Window Thoughts on ReadThisPlease Ed. 8

March 15, 2011 ReadThisPlease Emagazine issues Edition #8, themed Melancholic Habitus, and all about the turmoil of inspiration. Writers, poets, artists and musicians can relate. We understand the thought spaghetti of angst and rumination coiling in the frontal lobe. We dive in and sort through these flashbacks and mazes, organizing fleeting glimpses into verse, or stories, or great solo melodies. For a reader who walks alone in depression or melancholy, we want to share—you have brothers and sisters in the artistic community. Woe is a thought process that we can tap. Those thought grooves aren’t you—they are tool to creativity. For the Ides of March, Read This Please Edition #8 will offer words of perspective, inspiration, and few ladders up from Melancholic Habitus. For readers, a few excerpts. Window thoughts…



The rain falls in sheets, heavy droplets plop on the pine needle blanket beneath my open window, singing me a lullaby. Hush child, the rain whispers to me. Rest sweet, the wind speaks through tree branches hanging low with evening tears. Ebony sky sheds tears for me, for I have none left to cry, exhausted of precious buckets of water long ago fallen from my eyes, evaporated into dismal night. I listen, steal a glimpse out my window, the cool breeze on my face, dew drops refresh my scalding skin, satiate my thirst for a few moments. Tender hands reach to trace the falling rain, tangled fingers in a spiders web on the window sill. A smile for a living thing taking solace in an undisturbed corner of my world. Hanging by a thread, the world spun in his web, of such a small entity, I am in awe, mesmerized.

– Sarah Scott



It’s been quite a ride and along the way, I’ve learned to see the universe in a rain drop. There’s a whole journey inside one.

And every creature gets a chance, chuckling. We’re not really creatures, we just happened to this place. Quite a ride.

There’s a lot of time looking at the envelope, the cusp, the meniscus. The edge where we blend into mineral and magnetic. From shoe polish to bush paint, wanking to mirrors, we are enthralled with this place.

A dirt colored finch darts and squawks, bombarding my attention. I’ll give him a peanut if he’s willing to trade places.

– Gaboo



If I were a cello…

I’d play a melancholy piece at the first sign of snow pinging on your window pane and make you stop what you are doing, look outside and remember—remember yourself as a child and the smell outside, of pine needles, and wet snow.

– Adrienne S Moody



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One Response to “Window Thoughts on ReadThisPlease Ed. 8”
  1. Beautiful, from the photograph, to each section of written word. –tw

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