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CicelyRobinLaing©2014

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I pressed my hand down

to disguise my pain…

I covered my eyes

to hide my shame…

Still the evil thoughts

leak out of my brain…

How can I control

that inner dark flame…

Ideas so black

So deliciously insane…

That once released

they will never be tame…

Alas, my dark demons

why can you not be slain…

My will is so weak

I grow tired of this game…

The night feels my softness

and piles on the profane…

Pummeling my mind

with escape its one aim…

Wild winds whip up words

sharp and fast, it’s a hurricane…

Open bursts the flood gates

Now, hear the World exclaim…

All the genius of darkness

while I get the blame…

Alas, my dark demons

Still,

what a wicked smile I will gain…

.

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Day 17… Image 17… Poem 17….

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National Poetry Writing Month

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Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing ©2015

CicelyRobinLaing©2014

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I am surfing on the sands of time…

A tidal wave of years

roll off before me

Scouring away the day to day…

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I remember the kindness of my father…

Walking on the sandy dunes

the long grasses

singing in the hot Summer wind…

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I remember and regret my first kiss…

The teasing acts of childhood

so funny for them

a painful shattering of my youthful dreams…

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I remember discovering real lifelong love…

I knew that you were the one

but you turned away

until I was the one to leave, then you stayed…

.

I remember the day I lost a little piece of me…

A tiny bit of life taken

before I even knew she was there

I can only image her smile and little feet running in the sun…

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I remember the creation and birth of each sweet child…

The precious time together as one

how quickly you grew

the pain of separation celebrated by exhausted joy…

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I remember saying goodbye to friends and loves…

Some off on grand new adventures

others just gone forever

Each a story in the complicated mandala of my life…

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I don’t remember the grey hairs or aches of age…

The days simply slipped into weeks

The years became abstract numbers on paper

The trickling sands sped up and away, an unstoppable torrent…

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I have been surfing on the sands of time…

One day I will slip beneath

and I will become

no more than someone else’s “I remember”…

.

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Day 16… Image 16… Poem 16….

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National Poetry Writing Month

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Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing ©2015

Let me go…

CicelyRobinLaing©2014

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Let me go…

You can not hold me…

I am the breath…

I am the wind…

.

Let me dance…

You can not control me…

I am the rhythm…

Your heart beat…

.

Let me be free…

You can not deceive me…

I am your spirit…

Your soul…

.

Hold me too tight…

Curl you fingers around me, crush me…

I am your despair…

I am death…

.

Let me go…

And you will be free…

to dance, to breath, to see…

I am life…

.

.

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Day 15… Image 15… Poem 15….

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National Poetry Writing Month

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Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing ©2015

CicelyRobinLaing©2012

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You think you know me…

So you feel you have the right to impose on me…

You say you love me…

so you worry…

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You think you have to help me…

What that really means is you want to fix me…

You don’t want to hurt me…

You are so sorry…

.

You think you understand me…

I’ve shared stories and opened up vulnerable parts of me…

But you see mistakes, you don’t really see me…

I think your love is lazy…

.

You think what you do is good for me…

That everything will be alright because you care about me…

But is all this really about me…?

Your answers are hazy…

.

I think I finally know you…

But I would never try to change… or rearrange you…

I care for you, I even love you…

Still you make me crazy…

.

If you really truly love me…

Stop trying to change me, fix me or save me…

Instead, see me, hear me, love me…

Anything else…

Will push me…

away…

.

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an extra poem during National Poetry Writing Month

because when life tries to knock you down…

a poem lets you land on your

emotional feet…

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Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing ©2015

CicelyRobinLaing©2014

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I dreamed of you last night

We danced beneath the moonlit sky

Our feet intertwined

magic

smooth staccato

You Astaire

and

me sweet Audrey

Music in motion we drifted

A raft on the dark water of night time

Heartbeats our only rhythm

hip on hip

-glide-

a soft breeze

The teasing wisp of hair

gently brushed aside by your lover’s hand

Falling for the depths of your eyes

The touch of your lips

caress

.

I dreamed of you last night

I dreamed

of

love

.

I dreamed of you last night

my hand

in

your hand

When the sun came to shine

I awoke

warm

content

ready to dance again

I turned my head

placed my hand on your empty pillow

How much I miss you love

How much I miss

you

.

I dreamed of you last night

and tonight

when I close my eyes

I will await your lover’s kiss

and when life is done with me

we will dance again

hip on hip

smooth staccato

magic

.

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Day 14… Image 14… Poem 14….

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National Poetry Writing Month

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Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing ©2015

cicelyrobinlaing:

David Razowski has been an inspiration to me, not only in my improv theater play, but deliciously spilling over into my writing and visual arts life. I have many other amazing mentors who have had more physical time with me, and who have helped me craft my skills and joy. But it was my good fortune that David came into my heart and head at the right time to help me discover what it was I really wanted to do with my story telling… I still struggle with mirrors, self-doubt, second guessing, but it rarely happens on stage anymore. Or in my studio. Thank you David, for helping me really trust that it was what I had on the inside that counted… I just had to let it out.

Originally posted on People and Chairs:

Photo © Kevin Thom Photo © Kevin Thom

One of the great reasons to love improv is its fleeting nature. There’s no record of it. It comes, it goes. We’re left with our memories of it. Our memories. It’s a nice gift we let ourselves have. It helps if you like you.

One of the great things about performing improv is that we aren’t able to watch ourselves improvise. We have a vision in our skull of what we look like when we’re in the act of unfolding a character. It helps us unfold and evolve that character, for there’s no evidence as to whether we’re “doing it right” or “doing it wrong.” Because we don’t see it, we give ourselves the opportunity to just create without self-judgment.

That is, until someone does something that puts our process smack dab into our eyes.

When I was the Artistic Director at Second City Los Angeles…

View original 328 more words

CicelyRobinLaing©2014

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On the other side of the door…

Dreams await…

Night time comes…

I close my eyes…

Sleep slips in…

The door opens…

The world widens…

Everything I can not do, I do…

Everything I fear, I do not…

Gravity becomes malleable, soft, bendable…

Time beats a rhythm like little children laughing in the afternoon…

Worries melt away into monsters with goatees and top hats…

The dead visit for conversation and a picnic in the park…

I can be a man, a woman, a lion, a god, a ghost…

From one moment to the next…

Yet I am always me…

I am graceful when I fall…

I never land with a thump…

Sometimes I dance with mice in fields of blue asters…

Or chase after sprites wearing dark suits and princess crowns…

I speed along, my feet never touching the ground…

I climb tall trees by swimming on the air…

And whisper magic prayers…

And then there is love…

I steal a kiss…

A passionate embrace…

My skin vibrates with anticipation…

A touch… then the elephant interrupts…

Like Louis Armstrong pelting away the blues…

Songs deeper than the ocean’s currents…

Splash like tide pools in my ears…

Time steals time…

Someone…

Pulls the curtains of my eyes…

I hear the sun rise…

Scattering golden feathers and beads of cut glass…

Finally I see the door…

It begins to close…

A hand touches my cheek and then slips away…

I can not remember where I’ve been…

But I feel the sorrow of loss…

I turn my head…

Letting my pillow hold a single tear…

When I open my eyes…

I will have forgotten…

The mice…

The top hats…

The elephant’s music…

I may remember a fleeting feeling…

Like walking through the rain clouds…

A kiss upon my cheek…

I may not…

The door closes…

And beyond it are dreams…

Of the other side…

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Day 13… Image 13… Poem 13….

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National Poetry Writing Month

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Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing ©2015

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