The Trees of Eternity

Marysia Kay says...

This is my journal in which I write things. Sometimes I write lots of things, sometimes I only write a few things. Why don't you get a journal too and then I will be able to follow your life and we can be best friends forever except for the fact you're just some random person with a livejournal that I've never met. Come on in, the water's kind of lukewarm and murky...

If you want to know more about me read on or use the links below or go to Marysia.com Acting CV - My Music - My Film Reviews - My DeviantArt - YouTube Vids - My Books - Get a Livejournal

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Sep. 24th, 2007 @ 07:54 pm Today

Now Feeling: fah

Tags: computer , poetry

What the f*ck is wrong with my computer? It takes forever to start up which it never used to and now it's started getting blue screen of death driver errors that cause it to restart itself with accompanying dire warnings of doom but no actual useful information on what the problem is. I have fully up-to-date virus software so it's not a virus. Which bits of your computer getting too old cause stuff like this? How do you tell what is wrong? One of my hard drives is pretty old as it came over from my last computer, and the computer itself is about 5-6 years old I think.

An Ode to the Primark Childrens Department

O Primark Childrens Department,
Hallowed be thy aisles.
Blessings flow unto your makers,
Who deemed to make clothes for ages 11-12,
Yea verily even sometimes age 13.

O Primark Childrens Department,
Harrowing though it may be to visit you.
Ever shall the pearls found in thy depths
Be worthy of the fight required
To search the stagnant waters
Of your over burdened racks.

O Primark Childrens Department,
May you rule the high street forever.
As never shall my bosoms threaten
To outweigh those of a pre-pubescent child.
And there's nothing like a new jumper for £6.

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Jun. 20th, 2007 @ 10:46 pm Sonnets

Tags: poetry

I had a couple of long bus journeys - so I thought I'd write some sonnets. There are rules about writing sonnets, I have no doubt broken most of them as I don't know what most of them are nor do I particularly care.

Long Are The Days

Long are the days when love is far from mind,
When lust is dulled by clouds of daily fare.
The body, like an empty waiting snare,
Can barely taste the blood that's left behind.
Yet, let a single mote of swift desire
Enliven in the dusty spaces waiting,
And whirling is the coming storm of fire
That fills the potent void so long unsated.
Simplicity is nature in its splendour
To make such dazzling glory out of clay,
And fill you full of fire that swiftly renders
My faded night to star bespangled play.
But 'tween fierce nature's gifts and what I crave
The weaving of man's rules is ever laid.

Romance is but another battle fought

Distance makes the heart grow ever fonder.
Hardship brings the rising sap to play.
Must not makes the stirring grow still stronger.
Struggle leads to triumph, come what may.
Romance is but another battle fought,
Setting standard over land afar.
Believing that you own what you have bought
By right of Love on high, not games you've played.
If by bold eye and shameless heart I fall
And steal you out from foreign fortress high,
Am I to blame for taking my desire
When victors of the field take one and all?
And - if you op'ed the castle door yourself,
And walked by your own will down to my call?

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Oct. 13th, 2006 @ 04:57 pm A Sonnet About Nothing

Current Location: Treadwells
Now Feeling:

okay
Now Playing: folk guitar

Tags: poetry

I like to think that in the days of yore
They really spoke in iambs all day long.
That when they bought their chickens and their meal
They counted out their phrases at the door.
Oh prithee mother Pritchard, how art thou?
I do declare I'd like some barley now.
I heard that old man Richard's finest cow
is going mad and tried to mount his sow.
And if they failed to keep their rhyming tight
They ended up in stocks a day and night,
And had to suffer endless little jibes
About their inability to rhyme.
Therefore we should be thankful that today
We barely have to mutter how's your day.

Yes there was no point to that, thank you very much.

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Jun. 25th, 2006 @ 10:58 pm Ode to a Shiny Thing I Found One Spring Morning

Tags: poetry

Empty mirrored vessel, polished bright,
Refusing to show anything but reflections.
Hidden inside - a small frightened animal?

Broken winged butterfly in a well groomed chrysalis,
Unable to do more than watch the play
Of fractured light upon it's outer shell.

Red eyed crawling creature, bitter on the inside
Knowing better than to reveal itself
To the judgemental eyes outside.

Nervous furry creature bouncing between
Varnished walls, but refusing to use it's teeth
To gnaw a hole into the wide world.

I reach a hand slowly, hesitantly towards
the bright surface, lucent with possibility.
I see my face reformed in the glitter,
Made into sparkles and laughing eyes.
But I cannot pierce the resilient surface
to see the breathing weak creature underneath
or guess it's secret identities
or share it's occluded dreams.

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Apr. 19th, 2006 @ 12:01 am (no subject)

Tags: diary , poetry

An immense frustration
Incoherent desire to express create
Fear pulses like arousal
Want want want
Want something to move
Something to happen
the Fire and cracks of sulphurous roaring
Poetry was invented to make coherent
Insane babble of diabolical prose
iambic to shape and form the stream of
nonsense need of crying child mind
Scream scream scream scream scream
Dream of peace and watery depths
Life a cold wind with knives that do not quite touch skin

Recording inanity is not conducive to my peace of mind, instead recorded insanity will bewilder the future generation of me as I search for the facts that I could not quite commit to either paper or binary or memory.

In my mind are blue eyes and tan skin
On my list are ancient books and occult spells
My will points at bright lights and digital tape

But in the end it is all a pattern danced around sustenance and subsistance.

If there were only water and not rock
If there were only rock and also water

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Mar. 28th, 2006 @ 11:37 am (no subject)

Tags: poetry

Am now published poet, it's a funny old world.

http://www.gromagonpress.com/nox.html
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewwork.asp?id=15162

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Jan. 22nd, 2006 @ 12:33 pm (no subject)

Now Feeling: bizarre

Tags: poetry

A couple of my old poems will be appearing in a book called Nox (http://www.gromagonpress.com/) coming out this year. All proceeds from this anthology will be donated to C.A.S.A (Community Action Stops Abuse), to assist in their work of creating safe havens for women and children who are victims of domestic and other violence.

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Sep. 13th, 2005 @ 12:21 am More Pyramid Texts

Tags: pagan , poetry , religion

The two reed-floats of heaven are placed by the morning-boat for Re,
that Re may ferry over on them to Horus who inhabits the horizon, to the horizon.
The two reed-floats of heaven are placed by the evening-boat for Horus who inhabits the horizon,
that Horus who inhabits the horizon may ferry over on them to Re, to the horizon.
The two reed-floats of heaven are caused to descend for N. by the morning-boat,
that N. may mount on them to Re, to the horizon.
The two reed-floats of heaven are caused to descend for N. by the evening-boat,
that N. may mount on them to Horus, who inhabits the horizon, to the horizon.
N. mounts on high on this eastern side of heaven where the gods are born;
N. will be born anew there like Horus, like him of the horizon.
N. is justified; the ka of N. is justified;
The sister of N. is Sothis; the mother of N. is the morning star.

"How beautiful indeed it is to see," says she, said Isis;
"How fortunate indeed it is to see," says she, said Nephthys
to the king, to this Osiris N.,
as he ascends to heaven among the stars, among the imperishable stars,
the lion-helmet (renown) of N. on his head,
his terror on both sides of him, his magic preceding him!

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Sep. 5th, 2004 @ 01:19 pm Distance

Tags: pagan , poetry

Every man and every woman is a star
Alone in space
Seeing from great distance the bright light
Of other beings so far away
That time may have erased them
Before their influence arrived

Every man and every woman is a tree
Standing tall in the forest
Crouching low on the cliffside
Reaching out to the sunlight
Roots entangled below our awareness
Branches cross and crack in the wind

Every man and every woman
Reaching, seeking, burning
Alone in the darkness

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Sep. 3rd, 2004 @ 01:07 pm Poems from Edinburgh

Now Feeling: obdurate

Tags: poetry

A few things I wrote while I was up in Edinburgh.

( Poems )

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Jul. 30th, 2004 @ 03:03 pm Official

Now Feeling: artistic

Tags: poetry

London Park of the Year goes to Gillespie Park next to Arsenal tube station.

I had to go up to Arsenal for an audition and I decided to pop into the park on the way home. It is gorgeous. Loads of birds and butterflies and wild flowers and tiny little paths through the woods and interesting places to sit. There was a couple walking their cat, which was unusual.

There were also brambles! I declare bramble season officially open!

Ode to a Bramble

The search must be undertaken in the sun to have any hope of success.
Warm afternoons in late July and early August come highly recommended.
Possibility lies around any corner.
A park, a graveyard, an over-grown garden on an ordinary street.
It is almost certain that the very grail will lie on the topmost branch,
In the centre of the bush, behind a ditch,
Crossed with barbed wire guarded by wolves.
Do not despair.
Eventually.
With perseverance
And vigilance.
After a punnet of sour red herrings
And a maggot or two.
On a sunny afternoon
In late July
In a tiny park
In the middle of the city
Near to the ground
By the path
In soft grass
The sun-warmed subtle softness of black ruby will dissolve on your tongue in a hundred tiny bursts.

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Jun. 25th, 2004 @ 03:00 pm Invocation to Cernunnos

Now Feeling: pagan
Now Playing: BBC 6 Music

Tags: pagan , poetry

I wrote this a couple of months back...

Ancient Horned One, Seven-tined,
You hold knowledge and nobility,
You give strength and fertility.
Do I hear the deer in the forest?
Do I hear the stag on the path?
Your messengers are welcome here.
Your transformation is welcome here.

Mighty Horned One, serpent charmer,
Dark the path you travel under us,
Green the path you race behind us.
We will run with your wild hunt.
We will follow you into the deep.
Hail the seven-tined horned hunter!
Hail the lord of the underworld!

Hail Cernunnos!

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Jun. 7th, 2004 @ 07:55 pm Poetry

Now Feeling: stuff

Tags: poetry

Just some random stuff from out my notebook that I wrote over the last few days.

( Read the poetry )

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Apr. 7th, 2004 @ 12:10 am Poetry - People/Hands/Meditation etc

Now Feeling: traumatised
Now Playing: WiccaUK Radio

Tags: personal , poetry

Why am I so tired? The past three days I have been really tired and my head has been achey but not in a cold or flu kind of way just in a run down kind of way. It sucks and I have to get up before 8am tomorrow which is wrong and bad and wrong unless you just happen to wake up then and feel like getting up in which case it is fine.

Tonight poetry was inflicted on me.

There is only so much poetry one person can take at once even if it is all very good and this was not all very good.

In fact some of it was very bad.

I was forced to write bad poetry myself as a defence.

As I am too tired to fiddle with it I will give you raw brain spoutings instead. Some of this was written tonight and some of it just happens to be kicking around my PDA.

( Brain Spoutings )

Night.

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Dec. 13th, 2003 @ 01:00 am An Sonnet

Now Feeling: angsty

Tags: lotr , poetry

Stuff that rhymes is haaaaaard! This took for-ages.

It is a hollow kind of love, a trap
That has no strength of time or place to claim
That here I spent the hours upon your lap
Just looking at your face within the frame
Of my two hands while whispering your name.
Instead an empty space inside me lies,
With only my poor judgement there to blame
That all I have are mirrors in disguise.
Yet still it binds me hard against the rock,
A sacrifice no longer innocent
As my child self once was until the shock
Of mid-day sun that burned without consent.
This love without a promise of romance
Leaves only tears and empty games of chance.

And now for a little light relief...

There once was a boy called Bloom
Who around the world liked to zoom
He was chased by a teenie
Who was after his weenie
To pin on the wall of her room

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Dec. 5th, 2003 @ 01:15 am It's Bad Poetry Time Again

Now Feeling: tipsy

Tags: poetry

Treadwells was v good once lubricated by vodka to assuage bad moodiness. Those who didn't come should have.

There is just so nothing better to do on the underground than write poems.

( Read Poems )

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Dec. 2nd, 2003 @ 01:08 am Ooh... bad poetry

Now Feeling: anastopheles

Tags: poetry

Have found bad (very) drunken poetry I wrote on a bus in March and (I presume) a bed in April. Also poem written while freezing to death while waiting for a bus (and not drunk!) sometime last winter. I submit them for your amusement and for the hilarity of generations to come.

( Bad Poetry )

And to finish off... a poem I just wrote.

This Too Will Pass

This too will pass
Like water passes over rocks
Tumbling, scouring, heedless
Carrying me away
One grain of sand at a time

I too will pass
Pass by you in the street
Pass by you in the rain
Pass over
Pass away
Like water through your fingers
Flicked away
Wiped on your jeans
Forgotten

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Nov. 25th, 2003 @ 06:14 pm An Poem

Now Feeling: romantic

Tags: poetry

I don't remember falling the first time
It snuck up on me the way it always does
But these days I am
Sly weary traveller
Scenting water over distances
Of cracked dry plain
Woven with broken grass
My feet are not yet hardy
They bleed into the sand
As I stumble toward the oasis

Sweet water leaves no stain
Where it touches my lips
Binds to my body
It can only be seen by the blue sky
Reflected in my eyes, in your eyes
How many miles will these few mouthfuls carry me
Across the sand seeking a home
With cool shade trees and sweet water
Flowing from your tongue to mine

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Oct. 29th, 2003 @ 02:54 pm Work in Progress?

Now Feeling: creative

Tags: lotr , poetry

Wrote this mostly on the underground on the way home. Started off with the idea of writing three words each to conceptualise the physical aspect of each meeting and turned into this instead. I don't think it's finished but I've never been terribly good at the rewriting and redrafting stage of things. So please feel free to give actual harsh constructive criticism as I wouldn't mind beating this into something a little more aesthetically pleasing. I rather suspect the metaphor is too gratingly cliched and obvious.

( A Poem Entitled Three Moments )

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Oct. 27th, 2003 @ 01:45 pm (no subject)

Now Feeling:

blah
Now Playing: BBC 6 Music

Tags: poetry

Body Maintenance

Consciousness check,
Wavering but present.
Todays tasks;
Feed, water, stretch and
Cleanse, oil, pacify.

Subject wearies of caged existance,
Perhaps a change of scene?

Funds unavailable,
Recommend increase in caffeine.

Subject showing signs of stress;
Lack of grooming,
Pacing and rocking.
Concerned over self-harm.

Situation unavoidable.
Repetition is necessary,
To maintain system functionality.

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The Trees of Eternity

trapped in the amber of the moment. there is no why