A few "notes" I have from my cell phone over the past year:

May 7, 2012
The reason I love poetry is because, beyond expression, poetry is a beautiful guessing game. I get to say one thing, mean another, and let the reader do the work of making the connection. Plus, I get to play with words and push boundaries of language, how can you not love that?

May 13, 2012
I think we often feel so many assorted pressures to "make a difference" we lose track of what "making a difference" means. People get so caught up trying to achieve a desired result, that they will take shortcuts and sacrifice morals to "get there faster." Really, you can make a difference simply being yourself and adhering to strong morals on a day-to-day basis. If you lead by example, you're bound to make the difference we ultimately crave. It's basically the Golden Rule, elaborated.

Who's to say you aren't successful? In my opinion, if you woke up today with a smile on your face and a positive attitude..well, that's pretty damn successful.

Jul 12, 2012

How can you see if you aren't looking? How can one see if one does not look?

&
Just because you think a certain way, doesn't mean every person you encounter thinks your way, or shares a similar thought process. You must remember to be patient, and teach those who are willing to learn.

Jul 24, 2012

Every day, every moment, I feel different.

Aug 2, 2012

We live not by accident but by purpose. Whose purpose? Our own? A God of some kind? Is there one purpose, multiple purposes or is purpose ever-changing like existence? Well, I don't really know... But I know purpose exists because I create it. Every one and every thing I encounter has purpose. There is no coincidence-because I can learn from it all.

&
Patterns and infinity...both go on and on.

Aug 25, 2012

Do not let emotions (especially anger) control you. When faced with a difficult situation, breathe. Ask yourself, "What can I do to help this situation?" and "How can I approach this in a mature, level-headed way?" Find alternatives. Do not lose control. Do not yell. Do not fight. Be at peace. Be respect. Be calm, Live on.

Sept 17, 2012

Held back by the mediocrity of hypocrisy, open your eyes and see, let be, live free.

Sept 19, 2012

You try to hide, divert your eyes, but I see them shine

with
love at first sight.

Ever-changing.

Art by Masha D'yans

As of today, I have decided to implement this blog as more than a space to share my finished works. I will now be posting without specifications (or much of a filter.) I don't think anyone really reads this thing anyway. I have decided to make it MY space, to do whatever I please with. If it interests you, then by all means, read on! I'll write on, anyway.

A work in progress, kind of.

Written on 7.21.2010

a contradiction of conundrums,
a paradigm of paradoxyl parody,
an alliteration for the illiterate....
i want to write a poem for the confused.
i want to write a poem for those who
DONT quite have it all figured out.
an ode to the ordinary.
to the mes and the yous.
to the joes and the shmoes and the jacks and jills
and everyone else on the hill with them who's willing to listen.
to everyone who finds themselves wondering why,
why is it necessary to continue with this existence thing,
and why exactly are we born to partake
in a predetermined system of status and quos
betters and bests and not quite good enoughs?
i want to write a poem for those who dont ALWAYS have an answer-
for those who are willing to accept that maybe, just maybe, there isnt
always a simple solution or distinct right or an inarguable wrong.
i want to write a poem for those who exist in the cracks
and are comfortable doing so-
who realize that there isn't always a black or a white
or even a grey but know it doesn't matter
because when the light disappears-
we're all shades of the same.

Life after life

05.05.09

Life after life

by

Rebecca Anne Varley

Vulnerable,

i rest easy.

Swallowed

to quench an insatiable thirst-

i sacrifice my

Ego

to

vastness.

May it

nourish.

Exposed,

i lie free.

Infinity envelops,

her cool waters

transmutate

this plane- the

shell

of a soul

left behind.

Alone,

never feeling more

connected,

i am complete-

an ever important Thread

in the woven

fabric of

existence.

Fantastical Notion

1.23.10

(A blurb by Rebecca)

The world spins on though I am not spinning with it-
I am motionless and there is only
this.
I am happy in fantasy of timelessness and you.

One

One
by
Rebecca Anne Varley

Intensity pools and drips
delicately
across the slope of your brow-
pouring past our
eyes-engaged in
Soular embrace.

We're wrapped blissfully in each
other and quivering with intention,
our bodies swaying to
glorious rhythms
while time's clever ploy is posponed and
endlessness
surrounds-
dancing in spirals to our body's
pulsations

and I know
this is IT.

So commonly
spoken, yet rarely
revered,
Love
gasps from our lips, tenderly
clutching us each
into ego-exploding ecstasy as
we are

one.

Carousel, A Flash Fiction

"Carousel"
by
Rebecca A. Varley

Gloomy day. Typical.The children are never satisfied. Screaming and fighting against youth. Little do they know this is the time to treasure. The tracks are especially irritable today, all the corners, jarring. The turns, especially fast. Every passenger too consumed to revere the beauty around, yielding even gloomier perceptions. Even the parents are particularly obnoxious today. They aren’t even pretending to admire their children. One is screaming business on a cell phone, remembering to look up at his now downtrodden little redhead only once, just in time for her to let out a bloody scream. One of the mothers is too consumed with hedonistic details of the previous evenings outing to notice her only son has burst into a violent tearstorm, having accidentally chosen the deceptively beautiful front horse, adorned with gold and flowers, but undoubtedly the fastest, most dangerous of the bunch. He continues to scream and she continues to disgust me. And life goes on. And the cycle continues.
Another group of unsatisfied mongrels, sticky-fingered and rotten, cotton candy escaping from their mouths, climb aboard mocking the shrill carnival music and its attempt to bring cheer to a world of decay. Chuggachugga skiiiiiirt.
Fastforward to another group. This one full of pukers and pouters. Fastforward to ungratefuls. Fastforward to gloomers. Screamers. Fighters. Ignorants. Spoileds. Each their own little unfortunate downward spiral. Skiiiiiirt.
And all along, I’m stuck here witnessing it. Alone. Completely. Utterly. Alone. Never, do they choose me. I ward them off well. Chugga shriiiiek.
Rewind to before they switched me to the back of the inside track, right behind the bucket seats. Before I stopped rising and falling. Rewind to when I was in the middle behind a beautiful gold number, on the outside track, perfectly positioned. When tempos and speeds were right, the corners were always a delicate balance of fast and slow. When I rose and fell gracefully, in synchronization with the then loveable sounds that resonated in the air. The children were children then. Innocent. Sweet. Laughing and gay. Enough to make one envious of their purity.
Fastforward to right now. The last group of kids for the night is stumbling around, their stomachs full of tilts and whirls, and they are attempting to find balance by riding out an old childhood memory. The music is slightly less brash than usual and for some reason the shrieks seem dulled.
And I see her.
She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Her eyes are intense and sincere and tell me she’d spotted me long before now. Long before today.
She is not a fluke; this is purpose. My purpose. She is here to set me free.
She is heading for me, humming melodically, sweetly, some gorgeous big band number full of brasses in tender embrace.
She gracefully positions herself side-saddle and faces the outside world, seeming to admire the bright lights and fresh air. No one is around but she and I and it could be no more perfect.
Gingerly, she runs her fingers over the smooth metal of my positioning pole, allowing her fingers to linger down to the crevices of my mane. She is admiring the idiosyncrasies.
She is a see-er. She sees life. Beauty. Balance. It is obvious in her mannerisms. Scooooot Scooooot.
The turns are gentle. Scooooot.
We ride together for what feels like three minutes of endlessness.
And to me, it is.
My existence starts and stops today. Now. In this moment. Completion.
Silence.

Glances, a 2nd attempt at a spoken word poem.

08.22.09
Glances
by
Rebecca A. Varley

unintentionally...
(intentionally?)
mind-fumbling me
-shooting awkwardly
making an Olympian
of me as
I hurdle
with aversion until
bullets learn of circles
and come in full
behind my shoulder
with taps
alluring

tapping toxically at
special occasion emotion
locked away for another time
-wistfully and absurdly
taunting and tantalizing
until they have
fluttered by and I
remain silent-
enamoured by the
trails.

Oh woe is a writer! (An experiment in spoken word poetry.)

I wrote this poem as soon as I got home from attending my very first poetry slam Spring Semester '09 at MCC. It's my first official attempt at Spoken Word.

04.16.09
Oh woe is a writer!
by
Rebecca A. Varley

Thoughts plague,
enamour, enrapture
sadistically, skillfully
scheme and
SHOUT!
Listen! Focus! On me!
And ME! And me and
me and me!
Always demanding
ATTENTION!
The less you focus
the worse it gets the
chaos intensifies and
I for one would
prefer to RUN
but they follow and circle and
swallow.
Dreaded thoughts provoke
passionate production and
DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE
this hell of a ride that I
swore I wasn't even tall
enough to get on-
I did NOT consent
in fact, I caused the biggest
scene kicking and writhing
on the ground in fruitless
protest you've ever seen
from here to Indiana!
And yet-here I am-
front and center-
feeling every corkscrew,
swoop, double loop, and
loopity loop mirroring
and mocking my insides.

I can't help but bathe
in excitement.

Without this RIDE
this DRIVE
I would cease to be alive
wither and die
-death by mindless dronedom
(a classic conundrum.)
But they're damn persistent buggers
conflicting
convicting
restraining and
maintaining,
so I intend to give in,
search within, and
write.

BY GOLLY IVE DONE IT

ive created a blog. finally. lookout for hints of revolution to come!