Tag Archives: change

Teeter-Totter

Standard

 

seesaw

http://i1.wp.com/www.mbird.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/seesaw.jpg

 

It’s your turn to rise higher on the teeter-totter

The momentum slows as the weight of mind gets heavier

up, down, up, down

We follow the motions accordingly

Pushing self harder off ground to claim the highest authority

Friends on the playground, enemies of the mind

Must be stronger! faster! smarter! to WIN this life

up, down, up, down

Puppets to one another as our fragile strings sway

Sneaking in and out of thought as the hanging tendrils fray

Assuming ownership of answers from our unasked questions

Admiring self to prove worth, especially when others show weakness

up, down, up, down

Your success doesn’t endanger the promises of my own

Your intelligence doesn’t discredit what I’ve learned

Your beauty doesn’t make me any less than myself

The hate builds with every created comparison we choose to accept

up, down, up, down

The balance shifts as we continue our impasse

Schoolkids fighting for domination of attention

Stopping to take notice when opinions of ridicule seem best

Using chance to display rank with each hasty judgement

up, down, up………………………………………..

 

I am grateful for some quiet alone time. ❤

Advertisements

New Song!

Standard

Hey everyone! This fall has been a busy, music filled/inspired time for me and I can’t wait to share some of the stuff I’ve been working on. Unfortunately, I’ve had less time to focus on my poetry/prose but I’ve been lucky enough to be featured as a writer on a couple of poetry websites, which is pretty cool! I’ve actually started reading more and would love any recommendations!

Although I’m not ready to share all of my new music, I did want to post a song I wrote/phone recorded yesterday titled “bitch.” You ever have those days/weeks/months where it seems like every interaction with someone else turns into a negative incident? Well, this song results from a few specific recent events of feeling this way. It’s funny how therapeutic screaming obscenities and playing guitar can be. So I hope you enjoy my ironically angry and slightly hungover little ditty. WARNING: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE

Underground

Standard

Ignoring his creamy fingers soiled muddy

Palms pressing on earth as fragile limbs fist one by one

Modest wishes leave him tempted of lifting substance

His innocent curiosity alerted to grasp the gravity of power

Existence watches on in rebellious indifference as

Black dirt sifts through self and back onto ground

The overhead light bulb swings in motion of the day

A pendulum of awareness forced from underground

As a child of wonder is sheltered in the recesses of a broken World.

I am grateful for solidarity ❤

Monthly Archives: October

Standard

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

Standard

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

Standard

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

Robots

Standard
Credit: photobank.kiev.ua

Credit: photobank.kiev.ua

we are all robots with our industrial legs and arms

emitting static data through chained sprocket mouths

chewing down on metal teeth while spitting out sparks;

tasteless words to condition into subjection

the accomplishment of production as day’s profit

obtaining satisfaction in facilitating the genocidal submission

with one’s own expiration date stamped axiomatically;

one by one we live, work, and die

I am grateful for the heavy hearts ❤

Monthly Archives: September 2013

Standard

Monthly Archives: September 2013

Dancing

Standard

Muscles relax and unclench
Stretching out past the movements of the day
Music floating, strobing electronic symphonies of post modern instrumental harmonies
Synthesizing feelings, connecting to the slightly monotonic pumping beats
Gathering and interpreting thoughts Classifying wisdoms to the count
Of the sound, as if nothing else matters
All of the everyday chatter and the confusing banter, not relatable to anything remotely rational
Senseless noise fades out into the translucent wavelength of a vibrational humming
Gathering together and tickling tiny antennas attracted to any audible sensation
As long as we’re listening
A mournful ending of a connection severely shattered by the limited time of evaluation, appreciation
An attachment to something almost tangible, or as defined by the tangible like addiction for more
Until the first few seconds of the next cry out for attention
A battle for the extreme devotion of claiming soul
Moving body to follow the drumming heart intoxicated by the challenge to go faster, harder!
The satisfying reassurance of head once thought catches up:
This sounds like a promising song to get lost into.

I am grateful for my love of dancing

The Ultimate Experience

Standard

Another interpretation of the

ultimate experience and

To feel the response of true

compassion, passion

in return.

Your eyes, your stare

The slight tilt of head and squint;

but the intent is what drags me in

The undeniable force of penetration

of moment that seems too intrusive,

too good, to be given the thought of

forgiveness

An interest in a woman, with the

same pattern of every traditional

love story told to all of the listening

children:

The lore of a hope and a faith that

tempts the daring hearts, what

We’ve grown up to believe.

Now it’s our turn

I am grateful for random encounters.

To die for our freedoms

Standard

To die for our freedoms
What a damn conundrum!
Of willing participants offering their heads for stacks of receipts
Little pieces of paper more powerful than life could afford, displaying out
Barcodes ending in the bold: The End
Another number scanned through by jagged lasers flashing in a bloody red
Checking off the last box on the chore-list and hiring the gardeners to plant fate and grow fields of strawberries
The most profitable crop known to man
Each weak seed plucked from the soil and forgotten
Never learning how to grow old and juicy:
A fulfilling plumpness of tasty satisfaction, wanting touch, to be eaten willingly, those
Finding religion in the sensual pressing on lips and being awarded the flavor caressed in mouth
A strawberry for a life who doesn’t want to die but to live until living has been enough
One by one, or however connected throughout those should be
The little receipts become pages in novels, thin sheets of memories kept in history to beg for understanding
Describing the time and the place of each printing of ink
When monsters become heroes because it’s easier to believe
But the harder reality only validates that violence creates the evils of mind and the many faces of man; sets the theme for the future plans ahead
So why must one fight for freedoms of life; gifts of ordinary ideals worthy of battles that vary from the most opportune prize?
To be free is to live but to die to be free without living at all doesn’t seem like the rational response to anything threatening
Or awarding devils mercy as they hold out skeletal hands in wanting:
Either complete surrender or the key to the soul.

I am grateful for a day of exploring with good friends.

Nights and Days

Standard

Skin inflamed in sunshine, radiating in a pinkish hue of fleshy human porcelain reflecting in the summer’s glow
An intensity of warmth penetrating beneath the layers, traveling into the very core of being
The sun of the sky can shine so bright
As a lover of light to humble the moon
The trading of their roles of ownership and authority; balancing out the shadows of the world
Giving motion to the flow of life and the days and nights one is awake to see;
How one perceives the random life lessons, how we are all forever learning
Continuing this idea of education and exploring the different methods available to express,
Whether hidden behind a writer’s language and his or her own estimate of the ways of the world,
As if the sun shared his insight by burning, his fiery touch placed upon our heads
A kiss of passion based on the personal inflictions of an emotional soul
Infecting the minds and tightly embracing each tongue
As we wait for the chill of the night to cool a swollen mouth
For the Bella Luna to cover fire and temporarily snuff it out
Clearing the smoke and shaping air
A willful mother offering whispers on the wind of hope and encouragement
Speaking of a loyalty as consistent as the transition of the nights into the days.

I am grateful for laying out on a beautiful day!

20130905-134052.jpg

The Rejects

Standard

The rejects of a militaristic society
Graduates of a unified humanity, ostracized for their unique scholarly ambitions
Motivational questions?
Of knowledge, regardless of time and of place
Condemning the thoughts of these thinkers and establishing such creativity as the cultural group of a cliche form of crazy; or, identifying masculine as losing his “identity” of self
Their image reflected only from their own facial reactions seen from a glance in the bathroom mirror, oh the horror!
But what is right, that which is based on the very concept of what defines the plural wrongs in life
These views of the everyday normal and how awful that can be
What of this movement?
To live within the means of abnormality and the standard of the current teachings of normalcy and how it is expected to be, to mean
To understand the hidden meanings of the gifts we’re given in a time where anything is possible, or impossible not to believe
Any group of believers can learn enough to buildup empires of memories
And share them in glances of experiences and guidance.

I am grateful for a few days away

Monthly Archives: August 2013

Standard

Oh, How I Cry

Posted on August 26, 2013 by MuseWriter

Oh, how I long to cry

To shed these tears as memories, to ignore the pain seen;

Felt from afar

How many families suffer?

Innocents, children in pain?

Can we pretend that we’re still hungry

and feed each other

blissful responses so as to push one step

closer to the unfamiliarity;

Of how peaceful humanity can be?

Oh, how I long to cry

One tear lost for each fallen soul

Those silently attacked while sleeping in their homes

Laying in their beds, dreaming up the stories that the

Collective consciousness strives to see

Are we so cold?

Oh, how I long to cry

We are the same you and I

Hearts struggling to see the good;

To see the love that they try to hide

This isn’t a battle against one and two

Nor an epidemic of hatred

Are we so eager to be told what to think?

Are we really so blind?

Oh, how I long to cry

Even worlds apart the devastation is clear

A time is coming, there’s no room for fear or

fighting over distractions of mercy

Would you show mercy?

Is there anybody listening?

To those screaming out, wailing cries

To satisfy the wicked planning;

Oh, how I cry.

I am grateful for every second of life. ❤

 

Stomach Flu

Posted on August 23, 2013 by MuseWriter

Legs straddling the porcelain
One hand back, pulling up sweaty strands in a tight fist
The other, lost in the confusion of the movement
Body shaking, collapsing, suffocating
A putrid stench opens eyes to another wave of volatile cleansing
The bathroom floor has never felt so private
Deliriously making way back to bed
To dream of the reality of the moment
Until feet understand the urgency of the next second before
Eyes open
Another dance into submission

I am grateful for Jess. ❤

 

Foreshadows

Posted on August 23, 2013 by MuseWriter

Take a stab in the dark

To see which holes bleed

To see how long before I start silently screaming

wheezing out all of the damages done

Those perceivable wounds that ooze a contemptuous red hue of thick liquid

that slowly caresses skin

before falling down

Escaping body, rejected from the living

Breathing, suffocating from the metallic smell

hauntingly drifting into each nostril

to inhale one’s self

Foreshadowing what’s to come?

I am grateful for change. ❤

 

I’ve Always Been a Spider

Posted on August 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

Weaving the web in my head

Tying and twisting all of the knots, the

suspicions forming their shapes

and the confusions of everyone

as they stare into the transparent work of art

glistening in the sun

I guess I’ve always been a spider

Announcing to the world that even the definable delicate are strong.

I am grateful for sunny afternoon walks. ❤

Doubt

Posted on August 21, 2013 by MuseWriter

The first stage of doubt:
Being forced to recognize the limitations
Of time and distance
A one hour flight to travel into the depths of mind;
Second guessing position of desire
And what you want
The incessant rain keeps my feet wet, creating
Dirty tracks that lay out the roadmap of the steps carefully placed and manipulated
Just like want and desire?
Knowing the pain to grow stronger with each layer of question, confusion
I sometimes wonder if there’s any strength available for purchase
The expanse between your world and mine is great
I don’t know if I’m capable of ignoring the empty space surrounding
Even though I crave it, I can’t stand being alone
Or, the forgotten thoughts of those who claim ownership

I am grateful for every thought. ❤

 

Paths

Posted on August 20, 2013 by MuseWriter

How many paths must we cross,

Must we stumble through;

Guessing which part of the fork is best positioned for the tastiest bite?

To chew on the destination of thoughts that enable blood to pump and flow

Parallel to the bordered trail like a stream;

A continuous reminder of water and the other elements one person needs to survive

Removing the requirements of life and focusing on all that is surrendered

To a compartmentalized pandora’s box

Categorizing important cargo in a wooden reminder of vulnerability

Dried salmon candle wax puddled on the cracked surface

Staining the purity of all that embraces my mind

I am grateful for friendly neighbors. ❤

 

Cupid’s Enlightenment

Posted on August 18, 2013 by MuseWriter

Skinny fingers grasp the threaded line

Pulling back the thin fragments with a practiced hand

Eyes focused, not on object of manipulation but within the two figures out of reach;

The one and the two of the mission

The Amor, as he’s called, marks each piece of the puzzle with his target;

The cross point to aim so as not to confuse the scattered faces and bodies

Humming a familiar lullaby tune

Another mindless act to balance the shot

Calculating wind and distance, counting down breaths until the perfect moment

Two arrows let loose from his single bow

A skillful act of original tradesmanship of the god of love, son of Venus

Forgetting his resentment to his indifference, he contemplates what will happen to his latest victims

Unusually curious enough to sit upon his gargoyle perch to see the story unfold

Imagining his sport as a work of art and reflecting on the murals dedicated to his masterpieces of past

As an excited child he waits, watches as one lover finds another

Two hearts beating to the similar thoughts projected from their maker’s intense stare

Mystified, he trembles, he questions mortality and the gift of happiness

Longing to understand the passion of pain brought about by the penetration of his pointy arrowhead;

Staking claim as the narrator of their story

The reality of his genius keeps his heart beating

Even without the possibility of ever surrendering to his own magic.

I am grateful for Cupid’s art. ❤