Monthly Archives: June 2014

Want to be published? Books & Shovels

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Hello my friends! Can you believe we are halfway through the year already? I hope it has been a productive year for you all thus far and that you are constantly finding yourselves doing what you love. I am moving again! What an exciting time, minus the packing/unpacking and the humid heat. I just wanted to take a minute out of packing to tell you all about a wonderful project that is so inspiring to me called Books & Shovels.

For anyone who has struggled as a starving artist, to get published, to be HEARD, you will appreciate the hard work and effort that this group is putting in to create a voice for all of us. Books & Shovels was founded by 19 year-old Jeremiah Walton, an advocate of verbage not really seen since the likes of a Bukowski and a Kerouac roamed random cities. Jeremiah is raw, passionate, and in love with his art. A sample of this can be seen on his IndieGoGo page where he offers a brief bio,

“I’m Jeremiah Walton, founder of Nostrovia! Poetry, and a member of NYC based publishing house, UndergroundBooks.

I graduated High School the spring of 2013, and hit the road hitchhiking the following fall.  I ran a small “bookstore” out of my frame pack on street corners and at open mics.  I hoped to give art a good kick in the balls.

The world kicked back though, and it kicked back hard.  To reach the goal of broadening the poetic community, and to encourage others to sacrifice for what they Love, to dream, I realized the bar needed to be raised.  Books & Shovels needed to be launched.”

This is an excellent opportunity for us to join forces and create our artistic families together. We are writing our history for our future generations, let’s show them that we were not shoved aside and told to follow a fatalistic path. Let’s write down our voices so that they can be remembered. We can help provide inspiration for the next kids trying to fit into a society that has “no place” for people like us.

Want to be published? Books & Shovels is offering writers an opportunity at just that, with as small of a donation as $10. Let me repeat, that’s $10 TOTAL to working towards publishing your art. Not only that, your $10 will go towards the promotion of your work, as well as other artists/writers. We all start somewhere, right? Well here’s your starting place: I Want To Be Published

For everyone else, every $1 donation helps. There is not a cheaper way to be invited into a group of people who welcome anyone and everyone dedicated to their same cause of enjoying art. Follow them on Facebook and WordPress.

Join this cause with me, pledge your love for your art, and take the time to appreciate others’ works! As Jeremiah says,
“The Virus is Silence.”

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Bite into the Onion

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I said “bite into the onion!”

Only because of a memory of

sitting at some stranger’s apartment

feeling hungry:

 

The countertop was an aqua shade of blue

But not the good kind of blue that
reminds me of Caribbean waters

It was dirtied with specks of black and green

a form of modernism that some

person imagined ideal for eating

 

I was analyzing the marble

only inches from my face

Instead of focusing on the objects

and shapes alive and breathing, those

dancing around in their frenzied confusion

There was a chef of sorts, making his

claim to fame from the hours spent

grilling at one of the downtown bars

 

He was watching me and I only

realized because he told me and

I looked up, saw his affront

Staring intently, as if he were challenging

to inspire embarrassment with a shade of

question, for me to offer an explanation

Or, maybe both…people always

tend to think more thoughts than

what seems plausible;

An apparent stereotype of my own

relating on close mindedness that only first

glances can conceive

 

His stature was clear

The game was on, without both

players realizing when it had started

A chess match apparently already won, seeing his

daggers slice and tear through the

layers of vulnerabilities on the surface

Wearing his best victory grin, he

came closer thinking the game was

over as he thought about his checkmate

King riding Queen in complete

dominance

 

All of the while keeping his hands busy

pretending to cook something and

almost abandoning his own disguise

to celebrate his achievement

Peeling back the first few layers

of the onion, slowly and methodically

More interested in appearances

than anything substantially filling

 

That was the story, the tale in my mind

When I tried to explain myself to a

different person later on in life

As if I could relate the feelings and emotions

of one moment and transpire it

into the next

“Bite into the Onion!” was met

with distracted thickness and

judgment of appropriate responses

 

A different chess game, perhaps

With no victors or losers to give

attention

Only me and my bad breath

with the pieces laid out on the table

 

 

I am grateful for challenges ❤

Ghost Horses

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You think you have us all?

Your hardened eyes of intimidation

Gazing out past your mind’s view being

directed by the tip of your nose

Egotistical, sprouting seeds of hate

that wilt in sickness in between every

sidewalk crack and old pavement road

of the crumbling cities

Spreading across the earth with the poisonous vapors

catching on the wind of all of the mouths;

breathing out silent screams of hatred, lust, and painful sorrows

Perfect white teeth, once braced, now

shielding the sharpest blade this place has ever heard

Twisting, rolling, folding, until truth is created

We ride tonight

We ride tonight

(Two times for the dramatic effect as it clicks in your head, remembering similarities)

Do you ever feel afraid at the repetition of intensity?

Snapping you out of your purchased complacency

brought to you, kindly, from advertised drugs

We’ve always said that our Ghost Horses

were better for riding through the clouds

I bet you look over your shoulder and

wonder that very thought

Do you see me coming for you yet?

Everyone loves to live and forget

Perhaps you’ve misplaced the lines that trace my face

As it’s gone absent and has been replaced with the

disillusioned and treasured pictures that you see now

Moving on to the next distraction of popularity

Changing looks, bodies, and thoughts

Each day passes brings us one day closer to reality

(I am he as you are she as you are me and we are all together)

What is the ultimate plan again?

I’ve repressed the madness building up

within your contemptment

General Cronie I am at your command!

I’ll drink the poison sold at

your 7 Day Store

I’ll gulp it down as you howl

“As You Were!”

Swallow Swallow Swallow

Three sips and I’m still thirsty

Come on, come On

I’ll cheers on the last drop;

we’re all a little bit crazy, right?

 

I am grateful for 25 cent fortunes ❤

Dear Child

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My tears fall down

drop…drop….

 

Draining my soul

as I think it does

What can be said about

the monsters of this land;

From a time before we were

promised the mystical “everything”

and nothing but a happy ending?

My tongue’s cut out and

wrapped up in bloodstained linen

My eyes sewn shut while

my wrists are bound tight together

I tried, Dear Child

to stay alive long enough

to fight

But there are those who

choose to be the wiser

of this world

Sacrificing it all for the

perfect escape from truth

Blinded by expectations of brightness

while we all drown in the light;

begging for blackness

The power lies within the

weight of our pockets and

not within the weightlessness

of our minds.

 

I am grateful for the many faces of humility ❤

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Keep My Head’

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I was looking down

one step closer and then the next

Feet light, bouncing

to the rhythms in my mind

The blue skies stretched down

their hands full of love and contentment

Kissing my clothes, my hair, and my skin

With a destination unclear, I knew that the only way to go was straight

forward, aligning myself while

maintaining my distance between the borders

Of the protective trees standing tall

with their green leaves waving

to say hello and

grab my attention at a particular

moment, my face turning to

take a look

 

 

You were there and

I knew, even if my eyes

didn’t want to believe at first

Not much taller than me, you

appeared shorter under the

massive pine trees hovering above

but that’s just the first response

to any questioner’s thoughts

Until I saw your face

and then my heart just stopped

You were happy, the happiest

I’ve ever seen

With your red flannel plaid shirt

and acid wash holy knee jeans

Just you, standing there facing me

wearing a noose tied around

your neck as you held

the other side in your right hand

Now, heart racing uncontrollably

Feelings peculiar and potentially uneasy

 

 

The world in 2D with its

shiny pictures and glossy scenes

An alien to the plastic smiles, or

so I want to believe

Unless there is still hope

but you didn’t speak and

now I regret these thoughts creeping

into every story that I hear

or think to understand, any of

These reactions that I’ve fought

Could you possibly relate to any of this at all?

 

 

I am grateful for changes ❤