Tag Archives: archives

Monthly Archives: May 2013

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Every Word

Posted on May 30, 2013 by MuseWriter

There is a light, an internal glowing sun
Radiating heat throughout the entirety of the world
A belief built up of mortared truths;
Or, thought provoking definitions of feelings expressed.
I believe, more than what’s real to view, of me,

of the unmistakable bonding of a mental language intertwined with faith.
To understand just enough to conceive that more leads to more
These unpredictable side roads that find themselves heavily traveled with those of

us searching for the back way home.
To battle and win against the timeless tickings of today, fight the hidden figure of patience

and submit to eternal prayer;
Or, the self-reflections that illuminate the beating heart, burrowing its tomb within.
Acknowledging all of the players willing to lessen the burden of carrying the weight of the

water pumping out of the ground
The sustenance flowing towards life, engaging in the act of unrealistic domination.
Even when we found ourselves underwater, we knew that we are never really alone
Enough hope offered to help keep afloat from drowning in the layers of theories and plans;

Connecting to sound and listening to every word.

The Last Chapter

Posted on May 25, 2013 by MuseWriter

Permanently stamping the bold letters that spell out “The End”

Realization, that you could wait until after the completion of the last chapter.

What will you do when you remember what it means to be a man, to be human, and feel the guilt resonating from the bottom of heel to each of your sweaty palms?

To allow yourself the freedom to hide your faces behind the random psalms,

organized attention and commitments of social importance,

So that no one can see the many personalities available for view and for purchase;

A kind of fake love offered to the highest bidder

To watch you climb up the social ladder,

Trying to soar higher than all of us who could never compare

As you scout the land for an Utopian spot with the greenest grass,

Examine every blade until you’re sure it’s better than all of the rest

All of the while anchoring yourself down to expectations that

Will haunt you in your sleep, in your dreams, memories that you’ll one day regret

Shutting down any ounce that’s left of acknowledgement,

Encouraging each step towards forgetting what it means to live, to love

To self-reflect and see in yourself that being square will always be enough.

Sitting here with a bucket of rocks, throwing out each memory like smooth rainbow colored skipping stones

Letting go of the only piece of yourself that you left me with,

The questioning, the wondering if you ever loved me at all.

 

Pitter-Patter

Posted on May 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

A pitter-patter knocks out from inside the wall
The creature patrolling the parameters of his forest
For the popular wayward travelers such as Rumpelstiltskin and Red Riding Hood;
Such an awful imagination for a mouse.

Who always comes out, to offer a friendly goodnight
All of the while, only hiding behind the smiles
Of a shady cheek, covered by the various shades of darkness;
bouncing off of the several different glances of the loner’s only possible companion.

As I lie awake, always as of late
I don’t sleep, instead I try to memorize the counting of the sheep, until those said sheep bah out their names and stories; my favorite,
About a little girl and her little lamb
A daughter, child Mary
The objection to the ultimate salvation, to analyze and find specific temptations, as if on a mission to create:
A tender lovingness of youthful compassion, without abandon.

To abandon dreams because I can’t sleep, another opportunity to remember what to think, how to think
Listening to the mouse scurry, as if illustrating his own version of the story
The vermin, or just a thoughtful eye
Perhaps a reincarnation of a true romantic?

Tea

Posted on May 19, 2013 by MuseWriter

A simple pleasure, one sip to drink
Smooth clay ridge fired to perfection, sensual on open lips
One cup, maybe seconds
Steaming, steeping, boiling.

He loves me, He loves me not

Posted on May 17, 2013 by MuseWriter

The beginning petal falls, floating and twirling down until finding its resting place
The first question asked in regretful contemplation and resentment
A hope based off of the encouragement of the task
Keeping hands busy to avoid any idle mischief; temptations that haunt, linger in the shadows, staring in through the window.

The second piece flies, is set loose from its home, tossed aside; familiarity is boring
The truth sets in, of course there is no love, no respect, only judgment and selfishness.
A stem of a flower, an anchor of each fragrant blade, so tall and mighty
Holding up the fragile pieces of color, or at least claiming ownership, never wondering what it means to give itself to the admiring passerby

But when the riddle consumed the last pretty petal, the stem found itself alone
Just another blade of grass lost in the field.

We Succeed

Posted on May 13, 2013 by MuseWriter

I imagined that it was how you would look

Like the heat’s effect on a summer’s pavement

Flashes of an iridescent glowing, painting color on air,

Nothing; complex and magical

Mystical, in the way that makes one believe

To spread an offering of a love so pure, so strong, we can feel its warmth

Enveloping body, covering flesh in the sticky grasping of a humid sweat

Layers of awareness of body and self

And the connection of heat, the wonders of touch

Letting fire consume, tantalizingly engulfing, until the flame burns blue

Only visible through squinted eye

Shielded to protect, to tempt, to restrict

To limit the overall portrait so that

Nothing could ever be said against, to distort the meaning and convince

The mind of action, of punishment?

Only the worse kind of enslavement to endure

But we suffer and we succeed.

PineTrees

Posted on May 12, 2013 by MuseWriter

I am Muse Writer

A temptress of pen to mystify the responses of language

To gauge the limits of what it means to be “human”

and to suffer with the mortal heart;

Such a fragile shell of life, love

Pumping light through veins to fuel the soul

As passion ignites and bursts in certain moments of an unresolved absence of control

Self-inflicted tears to carve the pathways down, from the escaping break of my eyes

To remember the roads traveled, to remember each journey’s lesson

To believe, past the rational mind of a creator’s image;

The mirrored reflection of humanity and how it is represented to the person staring

Like me, into the glassy pane of contemplation

Of imagining a self-image and trying to capture the picture

The Polaroid to determine that who I see is me

Sometimes, I catch a hint of shadow that convinces the eye to glance again, asking to be noticed, remembered

And I travel;

As a creature flying higher than the average liver; a messenger of the night

Soaring over the ocean, wispy tendrils of hair sporadically flowing into the water

Until the forgotten sea monster swallowed me whole;

Being sheltered in the belly of one of Moby Dick’s monster spawn

Accepting the revenge of the memories that plague the inside of the creature’s stomach walls

Until abandoning ship and being spit out into the lost city of Atlantis;

A paradise for lovers.

And why my gift to give is a random thought of awareness that breaks through the night;

That can be seen by starlight, bright flashing beacons of truth that bow down to me, and you

One precious life, a willing heart to guard an Angel, a voice of Heaven

To know a man who outshines the light of the rest, creates a hunger

A thirst for knowledge and a taste of your acceptance in resistance, your calculations and stories

Everything

Because of course, there could never be a writer without a muse,

I decided this under the swaying pine trees of our home.

Crooked Railroad

Posted on May 10, 2013 by MuseWriter

Words to saturate the soul, creep in until you can’t see anything else
Humming tugs of blurred vision, thoughts that interact with more than the glowing glances of the last few moments
Shattering phrases to tempt the mind, to suspend forward motion and bend it a little
A crooked railroad of emotions traveling from city to city,
Underground, out of sight, faster than the speed of light
Digging holes deeper, down into the soil, rooting its new home
The poison seeks, seeps up from beneath the grass
Suffocating those who stop to smell the closest flower

Decorative Cameras

Posted on May 4, 2013 by MuseWriter

photo

Decorative cameras, retinas

Detaching from the surreal pictures that are swimming

Into the gates of hell where everyone is thinking

Contemplating the freeze frame while in the yellow wallpaper waiting room of decision making

Patiently preparing for a visit with the devil himself, sitting in old blue chairs with wooden arms to rest upon

To lean an elbow, and awkwardly gaze, self-analyze, examine,

Reflect, amongst the other dreamers, seekers

Who live dying until the dream exists;

Until the imaginary is real, not just one of the Grimm fairy-tales

Nor, any of the wayside memories;

for children to cherish as significant life lessons

To give certain feelings reasoning, more emotions to embrace the mind

To flow in and out of the barriers and beg to see a little more

To explore, what we all inherently wish to see

Even those who sleep;

Even the engineers, the inventors;

The magicians of the objects of the world

Using resources to create anything at all;

Even them,

With their calculations and evaluations, judgments

To harmonize the thinkers of society

To escape the walls that lock us inside of the 3D boxes

Letting numbers and letters flow interchangeably, shedding light only to those with the deepest sense of living

To understand when a unity is worth sacrificing and developing;

To design the story of a new picture-show movie that,

Will play the entire book of our lives

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Monthly Archives: April 2013

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Meteor Shower

Posted on April 30, 2013 by MuseWriter

Walking, marching, feet trembling

Knocking from the contact touching earth to soul

Connecting in knowledge of grace and truth

Staring straight ahead, calculating a destination;

a sunny piece of grass in between the trees

I continue until I fall, sit, in the middle of the light

Ablaze, controlled, alone

I notice the clouds ahead, glowing in various shades of pink and purple

Puffy masses being fast-forwarded into movement

Tracking the centuries of the world below;

and noting everyone who stops to embrace life, those who love

A scene so powerful, so moving that the ground engulfs me

Pillowing my head and offering protective covering

As if I melted into the soil;

one body, one earth

A lover’s touch to penetrate the warmth and to fuel the strength within

One kindred spirit, a gift of sacrifice

A black night illuminated by stars

On display during the latest meteor shower.

Take a peek…

Posted on April 29, 2013 by MuseWriter

To pluck a single strand, a smooth blade of grass
Cool to the touch, feather light
Consuming perfectness of the Artwork, feeling it seep in while braiding the stem through each finger
The force of pressure, squeezing the drink from one of nature’s mysteries, the nectar of life
Learning to make a plant bleed, humanizing, understanding
Splitting the shaft down the middle
Opening the body up to take a peek inside
Using the sharp edge of a fingernail to conquer and divide
Planting new seeds to grow, to survive.

Connections

Posted on April 26, 2013 by MuseWriter

What is it, that pounds in the pit of stomach, that tastes a bit metallic?
A sharp bite to eat that brings a couple of drops of tears to the corners of my eyes
Reflecting images of memories being replayed in my peripheral vision;
Tempting constant sideways glances to count down the minutes
for just that one look
that one picture
Trying to capture it all,
As a ghost, facing everyone backsides front, all wrong
Offering open hands with determination; consternation?
Always waiting for just a part of an explanation
to feel welcomed, even after spilling out any truth or story
Disregarding modern ways and dialing the numbers of fate on the pay phone, by the theatre where
the grand opening of the new story is featuring
About a boy, who grew up to be a man
A mortal without the limitations of the jaded, the wasted
A new lover’s exhale offering every fresh breath a small prayer;
Requesting them to be sacred gusts of wind to travel,
In a straight line to those connected.

Master Illuminaries

Posted on April 25, 2013 by MuseWriter

I am, just as you are, as we are,
A cluster of master illuminaries, the various torch holders of destiny, a group of multiple ultimate miracles;
Shining their grace into the soil of the Earth
The layers of flesh and dirt, that echo off of the platform at the base of the mountains,
And jump off the cliff into the valleys; Dramatically encircling the territories
Like some sort of scout or invader
The sweet nectar that lies breathlessly awaiting, seeks, is seeking, the steady stream that flows into the sea
The vein that carries the rhythm of Her predictable heartbeat, the blood of her soul
A refreshing swim to remind Her that She’s alive

Forgetting

Posted on April 25, 2013 by MuseWriter

Comfortable, but forced, as if saluting in attention to the flag;

The fabric and the thread of our destiny

What colors will remain when the skies start falling?

I join the ranks of concrete statues,

balancing fact from fiction, truth, or worse, lies

I find, a certain picture brewing, floating to the viewpoint of my eyes

A world of a land and of seas,

A world of guiltless lives and sheltered, coffined deaths;

Acknowledging:

This idea that we are given a reality that fights the tendril hair of knowledge that leads to igniting what we dream

A World with no pipelines, no shipwrecks, no signs of life from anywhere but

From the heart of the Earth, her core of gold,

Pulsating fiery energy to her children she placed above

Who then use it, waste it, ignore it

Lines of tiny ants that march in troops to conquer new goals

To abolish anything original, unless the idea suits the “world,”

However many times She claims She has never once requested any help,

only our love

We seek nourishment, encouragement but trap ourselves by binding to the shackles of narcissism and disappointment,

to add those to the list of accomplishments,

Checking off each box as another step into the assimilation,

Forgetting that there will always be something, anything,

Worth listening to,

To fight for.

 

 

A Starry Night

Posted on April 23, 2013 by MuseWriter

4-8-13

Sitting at a bistro table, in one of the two chairs

Picturing a view of a diamond sky, and being entertained by the crowded streets of the night

My pointed toe traced the outlines of the cobbled stone,

A piece of concrete to record the history of the street;

raw, shiny, from all of the feet before me.

The waiter, a skinny, balding man brought my water and a straw

Two separate pieces laid out before me on the bistro table.

On the marble top that is speckled in brown, beige, and tiny geometric shapes of green

A sturdy image brought to life by Van Gogh in a dream;

Of make-believe, what we seek to define as real

To replay the conversations of the passer-bys of the night, and to question, dissect them.

As my fingers fuddled with the straw paper

Twisted the object, crumpling it, as if trying to figure it out too,

Only in touch and sensitivity;

Making common sense out of inanimate objects, and feelings

Trying to keep my hands busy, to steady the mind focused on the table itself, the bubble that I put in place to surround

Ignoring those who live in the apartments above, my reverie

And not looking at the others who may be:

Eating.

Dreaming.

Misdirectionally Thinking.

Bleating;

There’s nothing worse than distractions during our most important conversations, interactions.

The bubble succeeds in sheltering the lost minds who find themselves wondering,

always thinking, about everything.

But it’s tight, sometimes suffocating;

The force of the task creates awkward lapses in recreating,

Anything sensible at all.

It’s amazing how the barriers we create can feel like all of the weight of the World.

I fumbled with the wrapper, daring a few glances towards the doorway,

The gate of the future, blocked off to the sight of everyone, except me, from my seat

Still no one entered.

Losing patience of strength and pride, I contemplated rising, leaving, escaping.

Too many thoughts are too many enough.

But then, at the height of my anxiety, almost the last step up before the leap,

I felt a hand on my shoulder and knew that you had arrived.

The constant flow of penetration disappeared at that moment, and it was quiet.

It’s unmistakably rare to find ones to share the weight of the world.

To not feel alone at a picturesque marble bistro table,

Underneath a starry night.

Heartbeat

Posted on April 23, 2013 by MuseWriter

The echoing last seconds of a boom of thunder lingered within the waking moments of memory
Flashes of light blinding, even through painted eyelids, afraid to open
A storm of importance, demanding to be heard, to be seen, felt
A single dance partner impatient to start moving
I collapsed into awareness, jumping out into the blackness;
For the moon and the stars had shed away their shine to give all attention to the flashes that penetrated the night
The white explosions of blue, gold, and green;
Shards flying off into the fragments of the living; Earth
The Storm, expressing its determination of telling a story, trying to be heard
Given the brief luxury of the creation of wind and water,
Binding air particles that recklessly spin faster, upward, to start a rhythm that’s trance-like,
Blinding; pounding: the lover’s heartbeat.

Boundaries

Posted on April 6, 2013 by MuseWriter

How many steps ahead is the subconscious intellect?
The telescopic third-eye,
Blinking into an open window of time
Where everything means nothing,
Of what we see;
Of what we seek and believe.
A hazy glow, encircles the picture playing in front of me:
Of a child chasing a remote-control car,
Of the cardinal that sits at my window,
The little girl that mourns over the dead bird;
What is it, that we dream?
To exist within the conformities of time, and place,
To understand what it means that nothing has boundaries;
And to be a slave to them all.

Murder

Posted on April 5, 2013 by MuseWriter

Looking down, I see a tiny blade protruding from my chest

Wounded

Watch, as the thick crimson flows down in a thirsty trail from my heart

Dying

The pool, turning black at my feet,

As in the representation of the extinction of life; and it is

The tar-like edges clinging to my skin,

Covering the pink flesh

I’m falling

Fading out,

Clouding vision,

And I am alone

Dead

The murderer, refusing to sacrifice, ran away

 

April 2, 2013

Posted on April 2, 2013 by MuseWriter

If there were an instrument of Heaven,

It wouldn’t be the harp,

nor the flute, the clarinet, or the trombone.

It would be the piano;

Mixing the different moments of sound

Into the stories of the world

to flow freely, stream-like, winding around the various twisted letters.

To caricaturize their meaning

Inserting contextual lines instead of placing images,

to understand, is to appreciate the living;

What it means to live.

I love

so as to find the love in others,

the ones left undiscovered to me yet.

The majority of friends who,

compliment the shared community of time spent

Creating;

Minds of philosophical masters;

like in the great classics.

To express the knighthood among the learned;

to continue the traditions.

Who is bothered to stand taller,

than the limits of physical proportions?

I know I am.

Red Light

Posted on April 2, 2013 by MuseWriter

Today, I felt the kiss of spring

As if I were embraced by the woman in the wind,

She hugged me

I could feel her warmth;

A motherly touch that promised of love.

 

Her long fingers strewn through my hair

Catching on a few amber curls

My windows down, to stay connected

I heard her talking, mixed within the music

The noninvasive compilation of instruments playing;

In ceremony, the birds chirping

Along with the exact rhythm and melody,

It felt like Heaven.

 

A minute at a red light to offer a moment of reflection,

And prayer

One where the Universe finally understood;

Could feel my need,

Then forced Its hymn

The music playing a light piano with:

Translucent waves of harmony

I happened to notice the sky at that moment

A blue so pure,

Completely magical

I could get lost in that ocean forever;

The only view to supplement the subconscious listening.

 

But as it seems now

At least most days

Reality consumes

And I’m forced to follow

The line of traffic

When the light turns green.

Puzzle Pieces

Posted on April 1, 2013 by MuseWriter

The rounded puzzle edges were spread out across the table

Their splash of mixed colors thrown carelessly together

An explosion of rainbow that added up to form the big picture

Of some unimportant field with blooming wildflowers

As a portrayal, it’s not an example of terrific photographic artwork;

Just a field, another grassy plain that awakens us to its declarations,

By sprouting colorful rainbow temptations

Or, at least that’s what I gathered, but it was the actual puzzle fragments;

Themselves, that caused stop for attention

How can cardboard evoke such feeling?

Relating to the trials and triumphs of picking up the pieces,

And saying farewell to the parts of me that I’ve lost;

The missing puzzle shapes that imperfect the overall vision

There is no reasonable order of the pieces that remain

Put together, they display empty holes that have been dug down deep to the pits of Hate

The heat cauterizing each new breach to be plugged with a distorted rosy scar,

Never to be puzzled over; as if in punishment of losing the allotment forever

But mixed within together, the puzzle pieces put into a pile,

They collectively seem whole

There is no such thing as a

missing core outlined by a cutoff print of green weeds and tall grass.

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…

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.

 

Monthly Archives: February 2013

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The Norm

Posted on February 25, 2013 by MuseWriter

I shrugged in sarcastic narcissism,
Of course everyone got the joke.
As a creature molded to analyze
I constantly try to self-replicate myself into the norm;
It’s safe, a nice comforting cocoon, the norm.
An obvious cliche stepford kitchen recipe
But the norm is always actualized from diversity
The new beginnings that created multiple personalities
Stages of metamorphosis to write down in history.
I am a masked face to pretend to relate.

 

To Be Happy

Posted on February 24, 2013 by MuseWriter

It’s hard to begin to express the sheer frustration and depression I fall into when you leave. Although your body lingers, your mind has lost it’s way. The pathway to self-destruction on speed. A numbing embrace and a glimpse of a light, so you use. To keep a handy vial on hand, mimics the guidance of friends, pushing you away from everyone. And you do. Your self-confidence issues are portrayed, by the mean words you say, when you’re not you. How important do I weigh in the narcissistic world playing in everyone’s heads? What would you say if you were given the chance to conquer it all or, to be happy?

 

Pointless

Posted on February 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

As a cockroach, the ugliest parasite of them all

I am free, but pointless

Black antennas and beady eyes, they consume

The world is on fire but the bug always prevails

A grim reaper of destruction and chaos,

What have I become?

A monster of death?

A watcher, a listener, a schizophrenic creeper?

To be an addict’s last witness and give out his dying wish

We all collectedly suffer;

To always be alone and afraid…

 

My Miniature Vault

Posted on February 13, 2013 by MuseWriter

My miniature vault, a glass storage jar, sits on the table

In its own little spot, next to the monte carlo cigar box

As an object of character, it represents my freedom, my rebellion, my sweet descent

My little piece of sanity that keeps me contained

A late bloomer to the bud of the most contentious flower

I hear every poet’s favorite color is green

I hope so…

Posted on February 12, 2013 by MuseWriter

The walls are pounding,
Quick, loud beats that mimic my heart.
The room is always illuminated by the tv,
A reality of fiction and demons of temptation.
Where is our salvation?
Where is the harmony of perfection and ecstatic bliss?
They say that everything happens for a reason,
But I won’t stay here pretending that I don’t notice.
Am I a threat, a calculable mission,
A potential cause for confusion of emotion?
Oh God, I hope so.

Blood

Posted on February 11, 2013 by MuseWriter

I looked down, red caught in my peripheral vision

A few seconds passed of shocked contemplation

Mixed within the natural expression, was blood

 

A Dreamer (part 2)

Posted on February 9, 2013 by MuseWriter

A dreamer is

the medium to life that puzzles together

the miracles of the Universe.

He isn’t godly or holy;

He isn’t a wizarding character of fantasy.

A dreamer is a creator of hope;

and with hope,

life begins…

 

February 9, 2013

Posted on February 9, 2013 by MuseWriter

Softly, somewhere, a piano sings

A whispering tune that I have never heard

It’s my hope, the sound of the keys is encouraging

My own fairy tale, just without the violation of words

And I find myself remembering, or at least believing, that

I could remember the place of collective self and happiness

It’s without Greed, the killer, the monster that will devour the world;

A plague that ravages you from the inside.

Legs shaking under the steering wheel, I hide it

Blue lights flashing in the rear-view mirror, an intrusion of the night, they hurt my eyes

A confusing warning, a paranoia sponging up the awkwardness

In that moment, I flash-forwarded to a million scenarios of what was in my pocket

The system is corrupt and weak

But we still believe it

We are abstract clouds that wander through the fields, their sheep

Somehow lost in this crossfire of a country’s desire to everything

 

Hoarder of Memories

Posted on February 7, 2013 by MuseWriter

There once lived a man who claimed he could fly.
He said he was a true pilot of practiced skill,
Also known as the difficult type, but he was loved by us all;
and their colorful words and phrases depicted him well.
This man loved, as so many romantic men do,
Like his whole body was roasting on fire.
The acrid smoke clouding his judgement;
The heavy heat making living unbearable.
A gift was offered, it was long ago;
A gift that everyone has forgotten,
But the man who flies can see the world,
He’s become a hoarder of memories that don’t belong to him.
He suffers now, afraid of what he might remember;
Because she doesn’t.
How many lives are allowed in one sense of time?
If there is a favorable notion why you hold them so close,
Then, it’s okay to divulge the available details.

 

Butterflies

Posted on February 4, 2013 by MuseWriter

Butterflies, how do they fly?

Little velvet wings that shine like stained glass in the sun.

Such a delicate life;

An explorer of illusion made for beauty and wonder.

 

The Monarch of the tree paints it a fiery orange;

Orange has always been my favorite color.

The battle for the tree is illuminating;

It’s so remarkable, this insignificant magnificence of a whisper

 

Monthly Archives: October

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Three years ago this month I decided to start a blog. I didn’t know it at the time but I was beginning a project that would affect my life in so many different ways. Thank you for being a part of my journey as a communicator/friend. I hope to see the same avatar faces in the following three years to come 🙂

Happy October everyone!

Monthly Archives: October 2012

4-19-12

The air is stagnant, suffocating my breath

A bitterness halos

Sickness invades the mind, are we lost?

Gravity is the enemy, catching every fall

Nothing satisfies, a vessel empty to be used

It’s a pity we’re not as powerful as we dream

Human-ness betrays the robotic functions of the day

Another tool to be used and then thrown away

To keep my mouth shut and to stare straight ahead, this is my sanction

The twisted thoughts ball up as they’re left unsaid

Afraid to hurt, afraid to honestly portray

I want to be alone when I come undone

There is no one to pacify these feelings in my soul

My body is mine, my mind is out of control

To appease all, to lose a sense of self

I can appreciate their warmth but I can’t handle their guilt

Mirror on the wall of faded glories

Who do you subjectify this evening?

Do their haunts let you forget yours?

Is it because she’s the one they think of?

Or, do they attack the weak?

Ruby Ring

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March 29, 2012

Ruby Ring

What is it that I’m looking for?

Too many mental temptations to contemplate

I lack focus; the world is at my disposal.

Or, am I to her?

I go through my day, as I am

Always questioning the response to my complacency

Is it truth that will make me understand?

Or, is it the upmost uncertainty?

Mother Earth of the Universe, what do your stars say?

They twinkle and they sparkle, casting their summer’s dream

Do the heavens look down on me?

Or, am I alone unseen?

A facilitator to the robot

The factory is a scary place

The machine grows larger; its oils reek

Or, the epitome of Utopia?

Tonic scatters, the pictures fly

Flashes of epileptic static to supplement the mind

Wisdom holds, as long as the books

Or, will we always be fighting?

Too many of those, too many of this and that

We revolve around the paper of green leaves

To plant more, so to spend

Or, a long, tiresome shift?

Give us this day, our daily bread!

But we must wait until the day after tomorrow

Our Big friends like to make our decisions

Hoarders of power that govern the world

I am nothing, a sheep in the land

A pretty face to play pretend

What is it that I’m looking for?

Maybe it’s a final sunny spot to stand

A lost soul ripped apart

Wishing to come back together again

Are we here composed?

A colony of redemption to inspire?

My iron fist betrays me by displaying my ruby ring

A picture of blood to demonstrate my mood

A fashion statement that I created

A symbol of proof

Firefly, I am a firefly

Joy flashing mysteriously in the night

A kindler of fairy dreams

A life to liberate

A rose adorns the striped black suit

The man we all know

A face, a voice, a picture of Freedom

Or, the mask of a traitor?

There is only one house and it sits on a hill

Columns of history scream out

The 50 great icons are remembered and stored

Or, our chains to the anchors?

What is it that I’m looking for?

A bright light as I fade out

A life beyond the life I’m born

Or, the ruby ring?

A Quilt of Layers

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February 16, 2012

A Quilt of Layers

Blue skies have made an appearance

As the wispy, translucent clouds beg for attention

The first wave of heat creeps into the window

Light to illuminate the faces

Basking in their own warmth, one arm tossed protectively over body

No being dares to disturb the perfect picture of humanity

Ever slowly, does the beam of life spread through the pane

Prisms of color refract and portray

Stirring now, as if touched themselves by the sun

He is calling out to be welcomed

The souls appear, two become one

Both now are awake but drugged in intensity

This liminal state that shadows the room

Blocks out the glow from beyond the glass

Heart onto heart the bodies collide

Two smiles welcome the day

Laughter, chirping, music, a beautiful chaos surrounds

The two who are one cherish all sounds

Time takes hold as they say goodbye

The sun is impatient to take back each life

The rays fan up and over the Earth

Warming them, now that they’re apart

Lovingly, does the fever envelope

To disguise the missing touch, to soothe them

As the falling sheet of light is blanketed

The two souls reunite to share their sanction

Once more, as the Bella Luna guards the pair

Life is as it is, a quilt in layers