Tag Archives: archives

Monthly Archives: July 2014

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JUL29

Knock

Posted on July 29, 2014 by 
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock…

The repetitive banging
Off-beat but continuously striking
“Wake up!” it says
But I always assume that
it’s all about me

I lay here questioning the urgency
A message to me, to you,
to everybody, the universe
A slew of emotions
tumbling topsy turvy
Penetrating my thoughts and
giving voices to the faces

A conversation of unimportant
sentences that are completely unassociated with anything
worthy of interest
To me, there I go again

The hammering slows as
laughter flows in through
the basement window
Intermixed within the jovial chirping
of the sparrows
Happily munching on the seed
I just purchased

The sWOosh of each car that passes
A different noise adding to
the consistent nonsense draining
my awareness
Proclaiming innocent happiness
Unknowing that not everyone
feels the same

JUL13

Uninhabitable Hollows

Posted on July 13, 2014 by 
Everyone is asleep
While I find solace in
this empty closet
Sitting on the floor
comfortable and writing
Absently twirling a wayward strand
and chewing on bottom lip
These habitual reminders that
we never really change
(Except maybe our levels of
awareness and perception;
intuition?)
We all sometimes feel the
embarrassment from judgement
Thoughts that solidify
forming concrete structures in
our minds
Uninhabitable geometric spaces
that appear empty and dark
Some days I want to bulldoze
the whole city down
But as they say, the sun
always shines after the night
Illuminating these hollows
within our minds
Power igniting to imagine
new beginnings
Replacing each structure with
rows of flowering trees
Thoughts that I find now as my
hands dig through the soil
to plant the seeds
Preparing myself for future
times of solitude
Just like this
Where I can spend these
precious moments
Smelling the flowers and
enjoying the beauty
Instead of closing in and
retreating to the stories that
never end

JUL9

“Gas $3.89/gal”

Posted on July 9, 2014 by 


20140709-232045-84045318.jpg

Two pages;
The realization that
the end is near
How bittersweet, the
emotional response to
my awareness
The first writing, not
too similar to my
practices of today
“4/24/12”
An entry to begin and to
witness a life of change,
Titled: “Gas $3.89/gal

JUL7

I Sleep

Posted on July 7, 2014 by 


I Sleep

The unpredictable scenario of

scattered checkered boxes of

trees, crops, houses, roads, cities

Every outline seen as a view into the life below

With the imperfect slices of bodies of water

Curvy strands branched out across

the land

Until meeting together in

lakes, ponds, rivers, sounds, oceans

Changing quickly underneath

Unnoticed, as the attention to detail is not as focused

Other senses claiming victor of the current state

of flight;

of mind

A journey in the night, wandering

above treetops, and

whatever else

is stumbling about

Companions to a lonely beast

Hungry for the instinct to keep

flying forward;

or right to left,

sky to ground,

Skimming the surface of one of the

random pools of water;

mirroring the sky,

silver from the darkness

reflecting the moon above

To get a quick drink, or a delicious

bite to eat

Maybe chance a glance at the

furry face in front of me

Slightly distorted by the motion

from the ups and downs

Feeling the touch of sustenance

sliding over nose

Cool, the wetness leaving a residual glove

until air has wiped it away

Lifting up, mouth full and

body light in contentment

the steady push of cold air gliding over

eyes, nose, mouth, ears, tongue

Sucking in the fresh air forcing

its way into lungs

A numbing embrace of throat

to help concentrate the breath

Until wings become heavily satisfied with

the path of flight

Slowly making way to cave or tree

Watching sunrise morning after each evening

then hiding from the vulnerabilities

of the day

When the rest of the world

explores the places that I’ve seen,

I sleep.

 

JU
L

1

I am a Person

Posted on July 1, 2014 by 
Titles and labels

Insignificant one or two word liners

that create six faces of intolerance

 

“Who are you?’ they ask

when “What do you do?”

is more applicable

 

I am a Writer

I am a Woman

I am a Liberal

I am an American

 

How appropriate each response

seems to fit into each individual’s ideal, those

digging for classifications so easy to understand

Can we be so conveniently defined?

 

I am ME

does that count?

 

I am Nobody

According to the other unknowns who

consider their days worthless

without the comparison to a

him or her

 

I shed these definitions like

a snake, picking up and eating the scattered

bits and pieces of debris falling off

Just a common creature

vulnerable to attack or

persuaded to defend,

if necessary

 

I am a Person

Living in a world of other people

Focusing on the similarities

of love and compassion

Instead of the boundaries

of differences to hate

 

I am Human

Who are you?

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Monthly Archives: July 2013

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 Gravel Road

Posted on July 31, 2013 by MuseWriter

7/9/13
Blindly walking down the gravel road
Outlined in wavering oak trees mixed in with pines
I count each forward step, grateful for the movement
Thankful to have the strength to be standing at all
The random rocks scattered below foot
Offer an uncomfortable pathway to travel
Carefully avoiding sharp edges protruding from the dirt
Sucking in breath as one quick glance fails to notice the pointy canine of a monster
Fangs out, hungry for flesh
Bloodthirsty stranger claiming ownership
Gouging the arch of my left foot, leaving a trail of blood behind.

A Master of the Call

Posted on July 30, 2013 by MuseWriter

Passion seeping, seething to begin to tell the story of an introduction of the most extraordinary kind
A kinship of identity, feeling apart of something at the very first discovering of voice.

A master of the call patiently carrying out thoughts and creating thinkers who long to continue the traditions:
Of thought provoking, mind boggling, completely ordinary phrases that trump any trained structure taught to little boys and girls;
Who paint pretty flowers that represent the generics of an underground world, but not him.

Disregarding the perfectly placed soapbox and stepping off into the crowd, emerging self to penetrate the barriers of the weak mind
One of the brightest stars known to our eyes,
I can still see him burn, burn, burn
Igniting the fuel in those who feel alive.

1 + 1

Posted on July 27, 2013 by MuseWriter

The backdrifters:

A picturesque display of the 2D sideways view of the

stick figures climbing

The stairs into oblivion

Is this transition so modern, so irrelevant

To anything meaningful at all?

Patiently we tremble

Buckling from the strength “borrowed”

for the good of the people and all of the good that will do

Masking consideration with indifference

So as to not draw any unwanted attention

Of what he said/she said

Have you heard what he said/she said?

Would it be alright if we could

replace uniformity with a new kind of thinking;

to save lives?

To promote the spiritual awakening within the familiar

memories of everyone gazing at the stars,

Those curious enough to see past the barriers and restrictions

of our world

and forget the basic math of 1 + 1

Where are the heroes?

Posted on July 26, 2013 by MuseWriter

Making friends with the little face in the blanket

An onlooker with a friendly smile to offer

at just the right glance, to see the full bearded grin

Knowing me, myself, deeper

perceiving all of the idiosyncrasies to claim, that I navigate

Giving in, to someone

Anyone relatable to vulnerability

An abstract being committed to acknowledging

every ounce of the commitment to waiting

Even if I dive down into the deepest depths of the ocean,

just for a quick dip, every once in a while.

To find balancing minds that comprehend a particular understanding

Those who challenge all of these pent-up frustrations;

Every building block balancing on the last square’s sharp corner

Escaping face, running away

Blaming those who claim to penetrate the thought

but then falter when the war horn starts blowing;

Cowards that brave the training but abandon the reality

Of it all, if this is all

just a daytime act of the fairytale world

Who are our warriors?

Where are the heroes?

Everything, or Nothing At All

Posted on July 24, 2013 by MuseWriter

6-14-13

 

Soft humming, whispering through the dark

A song that carries a familiar melody,

a voice that I hear often

Deep, harmonious onto itself, splitting moments of sound into a stereo

speaker of what is being said, sang

I understand what it costs, to be yourself and forget

the thoughts that project, interject

from everyone screaming around

The intensity is loud, overbearing, uncontrollable

What of this awareness if there is no one to see it?

Time always proves the existence of man

To see him stumble, fall, and still rise, to lift himself up;

True will; impenetrable determination,

until light is eventually extinguished

Is this the song, the meaning behind the feeling suggested;

An introduction to the power of what rules the world?

The angel sings, echoes softly within the breeze

Catching on the particles that reflect off of the moon

They flitter, flutter

Dancing to the flow

Little fairies of a fraction of light to behold

I hum out a wish to further push the troops along

A breath of exhaling frustrations searching for the mutual understanding

of companionship

and what that means, if I could believe in everything,

or in nothing at all.

Old Shoes

Posted on July 23, 2013 by MuseWriter

Someone I once met, was an advocate of shoes

“The most important aspect of walking,”

Said an older man with a learning soul

Enjoying the day, enjoying the people

Showing off a younger brand than expected;

However, they were all white,

I’ve heard that’s cliché?

But he didn’t know, and if he did, he didn’t care

Happy as a satisfied customer invested in selling his satisfactions with another

Who happened to be me, as I reflected on

The time I first put my shoes on my feet

One year, maybe two; my disregarded

necessity of almost everyday wear

Mostly gray with a rubber sole of neon pink,

Perfect balance of my kind of fashion, comfort

If I have to be convinced of buying new footwear, it must be easy to find the replacement;

This, coming from a skeptic

I’m hesitant to admit that my shoes are old.

If you were here today…

Posted on July 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

Laying back, ground warm and soft

Wrapped in your arms, on the comfort of an old quilt

Pretending to care about the stars shining overhead;

Making that a reason to be here anyway

Whatever works, I’ll take it.

This is how I would imagine it

if you were here today…

Ink Blotches

Posted on July 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

A festival for summer to gather the thinkers

Collecting names and creating futures one by one

Marching them in like cattle to be herded and sorted

Ironically matching identity of self into what self stands against

Creating an image, creating a challenge, creating a burden?

As a child I wander; not searching, nor pretending

Was this to witness a gift or a plot of destruction?

Another thought added to the list of doubt and pessimistic questions;

But I think everyone has some of those

Whether locked up in the moldy storage trunk, long forgotten in the attic

Or, burning in eyes until question mark ink blotches stain face black

Music

Posted on July 21, 2013 by MuseWriter

The melody is soft, playing slow,

harmonizing air to produce the flow of sound

With vibrations thundering through to the heart, keeping beat or count,

of how much life costs

A transcending thought from artists to listeners, connected by the

shared moments of understanding

One medium yearning to strip naked of bodily self and

give soul to all;

the other, open to enlightenment and

characterizing feelings and emotions,

empathy

A satisfying gift to witness, to experience

Assisting in quenching the thirst for inspiration by saving the full glass of motivation

for the dry tongued, those of the communicators

of mouth and word;

conducting phrases of letters and

weaving them into various

sequences of belief(s)

Only those worthy of

interpreting voice should ever

listen to music at all.

Anew

Posted on July 21, 2013 by MuseWriter

Searching the crowd

Dedicatingly scanning faces for someone, anyone

My body as self-aware, before mind could respond;

maybe humbled by the overall feeling

Foreshadowing that any particular day may have an outcome

that defines the rest of life

Sometimes fate leaves the harder decisions up to the Universe

But not always; sometimes one’s given the chore of deciphering

choice from careful consideration

Although I find balance best, it’s harder to be patient for the motion to end

Carrying the weight of the world and assessing the burden of mankind against

the sky and the trees, the prairie grass and the seas, or the mountains and the river streams;

The natural magical wonders that feed the curious,

tempting retreat outside of any kind of stressful physical means:

I envision an oasis of pine and oak leaves bordering out

green edges against the blue summer sky

A slight breeze to shuffle the air and freshen the mood,

to create energy and movement

When I picture myself standing inside my utopian safe-haven,

I am not alone

But with you, a new lover of heart who

answers to the call of the beat when heard

Imprinting empathetic minds, living in the world anew.

If it is…

Posted on July 16, 2013 by MuseWriter

If it is song, then we can sing

If it is prayer, then we can pray

If it is silence, then we can think

Too many if, then contemplations to consider

I find myself remembering less when I focus on trying to figure out more, details

Of this and that, of her and him

Faces that shift shape and illuminate questions of recognition

But are we that familiar?

I ask for forgiveness from the deep vibrations of my bones

Can you hear the echo bouncing off of the muscles and tendons

digging down into the deep, dark edges of my soul;

Hiding from the reaper, seeking within?

Belief seems fake and brittle these days

But I’ve never understood the belief in the falsity of placing so much meaning on

any particular word, words, to outline:

Some definition of phrase to listen to or compose for a muse’s kind of gathering

Would you listen to the voices calling out random names,

Quiet whispers dancing on the erratic changes of the wind?

The identity of a character determined by the mind of the reader,

And who hears, what is being interpreted the “correct” way;

to trust in communicating and giving up on all other

interpretations to shuffle through.

If it is song, then we can sing

If it is prayer, then we can pray

If it is silence, then we can think

 

The Monster Within

Posted on July 14, 2013 by MuseWriter

Glancing down through the storybook
Fumbling through the pictures and stopping on a familiar scene of intense contrasts
Background black but outlining a lone figure illuminated by an opened door’s light
Just a shadow caught in-between the different realities and wondering how to connect
As the true self opens up, the metaphorical sharp teeth grow into a snarl
The monster within scaring away the person who finally solves the riddle, whatever the answer may be?
Understandable resentments that pop when squeezed hard enough,
And ooze a tainted green slop of contemplation; not that it really matters.

I feel a sense of understanding; wondering why darkness seems so stereotypically engulfing?
This liminal body, reflecting curiosity into the story
Always tempted by learning, perhaps addicted to the questions asked as chance happens
I try to focus, least of all, on the other aspect of individuality;
That we often find ourselves exploring these thoughts alone.

No One

Posted on July 14, 2013 by MuseWriter

Should I cover mouth and smile,
Through eyes so as to cause less discomfort?
What child stands upright at the break of learning how to walk?
There is no one who can blindly lift themselves up;
every pathway cannot be claimed, walked
We are a body of matches and pairs
Silhouettes of shadows and meaning
To disgrace oneself by judging the unknown;
no one is good enough to predict the many faces of the future
But if you have opinions to share
Please let me offer;
if you can’t believe than get the fuck out.

Monthly Archives: June 2015

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JUN25

Heart

Heart don’t fail me now

The room’s spins are keeping me facedown

Looking at my feet planted on the ground

Ignoring everything trying to stay calm

My own thoughts screaming out

You’re stupid, you’re sick, you’re all on your own!

Oh heart, tell me something else

I’m feeling disappointed in myself

Even with you and your love around

I’m better than what I am and what I know

I’m stronger than what’s left of me now

Desperate to cash in my promises to this World

Beat heart! Shake off the dusty rubble

Open up to purge out the damages done

With a butter knife slice down the middle

Its jagged lacerations driving the blood

Separating the pieces into two parts of myself

One half for my soul and one half for my love

Heart don’t fail me now

Feeling the look of those pair of brown eyes

Staring back at me with only love and life

Ignoring everything except for us

My own thoughts screaming out

Don’t fuck this up girl, this is what you want!

 

The Spectator

burning-incense-2

You lighted the match

I inhaled you in as if you had been reborn as the lingering swirls of smoke floating from the flame-tipped incense sitting on the bedside table

While we sat consumed by the sentient darkness of substance billowing from beginning to end in and around our heads and enveloping my spirit

The room lay crowded of these jealous loners with their drifting extensions turning into little ghost dancers that veiled our space within my illuminated nebula

As I, The Spectator, perceived bursting bright sparks of color that stimulated my humanistic animation of awareness into a series of shadows and aromas

My senses continuously manipulating the meanings of (in)sanity while replacing recent musings to help highlight the desires residing beneath the hazy surfaces

You are here

We confronted the distorted facades of mercy through the minutes of time, acting as one soul together to escape the labyrinth of this universal divide

While connected, we forget to suffer but not merely as a defiant act of existence, we LIVE creating and changing nature to distort our sight and alter this godless transcendence

All of the while being overshadowed by the face of god hanging on the wall with his tick-tock ticking and buzzes of shrilling announcements of opinions chiming in

Little ditties of knowledge dictating the role to play during the hours of our daily lives, if only to help us understand that there is no escaping the fluidity of blood

Knowing that the body and the mind follow the soul through the discussions of self and continue to travel through the spaces of being to the heart

You are me

We willfully remain attached to the weight of the World however, finding solace within our effervesced embrace of arms and legs, heat and skin

Ignoring the sneering gestures of jealousies and misunderstandings, the many masks that can appear even from those who emphasize friendship and solidarity

But we claim each other through this built up intensity of psyche to provide each self with the layers of the emotional responses available to the soul and the body

Offering anything and everything to one another and creating our own power to pass out to the rest of this fickle place of one moment versus the next or, one person’s thoughts versus our own

We choose our fate by escaping it all within this shielding entwinement of essence floating from the heat of my passions to You as we burn together to flame the torch, turning this World blue one blaze at a time

Monthly Archives: June 2014

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Bite into the Onion

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

Ghost Horses

photo (10)

 

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?

 

Dear Child

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.

 

 

***

‘Keep My Head’

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?

 

***

Monthly Archives: June 2013

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There once was a boy named…

Posted on June 26, 2013 by MuseWriter

 

Stepping through the round door

Walking into Bilbo’s lair;
Searching for the tome with all of the answers:
A trimmed leather book of pages

read over and over

Full of childhood memories
Explanations of yesterday and the

few days before that
Expanding awareness along the

country Shire lane of existence, to experience

and create something new

Even if it doesn’t mean anything to anyone,

but you and me.

Narrating into view a little tin roof to offer protection

from the elements in the physical being
Knowing that understanding is hearing

and that there is nothing to creating your own reality;

believing in a Tolkien story and then

pushing forward to read something new,

to imagine the impossible.

This whicker rocking chair lifting forward to front
Tossing back to feel the movement
Enjoying a summer’s storm and

reading happy novella stories;
Predictable beginnings starting with the one line announcement

of him or her
My current selection of hoarding

moments to remember, begins with
“There once was a boy named…”

Summer Storm

Posted on June 26, 2013 by MuseWriter

One quick flash and then it’s gone, the light ceasing to exist but lingering seconds later, leaving little stars in our eyes
Extinguished by embarrassment of the amount of power used to create what could never be heard unless it’s so close it ignites
A loner wondering who would chance pain on the undefinable expectations of understanding from a passing eye;
Never letting go of the hope that lightning can strike somewhere twice, to feel the familiarity

The clouds roll, boil, before the explosion of sound; the thundering escape of air
Bodies self-consciously tensing every muscle, constricting movement as if preparing for some unknown distraction or threat
Knowing what is to come but fearing it all the same
Eyes closed, all from the warning shine of mercy;
The bolt only collecting one victim, at one exact target spot;
a finger of redemption

The noise travels greedily, trying to consume as many as possible
A nuclear explosion spreading out in an invisible black wave of intimidation, annihilation
Releasing from the puff of breath that had been held in;
Always the dramatic entrance, successfully poisoning the silence
Shattering the protective covering of the recycled stale air

Such a childish mind paired with a devil’s grin; dangerous or normal?
(Defining normal as whatever it is right now)
Trying to decipher the thoughts of the clouds through their bipolar cries for help
Being forced into contemplation and reflection, kindness
Forgetting body and soul and focusing on the sacrifice:
Summer storms always offer plenty of rain.

Burn

Posted on June 19, 2013 by MuseWriter

 

The wounds are fresh, pulsating with heat
Friction on the heart, subtle reminders that claim to destroy
Sending the troops out to barrel through the floodgates
Breaking, dam, damage
A mind wanders, follows a path
Looping through the gumdrops and the lollipops of Candy Land
Taking a break at every few steps to enjoy the sugar
Seeking the high off of the wanting
Much unlike the typical junkie
Never able to shoot up love like a drug
Or smoke a roll of desire, burning it to flame, red to black
A passion lasted through the ash of fire;
The worst trait of battle in any kind of war
But we all feel it burn every once in awhile.

Enough

Posted on June 18, 2013 by MuseWriter

A flick of a finger catches my eye, a glance down to see dirty hands

Dark mud caked under almost each nail

Disfiguring the usual picture typically in view and

What I see, gazing at this familiar sentient attachment;

controlling more than I can myself

Worker’s palms, gracefully raised up, together to offer up my love

To everyone, the Universe has said enough;

Murky water running clean.

 

Intensity

Posted on June 18, 2013 by MuseWriter

 

Drip drop the water falls
Echoing, bouncing, floating in mixed patterns within the bathroom walls
The faucet off and running, as a constant reminder of the time that is ticking
An audible reference of the faces I’ve been running, away
From what we miss within ourselves
And to find it once more
Devilish smiles seduce, suggesting more that’s left to come
The worst part of it all, the ones fallen are the hardest to trust
No matter how many hours of lives we meet, intensity always finds some sort of meaning, new discoveries, commonalities
But then, I always get carried away;
The beat is always so loud when we’re close.

Heartfelt Emotion

Posted on June 16, 2013 by MuseWriter

 

Do I just sit and watch
As you force your hands on the driver’s wheel
Grabbing old leather that feels more comfortable in my hands
In my car,
I don’t need a chauffeur to escort, distort my view of the world
I know that when I stop searching
He will be here
I hate being patient, I hate being ignorant
But that’s what life is:
A waiting game
And figuring out who and what is worth any heartfelt emotion

Connected to the Unknown

Posted on June 9, 2013 by MuseWriter

 

Digging down, clawing, tearing back flesh
Where is the heart?
The incessant pumping, thumping, developing
Madness engulfs the mind
To where the light is dim, distanced away from the sun where the blood runs black
To a sordid colony of imprisoning despair
Followed by a few trips back into the tunnel, funneling down into the center of my soul
Connected to the unknown of those hidden, hiding,
laughing, crying.

A Bard’s Muse

Posted on June 7, 2013 by MuseWriter

 

Ending each day with a statement, one that ends in an inflection of a question.

To feel the physical touch from the fluctuations

that flow freely from your mouth, your lips

Words to describe, to enlighten, to enkindle

All of us who keep searching for more:

Answers, situations, people

Whispers of light, featherlight, that slide over my ears;

Floating from the top of cartilage to the bottom of lobe

Closing my eyes to see the god standing before me

Of the Olympian stories

The kings and queens of mythology, of make believe?

Here, I find myself chasing

One human mortal of the calmest kind of endless possibilities

Addicted to the grace that calls out when answered;

To find the last part of self and put together the rest of our lives.

The air moves, as if growing, if boiling in anticipation

Or maybe I’m only feeling the anxiety of the Earth

The shifts as you get closer

My bard of every love song that I could believe in

Knowing more than this life could ever afford,

To be purchased, or to be bought and sold;

An offering or a curse of awareness, a common

Problem or burden from the window

I’ve been gazing through;

Contemplating who, answering the same. Always questioning, “What are you waiting for?”

Merry-Go-Round

Posted on June 3, 2013 by MuseWriter

 

A clown marks the start of another ride
Pushing the red button before pulling the trigger
A merry-go-round of children laughing;
Masking the cluster of images swirling in their heads
Masters of temptation, grabbing hold of the nearest mount
Legions of horses, zebras, lions, every face imaginable;
Chasing the last return of a glance ahead.

As a champion of excitement, a wanderer through the torn,
yellowed bodies mapping out the ranks;
Crinkled pieces of scroll, that roll out to be told
to insert a spiritual boldness to the heroes
Ready, waiting to listen.

Grasping the reins of my own companion, golden stallion, unicorn
Guiding the flow of thought with a flick of the wrist
Gliding above them all, watching and waiting for the carnival to end.

The battle endures, winding round and round
Can we have a victory if we’re close to ending it with nothing at all?
What defines a truth without the pathway to the lie
And what lies ahead?

One magnified view of the billowing dust cloud approaching from the distance
The marshmallow cumulonimbus blowing in on a frontal attack of corruption
Disguising stubbornness with determination
Underestimating the ground that claims each footstep

Of the riders as they step off of the stage when the whirlwind is over
Will we find ourselves walking again with nowhere to go?

Monthly Archives: May 2015

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Walls

Posted on May 3, 2015 by MuseWriter

 

 

There are no feelings within

the Walls of the mind

Complete thoughts firing synapses

through flesh and muscle

The brain functions as a

mechanical device

housing memories like a computer

constantly downloading

worthless data

Secret storage spaces of environmental

and instinctual reactions

That guide the responses of self from subconscious afflictions to

Questions we ask ourselves over and over

Age isn’t a relevant factor within

The epiphany

Only the progressing stages of heartache and pain do we recognize

Chapters building up to tell a shaded view of the stories

This idea of a place for the outcasts to introduce the variety of life that exist outside the Walls

And what that means to the World

The Bastards of situational learning

who hide behind the understanding of

the obtainment of ‘knowledge’

Choosing choice and creation as a

slave to temptation of beauty

Or something like it

The breathers of life

The shadows of death

Legions of heavy heads contemplating

every thought

When the mind goes from basic functioning

and dips into the layers within

We forget / We forget / We forget

 

Monthly Archives: May 2014

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Just another day…

Posted on May 21, 2014 by MuseWriter

Stumbling about
the elite of kamakazi grasshoppers
Divebombing from root to leaf to bark to stone
Criss-crossing across the
bleached pavement before
my step catches up
The tall grass stalks sway
And the shadows mimic
the trees overhead
The colorful movement and
mixture of every green
Imaginable

Then there was John Lennon
driving a yellow vw bug
Glasses and all,
Reincarnation of man and car
Checking into the 904
Or wherever that road
leads down to
Somewhere

At the end, my pathway was blocked
by slimy demons asking
the questions everyone is
wondering, not that it really matters
But there they were with all
of the intimidation that only
half-wit monsters can muster
More impressed with portrayal
of deception, rather than a
More relatable diversion, like,
Whatever

Just another day…

 

The Book

Posted on May 11, 2014 by MuseWriter

At the bottom of a box I found a book

A thrill, really

An excitement to begin someone else’s story,

without really knowing anything about

any of it

 

The pages turned, the words placed elegantly

across the off-white surface

Calligraphy adorning the beginning

of each chapter, the first letter of

the first word

 

The writer was good in displaying his craft

Creating time portals for lost souls

to try to find their bodies again

A fascinating relation of one person haunting her while

she haunted him

The battle of love

retold in the countless war stories

of the oldER, ordER

 

I opened the book wide

Folded it out and laid it upon the wooden

desk, as I continued to

flip, flip, flip

not noticing the time

passing or the music echoing somewhere

from some corner

of the room

 

Until I stopped on open blank pages;

as if it didn’t even exist

The story just ended

 

Memories

Posted on May 9, 2014 by MuseWriter

We were talking

as we always tend to find ourselves

Midconversation, without even realizing

we’ve said anything

Words of explanations to escape the pain of

dealing with it all firsthand

A discharge of the unhappy breath of

a man known as nothing, and me observing;

what is it we claim to believe, really again?

He looked at me with an intensity

that only he could seem to produce

The words spewing from his lips in

a disgusted contempt

A snarl changing the shape

of his face;

as he thought about what he was saying

“NO!”

I said

The only word I was brave enough

to interject his vent

To disrupt his train of thought and offer an

attempt to break through the brick wall

of his layers of strength and of sickness

Overlapping and intertwining

intermixing with the drugs he’s been buying

In result, the mind turning on, off, on, off

A familiar repetition to anyone who’s ever been

afraid to feel

I saw it then, the look in his eyes

The flicker of fire

Somehow he’s managed to

still have a shadow of smoke

burning inside

I couldn’t breathe

As if he needed my breath then

sucked it into himself

to fill himself up with the thoughts

running around in my head

and the feelings that I’ve felt

A quick gaze into my soul to

continue his practices of exploration

Never thinking that he could

open himself up to me

As he stood there vulnerable to comfort

facing in my direction

As if we somehow forgot the threaded string

roping us together

Chest to Chest

There was never a mirror, nor a piece of glass

There are no fairy-tales nor explosive tragic endings

 

There are only the imprinting golden lights of

memories shining in our dreams

Who cares what to believe anymore