Tag Archives: Culture

Fresh Snow

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Fresh Snow

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

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

Lungs rasped for breath through another coughing fit

 

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

Claimed ignorance of sickness while tuning in and out of a

Reality that doesn’t seem to exist anyway

 

Feeling secure in the pigmented softness within my living room of

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

Shapes and patterns begging for attention

 

Seeing the contrast from my window view where I imagined how

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

Unplanned moments to revel in the beauty of a fresh snow

 

I am grateful for rest ❤

Space Travel

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Photo Credit: NASA Goddard Photo and Video

 

Fingering the sky

From the shadow of Man

One small step

On the feet of accomplishment

When our big silver bullet

Fucked the Universe in the ass

One belief as truth…

The ascension is love

not sex in heaven?

I am grateful for faith ❤

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.

 

Gilded Glass

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Blank stares meet at contrast in face
There is only one through the mirror
The gilded glass hangs for fame
Where we can see it but cannot hear

 

Body escapes the boundaries of life
As thoughts shift freely through flesh
Other minds quietly pass the time
Desiring in want of the significance

 

Eyes flicker as forehead tilts forward
Finally succumbing to unawareness
Darkness slowly creeps as shapes form
Sight expands outward framing features

I am grateful for my reflections ❤

ILL Will

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All of the stupid things I’ve said
To justify the anger
The fire burns through muscle in my chest
I don’t know how to snuff it out
There’s a fine line between carefree and careless:

I tossed the past in the trash where such horrors belong
White plastic bags buried underneath a few unidentified moments
As an ordinary object, it makes my skin crawl
I can hear it breathing, this sentient fiend preparing omens
Of hate, sending shivers down my spine making me weak
Admitting that friends become enemies when their ILL Will feels justified
Thoughts claw into the layers of your mind unconcerned with the casualty
The poison spilling out feelings sending black thoughts to anyone alive

(and to no one else in particular)
As our united soul suffers to wait for the next silent wave of an attack
Both sides lose, as they always do and the truth remains unknowing
Forces against heart demand to blind emotion
Displacing innocent wishes because it’s easier being angry than being wrong
In my mind, no death is worth this destruction
It’s all the same to me, evil is as evil does and you all know who you are

I am grateful for trash day ❤

Monthly Archives – February 2015

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Monthly Archives: February 2015

 Unrecognizable me

Posted on February 26, 2015 by MuseWriter

Breathing in the mental hunger tasted
By ordinary thoughts created

Memories of what we question

Of what is real and what is a reflection

Or the mental mind stamp of time and place

The pictures drawn to dream

Each moment to catch your attention

Bracing for the next life lesson

Simple happiness simply wasted

The imagination is hated

Painting on a believable face

Unrecognizable me

 

Basement Corridors

Posted on February 18, 2015 by MuseWriter

I descend the staircase
Step after step
Spiraling downward
Inside of a turret of
Stone and mortar

Shadows dance along
Always by my side
Following the way down
As the light slowly dims and
Then it is extinguished

Darkness consumes sight
My friends of confidence
Of light and dark that
Leave me alone in my silence
Without the echoing cadence
Step after step
Inside of the basement corridors
Of my mind

 

Empty Eyes

Posted on February 15, 2015 by MuseWriter

I woke up from a dream and I lost control
I rubbed the dirt from my eyes
And I see nothing but the night below
And I hear the wind on all sides

I watch the hands on the clock
I slip through the sands of time
Visions blurred, unspoken words
Have I lost my mind?

I find myself so alone
Starring back at everyone
Bodies pass me by
With their empty eyes

I walk with you between these old bones
Among, the crooked rows, of lost and broken stones
Black phantoms marching, their footsteps pass me by
And I hear nothing but the sounds of snow
I watch the spirits rise

 

Blue chair

Posted on February 12, 2015 by MuseWriter

The floors are white
annoyingly so
Shining the reflection
of light
Into my eyes

The chair is blue
Rusted with age
Probably picked up
on the side of the road
Or given away

Soles of shoe
connect to the
Slippery surface
mirroring the ceiling
Disbelieving

Sitting down upon
seat in middle of room
With the glittery floor
and single object of
Furniture

Blue chair scuffs white
floor and rings out an
Echoing scream of
metal scraping tile until
Silence

 

*insert title* II

Posted on February 2, 2015 by MuseWriter

Fish
My back is enveloped within the trenches of my mattress
Body’s tensions easing into this nightly intimacy of comfort and safety
Submerged underneath layers upon layers of dreamt wishes
I sink into the bottom as a sleeping fish on the ocean floor
Wishing everyone above Goodnight

Greatest Masterpiece
There are acceptable phrases to begin particular statements,
The remembered hardships become the sentences that wrench out of gut;
the blood and the intestines pouring out of stomach into a heaping pile of life
Symbolizing the jagged wound opening human flesh to kill all of the hidden spaces of ideas
Metaphorically dying as a sacrifice to the Greatest Masterpiece

Puppet Strings
She glances left with her bright white eyes and painted lips.
Now head turns to accentuate perspective.
Left arm moves up, next the right.
Now eyes face forward.
Mouth chatters as she walks.
Left foot steps, right steps next.
Hands lift and sway.
Now head tilts up, rosy cheeks round.
Her mouth is open wide but no one can hear a sound.
Now head looks down and her eyes are hidden.
Puppet strings can only do so much

 

Seeing Above the Clouds

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Ship in Heavy Storm

Photo Credit: Painting “Ship in a Heavy Storm” by James E. Buttersworth

 

True blue waters churn into an inky black to mimic the clouds moving in overhead

All colors swallowed below in a web of columns of light as the current attempts to suck me in

The picture unfolds its secrets in shadows but my eyes can’t focus to see

Shrapnel of spray wets my face veiling the tears raining down my cheeks

 

I shove down the bile slowly making its way to the surface

My mouth opens wide exhaling soundless cries of heartache

I steady my feet squarely to prepare for the expected damage

Consumed by the fate of the gods (or whoever wants to claim this time)

 

I’ve been holding my breath forever within the walls of my mind

To avoid seeing the wreckage of each storm that passes by

The salty water replaces the blood crawling through my veins

Pouring myself into the sea and mixing within the immenseness

 

It’s always the same, this familiar tradition of destruction in the arts

We become lost ships scattered throughout the swirling stream of consciousness

Shoved into empty wine bottles discarded as misplaced fragments forgotten

As the sands of time fall exactly into place filling in the layers inside the grave of our hearts

 

I am grateful for art ❤

Minstrel of Grief

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There’s a phantom in my closet singing hymns to me

A shrouded black creature that wills himself to be:

A human, a lover, a minstrel of grief

Surrounded by nothing but his lost memories

Is it time or life that he comes to seek?

I know I’m alright if I feel the cold breeze

Because feeling is living, whatever that means

Lessons to learn from the nameless beast

 

I am grateful for music ❤

 

Monthly Archives: December

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Monthly Archives: December 2012

 Halves of Myself

Posted on December 23, 2012 by MuseWriter

A single tear falls
A silent rain before the dawn
A drop so pure all feeling melts
Creating a soft blanket of fog
Someone’s shadow hovers nearby
A blissful remembrance of truth
It’s as familiar as an infant’s lullaby
All uncertainty is removed

An aching pain of innocence
Is all I have to offer you
With a full heart of love and forgiveness
Staining my soul in its residue
A slice of balance left wanting
Shaking in fullness of the thought itself
Because even knowing is better than nothing
A piece of your love is worth, the halves of myself
A piece of your love is worth, the halves of myself

A wave crashes back
Unnoticed by the body
Too small to cause damage
Only a force of mockery
The sun slowly penetrates
The weak vapors of breath
Passion boiling over to fate
Suffocating me with its kiss

Brick Wall

Posted on December 20, 2012 by MuseWriter

12-7-12

Two palms stretched out to push back the force

Never surrender

The mass has never felt so strong

But we stand

I see faces through the throng that seem familiar

Memories of relations once had

To me, everyone is a stranger

I need them all to understand

Our crowd wanders, we migrate

But the borders continue to hold us in

We stumble, some fall, it’s such a bitter battle

There can be no winners if the world fails

We’ve underestimated the control of the fallen

We’ve forgotten ourselves

Distractions cloud my focus

To live is to suffer and enjoy

To learn is to feel and grow

The backs of my hands seem familiar

I amaze myself back to the reality

A brick wall of force is blocking the way

 

A Pool Made of Glass

Posted on December 17, 2012 by MuseWriter

5-19-12

Sitting on the edge of a pool made of glass

Fingers touching cold panels of time

Overlapping lines point arrows to wisdom

We can all taste the reflection of our lives

The shell is too weak to capture it all

Compensations blur our vision

The lights turn on, to make me laugh

The painting on the wall is my sanction

The door to life is glowing there

Pulsating truth to and from beyond

A unity surrounds as our souls mold together

The story continues to play as we are one

Restlessly still, unable to relate

My mind is bright as I am floating

I can drift anywhere, my eyes hold my fate

Memories from events still left to be discovered

Every movement takes a moment

One second to convince the mind

 

Those Eyes

Posted on December 13, 2012 by MuseWriter

Those Eyes

12-19-2004

Staring at you

Your innocence and blindness shining through

Look around me

I know those haunting pictures that you see

I see those eyes

They tell me the stories of your life

And I guess I really knew all along

That this image I see is of my own

Look at your lips

My lips, the lips that have shared my kisses

See her nose, her cheeks, her chin

They are all a part of her

But those eyes that stare so lonely

Those eyes belong to me

me

Self Portrait: Those Eyes

Pin Cushion

12-12-12

Pin Cushion

A fine point is sharpened
Kept up, to never lessen the blow
Its target awaits in uncertainty
Soft to the touch, vulnerable
First one strike, and then another
The needles penetrate
Killing me now, they cover
A pin cushion full

The One

Posted on December 12, 2012 by MuseWriter

12-11-12

The One

It’s a shade of white that envelops me

Hugging me, the warmth penetrates my soul

My love for you is unyielding;

So strong and pure.

I am a lover, the best kind of them all

It’s an essence of being that encompasses me

My happiness is guided by you;

The one who has my heart.

A sense of self that is unknowing

A feeling from deep within

A fervid wave of passion;

A powerful love is born.

Representing the future of reality

Picture perfect glances at the life

A dream only capable with him;

I would sacrifice it all.

August 2, 2012

Posted on December 11, 2012 by MuseWriter

Tick, tock, Tick, tock

The humming noise is just the air inside my ventilated head

And this is real

The lines across the page and the ink beneath my words

I’ve come, to deny them what’s rightfully ours

Or so we claim…

Tick, tock, Tick, tock

The numbers go around as the faces pass by

There goes the time

Another dawn has passed, another awakened

We’re merely statues so that we keep standing tall

Or so we claim…

We would like to claim it all

But we know we can’t, we like to forget

Lost memories are easier than the withheld

But can we move forward without remembering where we’ve been?

We would like to forget it all

Tick, tock, Tick, tock

The trees grow taller, encapsulating the reality of now

 

Monthly Archives: December 2013

 

Picnic

Posted on December 2, 2013 by MuseWriter

Spreading out the patchwork blanket

of random shapes and colors that

are sewn together to request the concentration of the craft.

The food is getting cold as the crow

overhead offers a sociable holler;

hoping for a bite and an overheard tale of gossip.

Nosy creature squawking out his narcissistic wisdoms

demanding a crowd but leaving us in wanting

as attention is shifted and the first glance to

notice is wasted after a moment of realization

that the annoying little bird is gone.