caoimhenfm - Tumblr blog

[caoimhenfm]

current mantra

[caoimhenfm]

Me but without the singing

all female oc's on wattpad in 2013-2016 for no reason:

[caoimhenfm]

Collapsing perception and reality together. My MC lives in a vibrant, beautiful, and terrifying world without having it dulled by self-doubt.

If you see this, tell me something about your own WIP that makes you smile.

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16th century flower illustration PNGs.

(source: Book of Flower Studies, ca. 1510–1515)

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when someone asks what your book is about and you try to explain the plot

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Writing is very difficult when your prose takes the day off.

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[caoimhenfm]

Forever, and Then.

The breadth of eternity is revealed in steps, like a stopwatch ticking on toward it's destination; while the hands click forward, the watch remains still. A crude mechanism, but it foreshadows the first recurrence, and the second through it. Nine years have passed. Nine subtle years returned to sender, set aside for recycle. None so dull as the first, as if life were a gavel and I the stand, awaiting judgement only to receive an indifferent pounding, bashing my head in to draw the attention of someone more vital. Cold as a stump in the rain, life poured upon me but I was unprepared to receive it. Then you struck. Something was different, as if the light in that damp fog were meant for me, as if my ship was meant to make land, or to create it- there was nowhere stable, the waves pounded brutally and the barnacles resting aboard my hull were as sharp-toothed and eager to bite as ever, but that lighthouse tugged us 'round the sea like dazed children. Together.

The next year was all tubing. We'd stand and race ahead, water-skiing with no handles until our wheels came off, then hopping onboard to go another round. I didn't need the ship, not anymore, so heavy, slow, battered, and I could hardly see over the bow anyway. Climbing the ladder was more risky than selling the damned thing and floating on my own weight. You brought something more, we raced in a way I'd never dreamed of, nor had the courage to try. We wiped out of course, the tides will take their vengeance whether you abandon ship or not, but the cool sea spray was oddly refreshing and we learned so many tricks! Another year goes by and we've made our own language, hand signals, flags, the ropes tied between us danced and chattered with such grace. They were ignorant. Dolphins came to join the race, and the torrents only carried us faster! Whales spouted off, clams retreated to their shells, the shrimps and small lives began to rely on our filter, as we shredded bacteria and parasites from the pure water of our wake.

Six more years of racing, that's all we could promise. Land was an unwelcome guest. I've never driven before now. Maps are all strange. The mountains live with a stiff spine and no legs. Holes are more permanent, they call out to be filled but there's hardly any fluidity they'd welcome. Lost. Skies haunt, lurching overhead like a watchful parent. Why have the oceans dried? Shame took them. We drank their lies until our bellies were bursting, and now I roll about with neither sea nor crew, let alone the old vessel left to rot on the shoal. Lips are only moistened by tears who run like I have, and cracks become scars where the rivers have ceased to run. What I'm left, I have in spades, but they're long-rusted - storm took the life from them, the final downpour we shared. The watch broke too. I can't bring myself to fix it, but it sleeps still, on the nightstand. Maybe one day.

[caoimhenfm]

honey

Poems are like blood, so caught up in streams

Diluted by what's clear as they rush from thought to theme.

Reflecting an obscenity, their body ought to scream

To few if any enemies, fearful lush forest scenes

Bereft of any sanity, fairly bought with a dream.

Bees reciting language through a playful dancing,

Tragedy repeats them, recurrence flaunts to create,

Lines that form it's circle, assurances haunting the straight.

[caoimhenfm]

Tired paragraph let me sleep

She looked down, with a gentle repose, upon the man who was framed like a tortoise. Thin skin grew taut, drawing out wrinkles and rendering them mere lines upon a pale, splotched canvas. Long-legged crows hopped about the man in the garden, investigating and performing their own, gruesome form of CPR. It reeked, to say the least, the heavy scent of lavender and unloved roses joined in the acrid air that hung damp as a washcloth, so thick and humid that a dense red cloud formed, engulfing the courtyard as well as the town beyond.