Tag: dj mixes

Hi lovers and wanderlusters

The world that used to be real, and the world that is now a dream, or some type of dystopian future, or simply as it should be. Does that sentence even make sense? I think not.

Who has read the book ‘The Talisman’ ~ Stephen King & Peter Straub? Let me know in the comments below.

If you have then you’ll understand the concept of parallel worlds, and dreams being our reality, and our reality being a dream. Which one are we living in now? I have no fucking idea, I just know I’m somewhere between this world, and that, and who knows what the End Game will be.

It could be a game changer or game over! Time will tell, but let’s not rest on our laurels. Stay alert. Stay informed, and stay awake.

….In the meantime, enjoy some scribblings 🙂

Scribbling #3102

Taken from A Collection of Poetry: A Wyld Love Note

I’m sitting on a park bench looking out to sea when I glance a tin dingy buried heavy into the mangroves, overgrown by grass and looking like its expiry date was long past.  I took to pen and paper and began to write, and the following was what turned up on the page.

The very next day, I visited the same park and the tin dingy wasn’t there, as though it never existed. I wonder did it exist?  I know what I saw inspired me to write the ‘Broken Canoe’ and I wonder if giving the tin dingy some life is all it needed to leave the tangled marsh and rebirth it somewhere new.

These are my random ‘muse-lings’ this word does not exist.  I made it up 🙂

BROKEN CANOE 

The broken canoe
Sits alone
Harboured by the old ravished mangroves,
Entangled into the vessel
That once was home,
To the bay,
Soft coloured sky of grey,
Rocking its life,
Back into the new,
Of a time when tales
at sea were true.

The broken canoe,
Abandoned,
Ripped inside the seams of grass,
That hold and pull,
Drawing down into the earth,
Trapped,
Broken and torn,
Weathered storms,
have changed its form
Once belonging to the sea,
Holding passengers that were free,
As they searched for life,
Rowing forward,
Forward and forward,
Rocking into waters,
Into Mother Nature,
and her daughters.

Its purpose all encompassing,
Not quite as magnificent
as the ship to shore,
But less is often more,
Its timber carved with intricate design
Of the indigenous artisans,
Who blessed it with love
For all that made the journey into the
heart of the kind.

The broken canoe,
Earth bound,
To nothing new,
adventurous or free,
Digs itself deeper,
Like the roots of the nearby tree,
Its ancestry lost,
Unnoticed,
Unloved and forgot,
Its timber slowly cracking
into a slow painful rot.

Now an artistic masterpiece,
The water coloured painting
Admired by many,
Not just a few,
brings life back to the broken canoe.

© 2020 Samira Wyld
#AWyldLoveNote

Scribbling #1035

THE MUSIC

Time claps
At the hands
Of an ace upon the stack
Of lack,
Being born and torn,
Into a number
An aggregate of foregoing’s
That permeate,
And irritate,
Between the houses,
Far beyond the sea,
I’m sure we’ll dance to the music,
That only belongs to you and me.

© 2020 Samira Wyld
#AWyldLoveNote

If you would like to revisit any of the poetry within these blog posts please click here

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Stay seXy, Stay wYld, Be free

Peace out✌🏼

Samira xo

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