music – our ceasing voice

Today, I am sharing something special with you… The Austrian band Our Ceasing Voice. I chose three songs and they are all quite different.

Polaroids and Chinese Whispers (from the album “When the Headline Hit Home“, 2011)

 

with Matthew Ryan – until our chest explodes (from the album “That Last November“, 2013)

 

The Arsonist (from the album “Free Like Tonight“, 2017)

 

I really like that you can hear the evolution and change over the years, and yet, there is something that is still undeniably Our Ceasing Voice. I hope you enjoy it. If the first song is not for you, try the second or third.

Lots of love,

Cathy

Throwback Poetry – my biggest secret

You are my greatest escape
my biggest secret
giving, never taking
For you, I feel my love growing
and my despair too

don’t forget me
don’t ignore me
my heart couldn’t bear the loss

I don’t want to be like them
I allow you to see me
and to love me
but I shouldn’t
I am not free

don’t forget me
don’t ignore me
my heart couldn’t bear the loss

you are my biggest secret
the man who makes me rise above every doubt and fear
I dream of you and I want you
until reality comes crushing down on me
and I fall

don’t forget me
don’t ignore me
my heart couldn’t bear the loss

I don’t want to be hurt
but I’m hurting you
I am not free
but I love you
and yet, I shouldn’t

don’t forget me
don’t ignore me
losing you would break me.

(March 2014)

Author’s Note…
Every Thursday I browse my body of work to see what I wrote this time a couple of years ago. Today, I am choosing to share this particular piece. Why? It reads like a premonition. Years later, after this poem was long erased from my thoughts and mind, things happened in my life that could make even myself believe that the poem was non-fiction; but when this was written, it was complete fiction. Life imitates art. And he ignores me. I am not sure if he will ever be able to forget me – after all, I am unforgettable.

a final leap

I’m coming home, she said. 
But it was a lie
Words whispered at night into the sky.
The blues tugged at the corners of her being
If only the right one could be there, seeing.
But he never was.
Another human mind asleep
Never thinking or getting in too deep.
And as the wind invited her to join the never ending dance of life,
She let out a wail and jumped into the light.
This time, the words she had spoken had been true,
Hadn’t there been someone, someone new.
Without intent, he saved her from a graceless fall
Together they stood on the ledge of a wall.
I want to go home, she whispered.
Nodding, he took her hand
Together they took a leap into a foreign land.
Faded and jaded from years spent in misery,
These strangers joined each other for the rest of eternity.
Home is not a building made of bricks and stone
It is the person, that feeling we have when we aren’t alone.

my brightest star

Stolen kisses,
lots of them
A thousand misses
Again and again.

Cover my bruised heart
With sinful heat
Allow us a new start
You can take the lead.

The rhythm guides our moves
Undulating, thrusting;
The lovers’ groove
Never everlasting.

A blanket of sweat
Covers you and me
Allow me that;
Mark me with your seed.

Oh how I crave your touch
The blissful release
It doesn’t take too much
You get me there, with ease.

You between my thighs
You bring me peace
Never felt a higher high
Let me come, please.

I feel you inside
No protection at all
My eyes water with pride
As I suffer the final fall.

Some consider us a sin
But you are the best part of me
Completing me from within,
The one who opened my eyes to see.

I give myself to you
Heart, mind and soul
Give me yourself too
And I will fill your holes.

This is your song
You know who you are.
I haven’t known you for very long
But you are my brightest star.

45 – obsession

45. That’s the number of messages she had left for him. She wasn’t obsessed. No.

45. That’s the number of pictures she had taken of him. Without his knowledge. She wasn’t obsessed. No, she wasn’t.

45. That’s the number of roses – red with thorns, she had sent for his birthday. Anonymously. She was not obsessed. No, no, she was not.

45. That’s the number of meters she had to stay away from him. Restraining order. But she was not obsessed. No. She was not.

45. That’s the number of women he had dated. None of them was her. She was obsessed. Just a little.

45. That’s the number of times he had sent her away with a sneer. She was obsessed. Just a little too much.

45. That’s the number of birthdays he had celebrated. Until her little not-obsession ended his life.

45. That’s the number of stab wounds on his beautiful yet cold body. She was not obsessed. Maybe just a little.

45. That’s the number which described her relationship to him best. She was obsessed. Too much.

*throwback* cold coffee

I pushed the door open with my foot, startling you. Your eyes were filled with sleep; mine were full of mischief. I came to your room with the intention to wake you up with the smell of coffee, but seeing you like this; naked, hard, embarrassed; it did things to me.

You were a guest in my house — a friend. The polite thing would have been to apologise and leave. But I couldn’t. I was hungry. Starving. And not for food. You looked at your erection, then at me. I licked my lips and tried to find a safe place for that cup of coffee in my hand.

You sat up and reached for the sheets to cover yourself. I shook my head. “Don’t, ” I croaked. You rose an eyebrow, probably intensely aware of the situation too. I kept my eyes on you, avoiding to see myself ungracefully join you on the mattress through the mirror on the wall.

“Hi, ” you said as if you were seeing me for the first time. Your hand was already in my hair, pulling my head; my lips, to yours.

Outside, rain was joining the wind that had been up all night. Inside, we were joining too.

Everything fit. Profoundly. Almost overwhelmingly. The natural flow of things didn’t take us back. It didn’t leave room for doubts or vanities. Every touch meant something. Every time I felt your tongue on my heated skin, it felt as if I was becoming a part of you. Your hands explored my body as if they had never done anything else. The weight of you on my tongue was exactly right, and your taste made me swallow you as often as I could. I was drowning in our lust.

When you finally penetrated me, it only took a moment before the world exploded for me. Shivering, sweating, swearing, I encouraged you to keep moving. But you didn’t. You lay on top of me; your hands were caressing my hair, your eyes were searching my face for something that I couldn’t pretend wasn’t there. A smile appeared on your lips. Proud of yourself and how you had undone me, you kissed me. You were pulsating inside of me, but not moving. Heavenly torture. I begged for more, gyrated my hips underneath you, but you were stubborn. And too close to be consumed by our lust too.

Two micro moves later, you stopped breathing. Your sweat was dripping down on me from the tip of your nose; your eyes were closed. A strangled noise left your lips just before you started to breathe again.

I had seen you. I had felt you. And it left me breathless; and not only because your full weight was on my body now. The beauty and surprise of us in this situation was overwhelming. You kissed my temple and rolled off me with a loud groan and a chuckle. Your arm covered your eyes, and your hand was running up and down your stomach. The most handsome man who I had ever been with.

I put my head on your chest, your heartbeat sang a song for me, while I retraced the pattern of the tattoos on your skin. Your eyes were filled with sleep again. I covered us with the crumbled sheet, making sure that the wet spot we left was covering me and not you.

In a while, I would worry about the meaning of it all, but right then I decided to go with the flow and let it happen.

Only the coffee had grown cold.

There is still some fight left in me

However near
However far
I will always remember who you are.

In my darkest hours, you were my guiding light.

No matter how deep the scar
No matter how crippling the fear
You left me with solace and a mind that’s clear.

To keep this calm and bliss inside, I am finally ready to fight.

updated about me

Greetings and salutations,

I am Catherine or Cathy (or micqu as my writing alter ego). A writer. A mom of three. A part-time educator working at a nursery. Walking and talking contradiction who loves music, clouds, sunrises, and complicating easy things.

I write poetry and short stories and sometimes small novellas too.

In 2018, I published a poetry collection that is available to buy as a paperback from me directly (on mobile version or phone, you need to scroll all the way down to find the link; on desktop version it should be at your right…) Unquiet Minds can also be bought on Amazon. (eBook and paperback)

A second collection of poetry was published in 2019: Drowning in a Sea of Voices. You can buy it on this blog or on Amazon.

My first novel was published in 2020: Heart of Stone. That too can be purchased on this very blog or via Amazon.

Listening to music is a huge passion of mine. And I have a vast record collection that is constantly growing. (*cough cough* +/- 1300 physical albums – vinyl and digital downloads not included *bragging*) So… there might be a song here or there or me gushing about this or that band and giving it more meaning than it really has. I am not a critic and I don’t even begin to pretend that my tastes are good – let’s just call them eclectic.

Now… I am sure you want to know where else you can find me, right? Right?! Or maybe where to avoid me?

Well… me and my annoying alter ego micqu can be found here (feel free to follow and/or get in touch there too):

https://www.instagram.com/micqu_1/ Instagram… obviously. I post pics and stuff. Duhh!

https://twitter.com/micqu1 Twitter. Where I always wonder why 140 characters are enough to make some people look witty, while I just look like me.

Bandcamp Music. Don’t worry, I am just a listener, but maybe you’ll find something worth your while in my collection.

I also use Facebook and WhatsApp, but that’s more for private use.

If you want or need to send me an email, try this address: catherine.micqu@gmail.com

Don’t be shy, get in touch. I love to be social. Most of the time.

Hm… let me think… what else? I am open for collaborations with musicians and photographers. If you need poetry or prose to accompany one of your pieces, I am there…

I’m 37 years young and from Luxembourg/Europe. (Languages spoken and written: Luxembourgish, German, French, English and claiming my bragging rights…). I can be quite passionate and opinionated, but I can be just as brooding and bruised. My own personal mental health struggles became a big part of this blog in recent years.

The words you’ll find on this site are all mine. I wrote them and thought them up in my mind. If some words aren’t mine, the original author is mentioned. YouTube clips shared on this site belong to the respective owners. Same goes for Spotify or Bandcamp links.

Once again, nice to meet you… I hope you enjoy my explosions of emotions and my kind of randomness.

Cathy

Disclaimer:

This is a personal blog. Short stories and most poems are fiction and tagged as such. Resemblances with actual places and people (alive or dead) are a coincidence. No post is aimed at anyone in particular if it is not stated in the post itself. Music is not mine, it belongs to the creators. Do not copy my words without my consent. Thank you.