I like the stillness at the lake. When it’s summer the times are hard. But winter, when everything is green, is the warmest and best of all times of the year. Only my Mom would rather sit in a tree in spring time.
Stillness was all I felt. That was it. It still is. There are no other emotions. There’s no other anything. There’s just nothing. For a while it felt like there was movement around me and that the only stillness was me. That I wanted my world to be as still as I was. I mean I still want that. But that can’t happen. One day you have to start moving again.
Ainslie
“Be still and know…” what? Why not move, go, stand, shout, breathe deeply this thing called life by going forth and sucking the marrow from it! “Sleep when you’re dead,” and all of that: our society’s mantra.
We have forgotten what power comes from stillness.
the stillness drove her crazy. too silent. too calm. too clear. she could now hear everything—-feel everything. she hated that. it was this time that she invited noise with open arms. clouding, smothering, loud noise. the noise remained absent as stillness stood strong. unwilling to be denied.
he doesn’t talk to me about the silver lining
he says, if i don’t know it, he can’t take me there;
it’s a stillness in the collapsed lungs between our breaths,
and in the morning when he wakes up beside me
he pulls a journal from underneath his bed
writes down last night’s dream
and doesn’t let me read
at breakfast he will peel an orange
and for the rest of the day his hands will smell like sweet citrus,
but by breakfast i’ll be gone
and have to remember them from the moving distance of my car
In the stillness I long for the presence of God. That deep feeling in my soul that I am not alone. The still, small whisper that guides me. If I am quiet i can feel and hear the Divine.
wierd, creepy, silent, not very fun to be in just one position, i personally don’t like be still its akward, and very very uncomfortable nobody likes it i think of a dead person i think of a mummy i think of someone who is paralized i think of someone who can’t walk i think of the commercial “help i have fallen and i can’t get up”
Brielle Smith
It’s the one thing I want more than anything else at this tie of year. As the days fill quickly with whining students and helicopter parents, my inner dialogue is a continuous string of complaints about poor writing, muddled thought, and ill-advised decisions; I find myself counting the days until I submit final grades and retire to a quiet place and embrace the stillness.
ahhhhhhhhh, i dont want to be timed. I didnt think this was timed. im kind of freaking out to be honest. I think this time needs to be still. hahah get it. no? i dont either. okay. well i am actually freaking out. times almost done. make it stop. slow downn
Lacie Peltier
I’ve been
writing everything but
what I know I should.
It’s about the caller’s calling.
It’s about brainstorming a storyboard
of a night told in reverse
from early morning
to late night
because then it would be
like a normal shift
from early morning
to late night
in forward.
It would be about the
unknown wickedness
wrapping my soul
barbed coils piercing
my values.
I breathe relief. Puncture
the anger, relieve me of it.
Is my punishment eternal?
But it’s not the same, I can’t
start in reverse.
All the subdued anger
but no subduer in the weak
of night.
The stillness of dusk.
I am alert for the entirety,
though short
and insignificant,
of night. I know
the dusk written across
scars, more scars still.
There is one redeeming
quality, that outweighs
anything.
That renders the anger in the first
half of the night
and its echo in the second
meaningless.
Just past midnight
when the night is weakest
they watch me
in stillness
and I dream
my cherry dream awake;
I am me looking down on myself
looking up at myself. Their twenty five
hearts blink redder than cherries
brighter than stars
where sky
becomes space,
where these radio
towers are the callers
calling.
I like the stillness at the lake. When it’s summer the times are hard. But winter, when everything is green, is the warmest and best of all times of the year. Only my Mom would rather sit in a tree in spring time.
Stillness was all I felt. That was it. It still is. There are no other emotions. There’s no other anything. There’s just nothing. For a while it felt like there was movement around me and that the only stillness was me. That I wanted my world to be as still as I was. I mean I still want that. But that can’t happen. One day you have to start moving again.
“Be still and know…” what? Why not move, go, stand, shout, breathe deeply this thing called life by going forth and sucking the marrow from it! “Sleep when you’re dead,” and all of that: our society’s mantra.
We have forgotten what power comes from stillness.
the stillness drove her crazy. too silent. too calm. too clear. she could now hear everything—-feel everything. she hated that. it was this time that she invited noise with open arms. clouding, smothering, loud noise. the noise remained absent as stillness stood strong. unwilling to be denied.
he doesn’t talk to me about the silver lining
he says, if i don’t know it, he can’t take me there;
it’s a stillness in the collapsed lungs between our breaths,
and in the morning when he wakes up beside me
he pulls a journal from underneath his bed
writes down last night’s dream
and doesn’t let me read
at breakfast he will peel an orange
and for the rest of the day his hands will smell like sweet citrus,
but by breakfast i’ll be gone
and have to remember them from the moving distance of my car
In the stillness I long for the presence of God. That deep feeling in my soul that I am not alone. The still, small whisper that guides me. If I am quiet i can feel and hear the Divine.
wierd, creepy, silent, not very fun to be in just one position, i personally don’t like be still its akward, and very very uncomfortable nobody likes it i think of a dead person i think of a mummy i think of someone who is paralized i think of someone who can’t walk i think of the commercial “help i have fallen and i can’t get up”
It’s the one thing I want more than anything else at this tie of year. As the days fill quickly with whining students and helicopter parents, my inner dialogue is a continuous string of complaints about poor writing, muddled thought, and ill-advised decisions; I find myself counting the days until I submit final grades and retire to a quiet place and embrace the stillness.
My voice
of the daylight
rips into night’s
calm void
It penetrates
a star’s inside
splitting
exploding
Destroyer of stars
space can’t stop it
wrecking
breaking
quiet’s definition erased
ahhhhhhhhh, i dont want to be timed. I didnt think this was timed. im kind of freaking out to be honest. I think this time needs to be still. hahah get it. no? i dont either. okay. well i am actually freaking out. times almost done. make it stop. slow downn
I’ve been
writing everything but
what I know I should.
It’s about the caller’s calling.
It’s about brainstorming a storyboard
of a night told in reverse
from early morning
to late night
because then it would be
like a normal shift
from early morning
to late night
in forward.
It would be about the
unknown wickedness
wrapping my soul
barbed coils piercing
my values.
I breathe relief. Puncture
the anger, relieve me of it.
Is my punishment eternal?
But it’s not the same, I can’t
start in reverse.
All the subdued anger
but no subduer in the weak
of night.
The stillness of dusk.
I am alert for the entirety,
though short
and insignificant,
of night. I know
the dusk written across
scars, more scars still.
There is one redeeming
quality, that outweighs
anything.
That renders the anger in the first
half of the night
and its echo in the second
meaningless.
Just past midnight
when the night is weakest
they watch me
in stillness
and I dream
my cherry dream awake;
I am me looking down on myself
looking up at myself. Their twenty five
hearts blink redder than cherries
brighter than stars
where sky
becomes space,
where these radio
towers are the callers
calling.