Fenmura's Cloud A pillow book of thoughts and dreams. Welcome.

(words and pictures are created by me unless re-blogged, linked or otherwise stated :)

You can email me at: shespeaksclouds at gmail dot com
See more stuff I like
  1. cloudfoldings:

    This cloud, unfolding
    Like so many creased layers
    Of a crysanthenum
    Paper petals of warm wet air
    Filling, spilling
    Onto the page

    1 year ago Short URL 11 notes Comments
  2. Atomised ~ Michel Houellebecq

    This is the poem that opens the novel:

    We live today under a new world order,
    The web which weaves together all things envelops our bodies,
    Bathes our limbs,
    In a halo of joy.
    A state to which men of old acceded only through music,
    Greets us each morning as a commonplace.
    What men considered a dream: perfect but remote,
    We take for granted as the simplest of things.
    But we are not contemptuous of these men;
    We know how much we owe to their dreaming,
    We know that without the web of suffering and joy which was their history, we would be nothing,
    We know that they kept within them an image of us, through their fear and in their pain, as they hurtled into darkness,
    As little by little, they wrote their history.
    We know that they would not have survived, that they could not have survived, without that hope somewhere deep within,
    They could not have survived without their dream.
    Now that we who live in the light,
    We who live in the presence of the light,
    Which bathes our bodies,
    In a halo of joy
    Now that we have settled by the water’s edge,
    And here live in perpetual afternoon

    Now that the light which surrounds our bodies is palpable,
    Now that we have come at last to our destination
    Leaving behind a world of division,
    The way of thinking that divided us,
    Immersed in a serene, fertile delight
    Of a new Law
    Now,
    For the first time,
    We can retrace the end of the old order.

    2 years ago Short URL 6 notes Comments
  3. Went for a drive to unwind, found ourselves broken down and strandedin a random town so we stopped for fish and chips while we waited for the repair guy to come. Of course our little dragon behaved herself when he arrived, so we were on our way again, weaving through the darkness, finding our way home.
  4. Went for a drive to unwind, found ourselves broken down and strandedin a random town so we stopped for fish and chips while we waited for the repair guy to come. Of course our little dragon behaved herself when he arrived, so we were on our way again, weaving through the darkness, finding our way home.

    2 years ago Short URL 9 notes Comments
  5. I want to go back here…
  6. I want to go back here…

    2 years ago Short URL 10 notes Comments
  7. He still feels me, even with space and time; drove over an hour to give me a doll for my key chain. She is engraved with a promise, but not from him. He knows better than to try that again. This one is me, to myself. An “I think I can” for an engine that longs to be useful. I felt him tremble in my arms, but I was stronger. There is little left that he can break now. I am smaller than before, perhaps, condensed into my frame. On her dress is a lonely crane. They mate for life, symbolise eternal love. Well, the love is there. It jingles in my pocket now, metal against metal. I will ever wander in this impossible state, knowing this love is forever lost to me, yet is not dead.

    2 years ago Short URL 4 notes Comments
  8. THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE by C.J. Dennis Part V. THE PLAY

    my-ear-trumpet:

    Wot’s in a name? — she sez … An’ then she sighs,
    An’ clasps ‘er little ‘ands, an’ rolls ‘er eyes.
    “A rose,” she sez, “be any other name
    Would smell the same.
    Oh, w’erefore art you Romeo, young sir?
    Chuck yer ole pot, an’ change yer moniker!”

    Doreen an’ me, we bin to see a show —
    The…

    (Source: middlemiss.org)

    2 years ago Short URL 6 notes Comments
  9. My breath is white, my body curled inwards to contain the little remaining heat. My thoughts are filled with imaginary places, tendrils crawling in the mud of modern literature for scattered tickets to new lands. I add them to my itinerary, sleepless and close to tears. My own world is too vast, yet I am escaping. To places snuggled between beginnings and ends, not furled across a labyrinth of fear and regret. My reality sits outside of me yet it tugs at my flesh, burrowing into my bones like worms which cannot wait to feed me to the soil before my blood turns cold. A voice echoes, circling softly around my mind. Its words meaningless, but not letting me die.

    2 years ago Short URL 7 notes Comments
  10. Horrid book kept me up all night, reading to the last word. It’s 5.30 am and I don’t know whether to try and sleep or start making lunches. The children will be awake at 7 for school. Some days, reading is bad for you, even if the next line feels entirely necessary to one’s well-being. Today will hurt.

    2 years ago Short URL 2 notes Comments
  11. He lives in my skin in August
    Is the heave in my breast
    The heft of my sigh
    Seven Augusts, on the eighth
    No closer to goodbye
    Love undeserved, still I try
    To hold its lantern-light high
    And not wilt in the weight
    Of his memory, lived inside
    Like another soul
    He will not pass me by

    2 years ago Short URL 7 notes Comments
  12. He told me he was seeing someone new, and knowing who, I was happy for him. She is smart and sweet and shares his politics. His is the kind of heart that does not diminish with division. It was enough, from the start, that there was room for me. Our lives connect without one consuming the other. He comes when I call, and I do not feel alone. I did not foresee the growth of my heart this way, the peace it settles into, in loving for love’s sake rather than my own. I am glad. 

    2 years ago Short URL 21 notes Comments
  13. F(s)

    So many fucks were given last night

    Received and taken, given and had

    Dividing like cells and multiplying

    Till they faded into darkness

    Morning cracking my head open

    With a sleepy smile and the kind

    Of kisses that promise, with a certain 

    Urgency; more to come

    2 years ago Short URL 6 notes Comments
  14. All soldiers are refugees, of a kind

    There is no peace-time 

    On the roads they travel

    They left that land so long ago

    Whether on the winning, or the losing side

    They know they have not saved

    That town called home for themselves

    Mutated killers, they belong elsewhere

    On muddy battlefields that have gone to seed

    In a place where a rifle is more ready

    Than an open hand, and the hands that hold them

    Are paid by the hour

    They return, never to the land

    They paid their honour for but one

    New battlefield, where survival rests

    On silence and forgetting:

    That once there was hope

    There was home

    2 years ago Short URL 2 notes Comments
  15. {1/131} Pages Next »