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The Dreaming Pool
The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves.
Carl Jung
Memories of Oregon - Painting by Trish Noble
All Posts
Reclamation
I found an old jewellery box. Ornate in design, splintered in parts, with dust etched into the very soul of it. The trinkets inside...
t.noble
Mar 301 min read
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Burial Rites
Bury me beside an apple tree. Take everything
you thought you knew and held dear,
your fancies and follies, and put me in the ground. ...
t.noble
Mar 191 min read
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Message in a Bottle
Your garden was rich in colour, texture, tastes. It became precious; this rare and coveted earth. I ran you through my fingers and...
t.noble
Mar 181 min read
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Death of an Angel
The Angel is old, and has stopped praying for the dead.
It no longer ferries, it no longer cares. Stone eyes are all that
are left....
t.noble
Mar 171 min read
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The Odd Gaurdian
My gaurdian angel has no wings; he is a bit broken, a bit bent. He drinks too much, and he smells a tad foul. He makes a lot of...
t.noble
Mar 121 min read
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time to fly
Internal countdown on, fueled by rage, inequities, years of hoping and wishing; give me strength, give me resolve. I had beautiful...
t.noble
Mar 91 min read
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Batter Up.
Heckled and tired, taking swings with crooked bats. "Yo battah yo battah yo battah, suwinnng battah!" This mantra chiming through my...
t.noble
Mar 51 min read
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The Orchestra
An aging master performs meloncoly chords, painting me a summer forest, just before sunset. Light beams bring in the underlying melodies....
t.noble
Mar 31 min read
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imagined desires
While you beg for answers, I hide the script. dance with me Rain on fevered skin; the trees will not be offended by your brute forces and...
t.noble
Feb 271 min read
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bandaids and glue
How is it, that while I see the scars of all your doppelgangers on my face, my body, my arms; I am blind to your ability to add to these...
t.noble
Feb 261 min read
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lost in a puddle
The rain was heavy this morning. The scent of Spring is not yet here, and it felt as though the water held gifts the ground would still...
t.noble
Feb 251 min read
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For Your Dream
You are the most sublime piece of music. Contained in notes of lust and melodies made of smoke and fiction. I remember you quoting...
t.noble
Feb 241 min read
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The Sugar Demon
I don't know if this is an Article, or even an Opinion, but it sure is a Journal Entry, and that is going to have to be good enough for...
t.noble
Feb 203 min read
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Torn Paper, Red Ink
All the pens, all the paper, and all the string in the world; and I willingly refuse to connect the dots. Leave me some silly putty, or...
t.noble
Feb 181 min read
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Small Things
Mugs hang chaoticly and in no discernable order upon decorative hooks. Ceramic decor and pithy sayings, along side metal pots and mixing...
t.noble
Feb 171 min read
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my valentine
My love for him is not held in a card, or chocolate candy. It is a tapestry, woven through years; a story told with gold and silver...
t.noble
Feb 141 min read
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Self Pity and Tea.
Mr. Self Pity came calling today, well really it snuck up behind me and gave me little choice but to see him. I wish I wish I wish.... I...
t.noble
Feb 131 min read
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over wound
An over wound clock tells no time.
It can't even speak to promises
or hope. It is only a historian.
t.noble
Feb 121 min read
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Restocking
An empty husk holds no words. I must remind myself, each time I say Yes, that it is No, to my own cup. Your own divinity reminds me that...
t.noble
Feb 111 min read
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A Biography
I am superfluous in every way. When I talk it is in overtones; dramatic emotions, images, messy paint and ideas that may not connect....
t.noble
Feb 91 min read
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