Tag Archives: white

White Noise


This was an experiment with onomatopoeia.

White Noise

crackle crackle hisss
rustle buzzzz whirr
grind hiss pop! whistle
crinkle crackle whine
whoooshh fizzle hummmm
ssshhhhhharcklacklshhh…

hear the setting sun
the scorched forgotten dinner cooking
and the colour of the undisturbed snow–
what do you hear when you close your eyes?

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.

Have you ever just sat and listened to nothing? In a house, there’s all these little noises you don’t notice until no one is moving, or talking, or anything. It helps to have no one home, and turn off all the radios and televisions and all that other crap. Try it. It’s kind of neat. Even better to try it if you don’t live on a main road- then the car and city sounds won’t intrude. It’s hard for me to get peace here between the bus stop behind my house; living in a decent sized city; living with my mom, step-father, brother, uncle, his dog, and my cat; cell phones always going off… No wonder I meditate daily- I’d go batty without a calm half hour or so a day to centre myself.

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Fall From Grace


I dug this out of my hard drive and dusted it off, just for you guys. Heads up, it’s another strange one.

Fall From Grace

the tension
the spark ignites tinder
glances from burning windows
falling away from the sun
feathers moulting away from shoulders
flutter falter plunge
to the sea
sea of desire
flounder flap drown
siren song
draws the swimmer down
shimmering scales
flitting fins
webbed fingers
arms encircle
fascination with the unknown
tightening embrace
cruel parody of an embrace
jagged yellow fangs
sink into
a dream?
soft creeping darkness
edges of vision
warmth replacing cold
red; black; grey; white.

© Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2012.

Where did I even come up with this? Oh, my rat-maze brain.

“I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.”  
Prufrock, T.S. Eliot

 

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Lacey


Again, I wrote this for the writing contest, so here goes.

Lacey

For my devoted, demented, friendly and ferocious feline.

Grey fur dots your tuxedo black,
And in your jaw some teeth you lack;
Clear evidence of the years we lived.

The blood I bled, the hairs you shed;
Hours spent in contemplative silence,
Or racing haphazardly upstairs and down
Chasing a dream of personal fitness–
Both grown slightly rounder about the middle.

Those glares you shoot my way to say
How utterly foolish I have been,
Or when you head-butt my hand to demand
That I resume scratching your chin.

Your green eyes, the curve of your tail–
You are the reason I come home each night;
Our greetings at the door are ecstatic
And other times so restrained, polite.

You are my constant companion,
Unconditionally and unreservedly loving.
You are playful, solemn, irritable, comforting,
And above all else, feline.

There is never enough time in the day
For lazy hours spent in sunshine
Me with my book, you in my lap,
And the habitual cup of tea–
Must you always steal a taste?–

This is the peace I sought so long,
This is finding a home at last;
This is all the company we ever need.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011, 2012.

I don’t like to admit it, but I am occasionally sloppily sentimental. I would prefer to be pragmatic, rational, and unfettered by extreme emotional responses, but that is simply not in the cards.

That said, I am unashamed of my love for my dearest pet Lacey. She is still one of my best friends, and certainly one of my oldest, considering she was born in 1999 and that’s when we met. Smug mad bastard cat is sitting on my lap purring her face off right now, actually. And I love it. I love that she’s conniving, and that she’s rather misanthropic (well, she doesn’t just dislike humans, more like all creatures that walk this earth), and I love that, like most cats, she’s kind of a dick to everyone even if she happens to like you (so rare for Lacey, see above comment on misanthropy). I love that I’m the only one who gets to pet her belly, and I’m pretty sure it’s because she’s self-conscious about getting a bit fat. I love that she just doesn’t give a shit about sleeping all day- so long as she gets her breakfast at 5:30am and her 9pm snack, she’s cool with whatever.
Above all, I love that she chose me to be her person.

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Opportunity


Sunday Scribblings is the inspiration for this one. Keyword is opportunity. So I decided to use that as my title, and go from there.

Opportunity

Pressed against the glass
Pounding my fists in denial
This can’t be this can’t be this can’t
It’s just my luck, to be
Captured by my arch-nemesis
And he has just released the dogs.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

A good opportunity for the villain to maybe win against the hero in this one eh?

I find it so quaint when people think decisions are good or evil, black or white (unless the question is “which chess pieces do you wanna use?”, then it’s legit), light or dark, whatever you want to call it.

I live in the shades of grey. And I don’t want to be bound by other people’s morality.
I’m a staunch left-wing liberal lesbian socialist Canadian… who works for an appallingly bloated American business not known for their tolerance that’s sucking money from my country. Then again, it is just a part-time job, but there are some who have said that I am compromising my personal integrity. To which I say, I know exactly how this company treats the employees, but if  I don’t work, I don’t eat, and there’s a thing called Maslow’s hierarchy of needs that you should look into if you have a problem with that.

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