient ritual take place, Maya was lost in all the French incantations and responses, she could not pick up on which prayer was which and whether they were following present day order of mass or their own ancient version born pre Pope John Paul. 

All of these little absurdities made the South of France feel almost like home, but just a little too far from. It was almost time to take a long and lonely train ride back to a little town just outside of Paris, and she could definitely wait for that, she could wait forever.