Monthly Archives: March 2016

The time

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The time

The time is near

To begin this life of leisure

Just kidding, I’m typically functioning

On four hours of sleep daily

Working through the sunlight to

Afford playing at night

Splitting self in half to

Continue the dream of this double life

 

The time has come and

Has given life to thoughts about

Fluttering butterflies that

Are dying to get out

From the pit of my stomach as

They fly towards my throat

Choking me senseless

On my anticipation and hope

 

I am grateful for The Fancy Pears lol we have our first major show tomorrow woo! ❤ http://www.thefancypears.com

Isn’t it funny

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They say there is only

one life to live

Isn’t it funny how tragic

I can be

Says the stranger across

the kitchen table

Who says we can talk right before

we just shutdown

Isn’t it funny how we seem to

balance, but then not

Memories rip apart at reality

leaving seams shredded

Exposed and vulnerable to

misunderstanding

Voices shout out in their

big white bubbles

With their pretty meanings of added

text for emphasis

Everything colored for absolute

greatness, or whatever

It’s just one comic scene

after the next

With a writer on a mission

To kill, kill, kill

They say there is only

one life to live

Isn’t if funny how unattainable

that seems

 

I am grateful for this ❤

 

Monthly Archives: March 2015

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Poet

Posted on March 30, 2015 by MuseWriter

 

Oh Poet

Writer of lovely verses

With your imagination

Shaping metaphorical figures

Around your bright red

Tongue

Do you know me

Oh Poet

You claim to see

To make us believe

However daunting your task

How far will you run?

There’s a garden

Laid with flowers

More than the violets

That you seek

Sunflowers stand tall

Guarding the edges

Oh Poet

What others would you find?

Once betrayed

Forgiven never forgotten

If you choose conquest

Over silence

You reap what you sow

I am grateful for words ❤

 

A Bullet to the Heart

Posted on March 26, 2015 by MuseWriter

I don’t know why we fall in and out of love

Humans hoard their vulnerabilities until they forget how to feel

We gorge on the sensitivities of those perceptible to our eye(s)

Acting as a kitchen sponge rather than a breathing being

There are those who can love

There are those who can be loved

Some people greedily accept whatever they can get

While others try to hold onto anything attainable

Fake smiles, lies, darkened thoughts, and mind fucks

Each skill handed off in this game of manipulation

She stole his heart so now he must go steal one for himself

It’s a dog-eat-dog world in this ‘spiritual’ madness

As all of the lost lovers gather together on the firing line;

A bullet to the heart is surely the only way to kill one’s afflictions

I don’t know why we fall in and out of love

 

A Familiar Name, A Familiar Face

Posted on March 16, 2015 by MuseWriter

Someone is talking in the distance

Indistinguishable words that hum into ears

The stars shine brilliantly between the black waves

Churning thoughts and emotions overhead

Air clings to the body like scaling skin

Pieces of flaky layers of the World around

A virus killing softly within the wind

Tempting the breath of those chosen

Figures dance by in all of their fancy

Pretty faces with open mouths smiling wide

Boys and girls falling victims to the Romantics

Inventing lives upon hurtful stories and lies

Would you recognize my face if you saw me?

Would you guess what I could be thinking?

These are the questions that I dream about

The answers we seek often never surprises

Energy breaks free into me then through

A solid wall of heavy empty space

Another piece of the imaginary puzzle

A familiar name, a familiar face

 

Here I Am

Posted on March 3, 2015 by MuseWriter

 

Clumsy animals of the wild

Asking for handouts to survive

Picking up the pieces out of spite

Accepting peanut shells able to find

We eat to count the years of life

Sustaining the body in anyway, every time

Self-proclaimed Masters of ignoring emotional strife

Can you hear me calling?

I thought I wasn’t even trying

Until the sky began falling

And now,

Here I am

Monthly Archives: March 2014

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The Mother Weeps

Posted on March 16, 2014 by MuseWriter

 

The mother silently weeps

The tears echoing her pain

as Mother Nature imitates her misery

The women of the world;

birthing heads and

giving life to us all

 

She gently rocks

Backward to front

The figure engulfing in her

sorrow, to witness it all

Empathetic motions to offer

her own condolences

Where her words could never mean

anything worthy of mention

 

In her head she screams

Shaking from the force to try

to keep it in

A haunting loss of control

that bounces in between the dark

corridors of her mind

A plea for mercy

A penetrating message for anyone

who understands,

those who can relate

 

Begging to a land beyond the frame

that she’s currently hovering in;

the ideal representation of grief

Feeling alone instead of connecting

to Father, Mother, Sister, Brother,

Neighbor…

Protected from the world from

the very source that keeps us allied;

even if some refuse to see it

 

She gazes out

With her wrinkled wet face

through the rain-splotched glass

Seeing past her garden,

The land where she was born,

The places she has lived,

the cities she has traveled

 

Ignoring any boundary laid upon

her memories

Only feeling the mourning and the fear:

 

Skin vibrating, tingling feeling

Hair standing straight on arms;

the first responder to the

aching hollow

burrowing beneath her pariah chest

Carving away flesh until heart is

discovered, hardened to the

blackness

 

Owls: Who? Who!

Posted on March 14, 2014 by MuseWriter

 

The owls are calling out tonight

Who? Who!

From the skies

from the trees

Their constant cries

their incessant why’s

and their ever knowing

Who? Who!

 

Three sit on a branch,

only by happenstance,

Feathered wing tips touching

other feathers

 

The first one there

lightly reflecting in the night

More resembling the canary,

Looking out of the neighbor’s window

through its cage

 

The other, a more handsome color

With specks of a gold so orange

Shades that overlap and create

their own unidentifiable appearance

Almost camouflaged in the darkness,

Almost

 

But the last one is a smaller breed

Wearing the dark grays of shadows

appearing like a bunch of dried

leaves, if seen by glance in the night

The ghostly figure emanating the

gratitude of

Distinction that,

She can make those aware of her

only with the calling out of

Her monotone chirped voice:

Who? Who!

 

Away They Go

Posted on March 10, 2014 by MuseWriter

 

~In my head this is played with an acoustic tune through a variety of minor chords and finger pickin’. Feeling the home grown roots tonight! I hope you enjoy :)~

She was sitting on a curb
Pillow and blanket in her hand
Watching the cars fly by
Seeing the predicament they were in
People boxed away in their
Containments of metal and glass
She turned her back to them
Feeling their fire burned up
and turned to ash

He floated down from the sky
A Kerouac book in his hands
And sat next to her
Like good ol’ lost friends
He talked about nothing
As strangers often do
He shot up from the ground
After a minute or two
and she waved goodbye to him

A light burst from the sky
He came back down to Earth
Grabbed her by the hand, and said
I could use some comfort and warmth
He took her on a trip
A journey of possibilities
Taking her to the house where she
Dreamt of knives and heard her own screams
and then he left her there

The murderer tried, yeah he did
He tried to kill all of us
She ran away from him
She ran away from them all
The girl found herself
Standing on another curb
Throwing out a thumb
Getting picked up by a trucker man
and he said

“Death will surely find you
Sooner or later he’ll come
He’ll have bright eyes you can stare into
And an instigator’s tongue
Telling you your stories
Until you think you’ve heard enough
Yeah, that death will show up
on your doorstep
Wearing a suit vest and
a shaggy haircut.”

And away they go
Off into the sunset
Away they go
Off into the sunset
The time is NOW, when
the shadows catch up with the light
And away they go
Off into the sunset

Away they go
Away they go
Away they go

 

The Little Girl

Posted on March 3, 2014 by MuseWriter

 

There is a little girl with blonde pigtails

and white ribbons, wearing

A frilly blue dress adorned with a

red nautical helm

Maybe five, by chance six

Staring blankly through the

photograph

 

“All the world knows is only

what we can see

All the words we speak, clearly

are only heard by any of the

random opportunities given

Who would listen to a few questions?”

 

She asks in her little girl

squeaky voice

 

“Are we so quick to deny any

interpretations different

That we can ignore the

explanations floating on

the tips of our tongues

Shut out the chances of awareness?

Wave your hand, stand up to meet

the people just out of reach

Wake up, open your eyes

to see the ones staring at you.”

 

Maybe I’m going crazy

maybe I’m going blind

Maybe the little girl speaking is

only a figment of my vapid

imagination

Maybe someone is listening

on the other side;

maybe another lost soul

in an altered time?

 

The picture sits in a book with

other similar photos of other

People with their smiling faces peering out and

saving some of the stories long forgotten

 

“Until next time…”

 

She says,

As I box away the memories

Adding a few additional pieces

to contemplate and to store inside;

A metaphorical reflection created of a mirrored image of

the cardboard container

 

“Goodbye”

 

I whisper.

And the little girl waits until she

is remembered again…

Fresh Snow

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Fresh Snow

I awoke in a feverish confusion with my face buried in a pillow of

Soft and cozy comfort to forget the burning grasp of mind as my

Lungs rasped for breath through another coughing fit

 

Pimply goosebumps held me hostage underneath a pile of blankets as I

Claimed ignorance of sickness while tuning in and out of a

Reality that doesn’t seem to exist anyway

 

Feeling secure in the pigmented softness within my living room of

My hand-me-downs of beloved cushions and linens with their

Shapes and patterns begging for attention

 

Seeing the contrast from my window view where I imagined how

I would paint the World by using color found at home but instead seized

Unplanned moments to revel in the beauty of a fresh snow

 

I am grateful for rest ❤

Monthly Archives: March 2013

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The Queen of Hearts

Posted on March 31, 2013 by MuseWriter

I could feel the cracks,

Like I, myself, was some piece of thin glass

So I outwardly attacked, to avoid the self-reflection

But the pane mirrored my hallucinations and I was forced to see

The world tuned topside and turvy,

as if I had dismounted from reality,

and arrived in the psychedelic forest of Wonderland.

The Cheshire beast kept watching, kept smiling,

making me feel uneasy;

I questioned either asking for help or taking a small toke, he offered,

you know, to calm down?

The point on the path seemed like an invulnerable start

to a destination like most

Beginnings, that always continue with stories of journeys for listeners to investigate;

Led by the wordsmith in a hat,

who is guided by deep thoughts that drive him mad,

so he sings

My Grandma Alice warned me of his rants, as if

he and her had

some sort of scandalous past,

or was it me?

There isn’t anything that I wouldn’t believe, being forced to awareness by the Queen;

A devil to worship, as the keeper of thy heart

Dressed in fine linens and flowers that trailed loosely down

through the curls in her hair

Her rosy cheeks, that adorned the most innocent face I had seen yet,

a perfect angelesque figurine

But it’s a face that you could forget; that’s what made it different

Pretty, but not memorable; a disguise of one of the smartest fighters;

Apart of the liars of secrets that are unimaginable.

And the Queen was a pleasant peach,

Giving grandiose gestures of gentility

She offered a life of happiness, one fueled by greed

With everything at hand, to fulfill every need

The Queen, in all of her beauty, made one small mistake

A tiny slip of truth that made me see

As with every shark, they can never hide their teeth;

the most prized part of their being.

The Queen is smart, appealing to the fairy-tales that narrate inside of

each of us

Waking our desires, our wants, and

clouding what we believe;

Shading the light that fuels how we breathe;

Offering immortality for only one simple thing.

A piece of flesh that a god-like creature never needs

She is a romantic of disease,

who feeds off of anything that beats,

even remotely like a heart.

In that moment, when she stood over me, waiting, listening

A slight curve of her stained lips spiked up at the corner,

she assumed that the battle was over;

that the backhanded compliments with

the buried insults escaped me;

I just didn’t rise to the occasion, a few breaths I didn’t want wasted

I looked into the Queen’s eyes and requested my sanction

I knew my life was mine to give but that anyone could be tempted

Baffled, the Queen demanded an explanation,

I think she needed to hear how I could walk away from what she was trying to give me;

As if she had never experienced love,

Or even understood what it means.

Suddenly, my heart wept for the Queen of them all, so blinded by her lust,

that she could never feel any love

As a fiend, addicted to the taste of some cheap drug,

The aphrodisiac of a witch’s poison; a sick sorceress’ juice for the ones who were chosen and fallen.

I could only ever answer, what now sounds like part of a cliche piece of rhetoric:

“There could never be a life for me

without a life of love beating

from the foundation of my heart.”

The Queen seemed to believe, as if that sentence was the only

statement that I had said that contained any meaning

Her eyes wandered off for a few seconds,

Minutes of vulnerable memories and temptations,

as if the Queen was daydreaming;

Thinking of images and past lives without all of the empty feelings.

Scorned, numbed, drained of everything that was once good,

And then I realized that the Queen of Hearts is the justified victim of

life without a love at Home.

 

The Box

Posted on March 27, 2013 by MuseWriter

I see a clear cube, outlined in a cold grey

No color, no warmth, and most importantly, no life

It’s a sleeper’s nightmare,

to be shut off from the colors of the world

To miss the pounding heartbeat reverberating from the ground.

This place, this cage, this figment of my mind

That traps me inside of a transparent coffin,

Where I can only focus on the tiny scratches that scatter the plates that shape my walls together;

is it plexiglass; impenetrable?

Could the mental bullets, shot from the fire of my eyes, even crack the surface?

Is there a magical word,

a clever,

an ironic,

a romantic kind of word,

that opens up our eyes to the skies?

To the gods who shape the boxes to control; to hold

They insert in them, the fears of us all;

To land inside,

to feel yourself die,

your soul cries,

no matter how hard you try,

you still find yourself inside.

And the madness takes over in the words derived from the scattered thoughts of your endless whisperings,

Repetitive words that shape nothing;

that do not create sentences with meaning

But then I see a full page

And I awake from my one god’s dream and discover that the box is gone.

 

A Singer of Love

Posted on March 24, 2013 by MuseWriter

There’s a voice I hear
Crystal clear and pure
A singer of love
A magical soul
And I wonder when,
The day we first met
Are there memories?
One reality?
I am impatient
Tired of waiting
Looking for changes
I keep listening
To uncover you;
Some truth from the man
Or, someone to love

 

Little Black Bird

Posted on March 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

I sat in silence, maybe it was more like contemplation

When I saw a black bird flying all alone

He was a little fellow,

Flying close enough to show off his tricks

Somersaulting onto the telephone wire, making it hop.

It bounced up and down, the wire with the little black bird,

As if he was dancing to some invisible rhythm,

To the song that I hear inside of my head, it always sounds like my past;

Hauntingly: familiar.

An offered dance by a sky flyer; just another wandering soul gathering another stranger’s stories;

and relating to them through the knowledge he seeks.

The black bird peered at me from his perch; I think I heard him call out my name

He waited as if he expected some sort of response, but I wouldn’t

His fiery gaze locked onto my heart, my soul, and I watched him dissect me.

He clawed apart the boxes of displaced unhappy feelings,

Leaving torn pieces of cardboard to shuffle through; trying to decide what to save and what was lost.

The black bird saw in me, in a way that no one else could;

As he ripped out the tender moments that I find so endearing, like the song with the pathetic piano melody,

that always makes me relate to understanding;

Or, some of the various treasured stories I remember with my families;

the little black bird thought he found a few things that were interesting.

His eyes penetrated into the thicket of me

Cutting down limbs and moving all of the scattered debris

He worked until he trimmed the forest, he didn’t bother to burn it down.

I couldn’t hear anything, I could only see the demon above

Hovering, like some symbolic message or meaning

He smiled, his yellow beak opening as I hoped for a moment of truth;

but he just yawned and flew away.

As I watched his shadow fall into the darkness of distance, I remembered one thing;

Your eyes and the story I see.

My only thought; the “thing” to give me life.

I once worshiped you out of ignorance of being blind, so now I speak.

But the little black bird is a sneaky beast,

Making those he touches suffer the life of endless numbness.

A thief worse than the greedy monkeys who rule the world with fake money,

Their bills of Blood bounded together with the rubberband of us all;

a stretch, but we can draw it as a circle of light, life, love, laughter.

Where we can write down each memory one by one,

As a connected group of force to control the greed; they’re weak; we seek.

I want more than what the little black bird left me.

I snapped the band on my wrist and was shocked into remembering it all…

 

Dreamer of My Heart

Posted on March 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

There is enough hate
So, I would rather be kind
Wouldn’t you agree?
It’s not hard to change
Love is, and will always be:
A powerful tool
My heart is open
Unlocked and warm, defrosted;
Welcoming new friends

But what happens when
I can’t hear the music here?
Do you see the truth?
A muse of my own
A wanderer of the sky
A man of all words
The profound message
From a boy alone,
With a crooked smile
Dreamer of my heart
Guardian of an old soul
Save my restless mind

Cicadas

Posted on March 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

I prefer white wine
Out, under a summer’s moon
Mid the cicadas.

 

I Implore You

Posted on March 4, 2013 by MuseWriter

A writer, a shell of desire to devour everything.

A wanderer of the world through self-reflection and theory.

A figure that houses a projector’s beam of information to shine always.

Conversation is only found through the imagination

that has already discovered too much.

When I write, I speak; it makes it harder to find

stimulating motivation

to care and to spread my boundaries;

to be influenced to achieve.

Companions of the art, we communicate

past the normal reasoning of human appreciation.

A trick of light with the pattern of letters;

words that sound better when flexed together.

We live in a wonderland of fools who truly feel what the rest of the world is afraid to.

I “implore” you to be discovered.

 

Sociopathic Romeo

Posted on March 3, 2013 by MuseWriter

There is a saying that “you’ll never die if a writer loves you.”

Do I lose the competition if I can only describe the monster living in you?

The devil in disguise, the master thief that broke into my heart, my soul,

Forced himself in and then locked the door to anyone else.

A sociopathic Romeo, who loved and hated all the same.

Tainted by the beast, I feel branded by evil;

My tattoo of remembrance that has forever changed my life.

The last time that I saw your face, could you possibly claim to be confused?

You couldn’t remember the baseball bat or the bruises you left hell,

I don’t even remember it all.

Except now my first waking thoughts result in terror;

An unmistakable second of adrenaline where my fight responds to hide my instinct to run.

To be chained to memories that influence everything is the worst kind of prison imaginable

To be free…

 

I wish I could see…

Posted on March 2, 2013 by MuseWriter

What lies underneath the words that we say?

We manipulate to understand a percentage of honesty that

hurts, when heard. I think my actions are

textbook,

always owning fear.

We’ve underestimated the size of the world, but then,

you can’t imagine where I’ve been.

I miss the unattainable, the home that saved me;

I wonder if we’ll make it back someday?

I’ve admitted to no one, these thoughts that overcome,

sometimes.

But there will always be impatient

moments of truth,

a second where the light shines a target on you,

and me.

I’ve felt it for awhile but I’m unclear

of what that means,

or who I am?

I feel as if I’ve escaped some reality that haunts me

A double vision, time warp that

competes with my own sensibility.

Do I wage these wars of battle in my head to an empty sector?

I wish I could see what is going on.