Introspection copy

Juliette Bentley

Australia

I am a teacher, writer and foodie. I lead a thriving RL Writer's Club and live in an incredible place of sunshine and beauty. I go under Banjodog and my published work can be found online.

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8 months ago

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10 months ago

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Juliette Bentley (Australia) started following Grace Mary Potts (Australia)

10 months ago

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Juliette Bentley (Australia) started following Caitlyn Mulcahy (Australia)

11 months ago

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Juliette Bentley (Australia) published:

For You.

FREE WRITING


"I'd like to see inside your head" she said
red head tilting to one side, brow fractionally furrowed, then smooth.
"Its a kaleidoscope of colour, 
musings, recipes and laughter,
with webs of memories clinging to each fragile edge of what I know of myself,
"
I replied. 
I smiled that of the knowing,
facing the inquisitive exploration of a woman in training.
So young, graced and grateful, she feeds courage to conversation.
"I seek peace to enjoy...
Seeking Peer Reviews

about 1 year ago

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Juliette Bentley (Australia) started following Grace Taylor (New Zealand)

over 1 year ago

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Juliette Bentley (Australia) earned a badge Superstar

over 1 year ago

Introspection copy
1

Juliette Bentley (Australia) published:

Who Do You Think You Are?

PROMPT: Open Prompt

 

Breaking ground
in silent reverie
each step creating the path
my ancestors will tread,
following genetically drafted
drifts of life,
I take another step.
One lane of life's super highway
laid out at my expense,
yet I'd have it no other way.
Each new vista, crests against a gentle sun,
The verdant growth, so rich, fecund
a jungle of challenges and trials
making my story a journey of discovery. 
My forebears grounded my foundations in their dreams,
goals met and lost 
and I keep trust,
forging ahead with joy and trepidation,
creating a road to my homecoming.

Seeking Peer Reviews

over 1 year ago

Introspection copy
1

Juliette Bentley (Australia) published:

Who Do You Think You Are?

PROMPT: Open Prompt

 

Breaking ground
in silent reverie
each step creating the path
my ancestors will tread,
following genetically drafted
drifts of life,
I take another step.
One lane of life's super highway
laid out at my expense,
yet I'd have it no other way.
Each new vista, crests against a gentle sun,
The verdant growth, so rich, fecund
a jungle of challenges and trials
making my story a journey of discovery. 
My forebears grounded my foundations in their dreams,
goals met and lost 
and I keep trust,
forging ahead with joy and trepidation,
creating a road to my homecoming.

Seeking Peer Reviews

over 1 year ago

Introspection copy

Juliette Bentley (Australia) published:

Fear's Requiem

PROMPT: Mysteries Abound


The timpani of heart beat shallow in my ears,
reverberates as ash filled throat chokes on words,
on smothered screams 
and litany of prayers
clamoring to be uttered
to save my soul. 

I hear only horrors.

Hairs bristle.
Chills climb the torturous length of my spine, 
disc by single tingling nerve clad disc.

The hall, swathed in bloody clawing shadows taunts,
its space a death filled maw that stinks of carrion;
some raven's pickings of another life wasted.

Silence does not...
Seeking Peer Reviews

over 1 year ago

Published Work

For You.


"I'd like to see inside your head" she said
red head tilting to one side, brow fractionally furrowed, then smooth.
"Its a kaleidoscope of colour, 
musings, recipes and laughter,
with webs of memories clinging to each fragile edge of what I know of myself,
"
I replied. 
I smiled that of the knowing,
facing the inquisitive exploration of a woman in training.
So young, graced and grateful, she feeds courage to conversation.
"I seek peace to enjoy the synapses and axons
which spark and stay or die and fade away.
"
She pauses and seemingly satisfied trips to her next thought.
"Does it get any easier? This making sense of life?"

I laugh, 
shake a tired head, 
eyes reddened from reluctant wakefulness.
"It is as easy as finding a shiny pebble on a storm tossed beach.
Our lives so fraught with disillusionment is one small battle 
that laughter, resilience and forgiveness can calm.
"
Such...

Open Prompt

Who Do You Think You Are?

 

Breaking ground
in silent reverie
each step creating the path
my ancestors will tread,
following genetically drafted
drifts of life,
I take another step.
One lane of life's super highway
laid out at my expense,
yet I'd have it no other way.
Each new vista, crests against a gentle sun,
The verdant growth, so rich, fecund
a jungle of challenges and trials
making my story a journey of discovery. 
My forebears grounded my foundations in their dreams,
goals met and lost 
and I keep trust,
forging ahead with joy and trepidation,
creating a road to my homecoming.

Mysteries Abound

Fear's Requiem


The timpani of heart beat shallow in my ears,
reverberates as ash filled throat chokes on words,
on smothered screams 
and litany of prayers
clamoring to be uttered
to save my soul. 

I hear only horrors.

Hairs bristle.
Chills climb the torturous length of my spine, 
disc by single tingling nerve clad disc.

The hall, swathed in bloody clawing shadows taunts,
its space a death filled maw that stinks of carrion;
some raven's pickings of another life wasted.

Silence does not come.

The drum beat slows but deafens.
Voices whisper in the space between my thoughts
and I forget to breathe

caught,

transfixed in the bitter fear of All Soul's Eve.

My ghosts come to claim me,
demanding, 
for their blood smears my hands, 
hides accusatory beneath my nails.

They come.

They come.


They

Come...





Trick 



or



treat?

Mysteries Abound

Fear's Requiem


The timpani of heart beat shallow in my ears,
reverberates as ash filled throat chokes on words,
on smothered screams 
and litany of prayers
clamoring to be uttered
to save my soul. 

I hear only horrors.

Hairs bristle.
Chills climb the torturous length of my spine, 
disc by single tingling nerve clad disc.

The hall, swathed in bloody clawing shadows taunts,
its space a death filled maw that stinks of carrion;
some raven's pickings of another life wasted.

Silence does not come.

The drum beat slows but deafens.
Voices whisper in the space between my thoughts
and I forget to breathe

caught,

transfixed in the bitter fear of All Soul's Eve.

My ghosts come to claim me,
demanding, 
for their blood smears my hands, 
hides accusatory  beneath my nails.

They come.

They come.


They

Come...





Trick 



or



treat?

Awash in Life

Liquid lace draws fretwork in delicate tendrils,
coursing slowly over summer-hot skin.
Refracted rainbows dance in droplets
lingering, pregnant on transluscent lids
and I bask in the laughter, the lunacy
of a woman dancing in unrestrained joy
as awash, 
I move to the rhythm of each drumbeat's tatoo
breathing in life
in simple pleasures.

"Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet." ~Roger Miller
Hear me read my work by clicking the hyperlink. I am test running this as a way to share authors voices and broaden the breadth of sharing. The files are made on Adobe Spark which is an intuitive free app.

Wildwood

You can hear me reading this piece by clicking the hyperlink


Tangled branches
seduce sunlight's caress
in bowers of writhing
windswept
yearning.
Her gentle grace raining
in amber washes upon the skin of passage;
a silent realm of journeys not taken
by feet too fearful of uncertain destinations.
The warm benediction
plays
out;
delicate tracings of life's lace laughter
resolve themselves into a tapestry woven in light
beneath the blessing of outstretched limbs.

Tendrils of expectancy tie
each
to their
beginnings,
rooted at the cusp of their own choices
and they,
cast 
in permanent record
of their indecision
reach for second chances,
as elusive as the kiss of butterflies wings
upon the cheek of a sleeping child.

Spells wrought in Celtic mystery
weave knots of spiraling existence.
Infinity
making legends of wayfarers lost
beneath the intimate arching arms of strength
which frame a path misunderstood.
I linger still
certain to become subsumed
by the fabric of nature's beneficence
protected from the heartache of destination's disappointment,
then

take 

first

step...
 

Wildwood

Tangled branches
seduce sunlight's caress
in bowers of writhing
windswept
yearning.
Her gentle grace raining
in amber washes upon the skin of passage;
a silent realm of journeys not taken
by feet too fearful of uncertain destinations.
The warm benediction
plays
out;
delicate tracings of life's lace laughter
resolve themselves into a tapestry woven in light
beneath the blessing of outstretched limbs.

Tendrils of expectancy tie
each
to their
beginnings,
rooted at the cusp of their own choices
and they,
cast 
in permanent record
of their indecision
reach for second chances,
as elusive as the kiss of butterflies wings
upon the cheek of a sleeping child.

Spells wrought in Celtic mystery
weave knots of spiraling existence.
Infinity
making legends of wayfarers lost
beneath the intimate arching arms of strength
which frame a path misunderstood.
I linger still
certain to become subsumed
by the fabric of nature's beneficence
protected from the heartache of destination's disappointment,
then

take 

first

step...
 

Whistle Blow

The rattling Gatling gun echoed dully, the sound deadened, absorbed by walls of slick mud and tired bodies. The corpse lay unremarked upon in blood-drenched trenches and barren pock-marked plains, fallen comrades who in time, would be gathered, cleaned and laid to rest, away from the barbed wire and charnel hell of the battle field. But for now, the living had to fight to draw each new breath, battling against a barrage of ricocheting bullets and mortars that rained their indiscriminate, unrelenting bitterness down on them.

Captain Carmichael adjusted his glasses on his grim grey face for the hundredth time, and shifted boots in an attempt to waken his damp and frozen feet. Waiting for the order to go over the top was agonizing. Each passing minute weighed like an hour. The anxious pinched faces of his men, blanching in the light of gunfire, made the enormity of his responsibility even heavier. Sargent Jenson stubbed out a half smoked tailor...

Benromach and Benriach

Benromach and Benriach
By Juliette Bentley
While evenings cool, shadows lengthen
and autumn is replete
Benromach and Benriach’s ministry
With whispers of soft peat
Remind us winter is coming
And so our hearts might thrill
At thoughts of drams to ward off
A cold night’s winter chill.
From the heart of Speyside, Morayshire
And the hill of the red deer
Burnside’s deep Springs from earth’s dark womb
glisten cool and clear
and though most Speyside tastings
lack the magic smoke
the handcrafting from copper stills
heartens most weary folk.
And so I say let’s raise a glass
And though we may find fault
Tonight I propose this simple toast
God bless the single malt.

Whistle Blow

The rattling Gatling gun echoed dully, the sound deadened, absorbed by walls of slick mud and tired bodies. The corpse lay unremarked upon in blood drenched trenches and barren pock marked plains, fallen comrades who in time, would be gathered, cleaned and laid to rest, away from the barbed wire and charnel hell of the battle field. But for now, the living had to fight to draw each new breath, battling against a barrage of ricocheting bullets and mortars that rained their indiscriminate, unrelenting bitterness down on them. Captain Carmichael adjusted his glasses for the hundredth time and shifted boots in an attempt to waken his damp and frozen feet. Waiting for the order to go over the top was agonizing. Each passing minute weighed like an hour. The anxious pinched faces of his men, blanching in the light of gunfire, made the enormity of his responsibility even heavier. Sargent Jenson stubbed out a half smoked tailor made and wedged...

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream...

Dawn breaks.

Golden sun streaks steel grey skies;

battleship clouds torpedoed by strafing rays

resonate across the battlefield of retreating night

where owls struck nimble field mice in nocturnal quest

and nightmares seduced the incredulous

for them to wake in the ruins of their beds,

sheet ropes binding them in their terror filled dreams.

Morning, saviour of the lonely and the damned

awakens life

so that we might

begin

anew.

Blitz

Scattered, 

debris of forgotten life

in ruins insurmountable.

Each glance takes in pinnacles of disaster.

Shards of memories blunted by age,

neglect,

pierce up through the landscape

clawing recognition.

There is none.

 

I stand immutable

life sucked from lungs

Confronted by a future we try to escape;

my daughter's bedroom.

Humble Beginnings

Succulent petals unfurl to tongue's caress

where sun lingers tracing lines,

floating upon the miasma of life's brooding shadows.

Rooted deeply,

drawing strength from dark viscous mass

life surges.

Lotus beauty blooms from secret places

and suppliant,

unfurls to the tender caress of life's current

 

Have You Reached A Verdict?

You stand upon the dock of other's expectations

shackled by prejudice and despair.

Your crime?

An independent mind

proclaiming your resistance to bigotry

and petty mindedness.

You stole the excuses

that prevented action

when child was brutally broken at the hands of a parent.

You burgled and rummaged through

garments that clothed sycophants in superficiality

as you demanded food for the hungry,

medicine for the sick..

You protested and railed at laws which crushed

the hope of the simple,

and lifted from the dust the homeless man

whose mental state proclaimed him

"Too Hard" to care for.

And for this you are patronized and punished with silence,

for you are the outreach

whose passion and compassion

make the uncaring cringe

in their apathy.

 

It is not their judgment which counts.

It is your own.

Little Sister

Medusa's little sister never quite nailed the look.

Sailors struck by glimpse of Gorgon's head

turned to stone.

Little sister, too flighty for concentration

missed the part about penetration

with glare and word 

and so poor sailors cast her way

were by ineptitude

consigned to tortured timber,

the timbre of their call in extremity

a hollow cry

carried on the tide as waves washed their

storm tossed torso's

driftwood lungs expelling their frustration

as she moved on

distracted by a butterfly 

Open Prompt

Who Do You Think You Are?

 

The breeze tugs wantonly at the blackout curtain

persistently teasing it into play

as a toddler tugs at a parent's sleeve

demanding

attention.

The season's change has crept in.

The cold wind of aged winter

now reborn into childish glow,

a frivolous thing.

A gentle prepubescent  burgeoning

that will bloom into

the fullness of adult summer fruits,

fresh,

ripening beneath Summer's passion.

Then,

reflecting upon the pool of time; that stillness,

the air will cool and wrap itself

around the memories of summer wine

to wait the brittle fingers

and old age to creak and  lost voices howl

into the darkness of the corpses sleep;

Winter's reclamation.

 

The season's turn.

 

Failure To Thrive

Sometimes words fail.

They fail in their simplicity to form

to string together in sense making incandescence.

Today is one such day.

They come you see,

to peer tentatively over the tip of my tongue

out into the broad world where they will disappear;

or clutch tightly to my fingertips,

refusing to fall upon the keys

in black and white sacrifice upon the page.

I feel them tremble.

Being cast into concrete reality

is no place for whimsy and wisdom,

dreams and secrets.

Change becomes a distant memory,

a luxury for the unformed,

unuttered words.

They protest their immortality

and hide behind my teeth

behind my fingerprint’s whorls

and

grooves.

I might coax them,

seduce them into their free fall

but to do so would be a betrayal

because I envy them you see.

I envy them their secret spaces

and choices

and luxury of uncertainty

in a world where your thoughts are judged,

weighed and measured.

By Juliette Bentley...

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6 Likes from Others

Who Do You Think You Are?

Liked by 1 person

Awash in Life

Liked by 1 person

Whistle Blow

Liked by 2 people

Blitz

Liked by 1 person

Humble Beginnings

Liked by 1 person

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We like your photo and your biography.

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