Tag Archives: Philosophy

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Memories and Reflections

12-12-13

Standing on the hill with a random breeze catching on
His strawberry hair ruffled and soft to the touch;
Succumbing to the force within the currents of the wind

The sun and the moon endure their usual aversion of each other
As they sit on their thrones to enjoy the splendor below;
Loving the thoughtless creatures of mortal limitations

Of this one in particular pretending magnificence

(As a peaceful representation of living in perfect harmony
and fighting the fear of indifference
while promoting beauty in the uncertainty,
or at least the everyday moments that the
World can be too busy to notice)

As the ordinary miracles catches his attention;
A man of notice and the gifts of perception

Breathing in the reality tasted by the events determined
From the recordings of the subjects in question;
Their memories and reflections of them

She’s Not Me
7-7-15

I heard all of the rumors and

The messages that she sent

I thought maybe I was her but

She showed me that we’re different

Her wounds bound her together and

Although they seemed similar

I knew that I was only myself, that

She was not me but someone else

Another drifter saying the same things

Thinking the same thoughts day to day

Except she claims to see more

As if she knows the future

Or maybe bits and pieces of our

Memories shaped together

Dagger
7-8-15

I’ve got the fire burning in my belly

My heart is pumping strong

There’s a few words I’ve been thinking

That lay balanced on my tongue

I thought you were my brother

I called you my best friend

But at the first chance you got

You shoved a dagger into my back
Supposed Friends

7-8-15

Calling all supposed friends!

Oh where Oh where have y’all been?

I’ve found myself among the wolves

Their howls keep calling me home under the moon

Have I died and been gifted a life reborn?

I woke up soaking wet and standing alone

Dripping droplets of their bitter scorn

Leaving puddles of poison on the floor

The grass is always greener in this war

Battles of greed to keep us wanting more

You can claim all of the fields of clover

A fake reign won’t live on forever

I am grateful for lost thoughts ❤

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Soaking Senses

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clock

11/11/14

There’s always a slowing down of time when the Universe plays its hand
Vision blurs into a drunken lapse of connection
As the last seconds of every whispering thought
float in and out
From those who pass by; gnat-like noises to buzz into the mind
Their penetrating musings muffled by the compilation of instruments composing stereo emotions and feelings
In my left ear and my right ear jointly, and separately, as I
investigate the audio stimulation (versus the intruding glances that I turn my eyes against)

Chance hollers out, seemingly always unexpected, and
Awareness is interrupted by my flustered responses;
heart racing to catch up to the unpredictability of the moment,
pupils enlarge as I squint from the commitment of answering the nagging mouth of a limitless curiosity
I’ve never retained an imagination capable of ignoring even the most unwelcomed sides of all of the angles of questioning,
for too long

Now, focusing in on the details of the shape
A picture that’s ironically freeze-framed into my view
There are no “Hi, how are you?” or, “My name is…” awkward dronings
There is only the inconsistency of time when two consciousnesses collide into one
A few seconds of riding the tidal wave to shore within the ocean of reality
Soaking senses with the intensity of the change in the air
and how it feels

Everything stops and
we stare

Calling for the willpower of concentration, while maintaining gratitude for the fortune of this gift of an intangible absurdity
Meanwhile,
Memorizing the particulars to mentally store the answers to the questions not quite thought up yet
The discovery of another or, at least something like it
Until time speeds up with the blinding state of determination
Its eyes glazed over as it greedily attempts to account for its precious lost minutes

Such a finger of fate trying to erase any trace of remembrance of the two people who stepped outside of time;
confused into accepting the responsibility of understanding that we’re not alone…

…even if we become lost and forgotten after the weight of acknowledgement disappears into the normalcy of the continuation into the
seconds to minutes to hours to days to weeks to months to years

I am grateful for the good times ❤

I Sleep

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I Sleep

The unpredictable scenario of

scattered checkered boxes of

trees, crops, houses, roads, cities

Every outline seen as a view into the life below

With the imperfect slices of bodies of water

Curvy strands branched out across

the land

Until meeting together in

lakes, ponds, rivers, sounds, oceans

Changing quickly underneath

Unnoticed, as the attention to detail is not as focused

Other senses claiming victor of the current state

of flight;

of mind

A journey in the night, wandering

above treetops, and

whatever else

is stumbling about

Companions to a lonely beast

Hungry for the instinct to keep

flying forward;

or right to left,

sky to ground,

Skimming the surface of one of the

random pools of water;

mirroring the sky,

silver from the darkness

reflecting the moon above

To get a quick drink, or a delicious

bite to eat

Maybe chance a glance at the

furry face in front of me

Slightly distorted by the motion

from the ups and downs

Feeling the touch of sustenance

sliding over nose

Cool, the wetness leaving a residual glove

until air has wiped it away

Lifting up, mouth full and

body light in contentment

the steady push of cold air gliding over

eyes, nose, mouth, ears, tongue

Sucking in the fresh air forcing

its way into lungs

A numbing embrace of throat

to help concentrate the breath

Until wings become heavily satisfied with

the path of flight

Slowly making way to cave or tree

Watching sunrise morning after each evening

then hiding from the vulnerabilities

of the day

When the rest of the world

explores the places that I’ve seen,

I sleep.

 

I am grateful for this summer, it is much needed ❤

I am a Person

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Titles and labels

Insignificant one or two word liners

that create six faces of intolerance

 

“Who are you?’ they ask

when “What do you do?”

is more applicable

 

I am a Writer

I am a Woman

I am a Liberal

I am an American

I am a Christian

 

How appropriate each response

seems to fit into each individual’s ideal, those

digging for classifications so easy to understand

Can we be so conveniently defined?

 

I am ME

does that count?

 

I am Nobody

According to the other unknowns who

consider their days worthless

without the comparison to a

him or her

 

I shed these definitions like

a snake, picking up and eating the scattered

bits and pieces of debris falling off

Just a common creature

vulnerable to attack or

persuaded to defend,

if necessary

 

I am a Person

Living in a world of other people

Focusing on the similarities

of love and compassion

Instead of the boundaries

of differences to hate

 

I am Human

Who are you?

 

I am grateful for diversity ❤

Want to be published? Books & Shovels

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Hello my friends! Can you believe we are halfway through the year already? I hope it has been a productive year for you all thus far and that you are constantly finding yourselves doing what you love. I am moving again! What an exciting time, minus the packing/unpacking and the humid heat. I just wanted to take a minute out of packing to tell you all about a wonderful project that is so inspiring to me called Books & Shovels.

For anyone who has struggled as a starving artist, to get published, to be HEARD, you will appreciate the hard work and effort that this group is putting in to create a voice for all of us. Books & Shovels was founded by 19 year-old Jeremiah Walton, an advocate of verbage not really seen since the likes of a Bukowski and a Kerouac roamed random cities. Jeremiah is raw, passionate, and in love with his art. A sample of this can be seen on his IndieGoGo page where he offers a brief bio,

“I’m Jeremiah Walton, founder of Nostrovia! Poetry, and a member of NYC based publishing house, UndergroundBooks.

I graduated High School the spring of 2013, and hit the road hitchhiking the following fall.  I ran a small “bookstore” out of my frame pack on street corners and at open mics.  I hoped to give art a good kick in the balls.

The world kicked back though, and it kicked back hard.  To reach the goal of broadening the poetic community, and to encourage others to sacrifice for what they Love, to dream, I realized the bar needed to be raised.  Books & Shovels needed to be launched.”

This is an excellent opportunity for us to join forces and create our artistic families together. We are writing our history for our future generations, let’s show them that we were not shoved aside and told to follow a fatalistic path. Let’s write down our voices so that they can be remembered. We can help provide inspiration for the next kids trying to fit into a society that has “no place” for people like us.

Want to be published? Books & Shovels is offering writers an opportunity at just that, with as small of a donation as $10. Let me repeat, that’s $10 TOTAL to working towards publishing your art. Not only that, your $10 will go towards the promotion of your work, as well as other artists/writers. We all start somewhere, right? Well here’s your starting place: I Want To Be Published

For everyone else, every $1 donation helps. There is not a cheaper way to be invited into a group of people who welcome anyone and everyone dedicated to their same cause of enjoying art. Follow them on Facebook and WordPress.

Join this cause with me, pledge your love for your art, and take the time to appreciate others’ works! As Jeremiah says,
“The Virus is Silence.”

Bite into the Onion

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I said “bite into the onion!”

Only because of a memory of

sitting at some stranger’s apartment

feeling hungry:

 

The countertop was an aqua shade of blue

But not the good kind of blue that
reminds me of Caribbean waters

It was dirtied with specks of black and green

a form of modernism that some

person imagined ideal for eating

 

I was analyzing the marble

only inches from my face

Instead of focusing on the objects

and shapes alive and breathing, those

dancing around in their frenzied confusion

There was a chef of sorts, making his

claim to fame from the hours spent

grilling at one of the downtown bars

 

He was watching me and I only

realized because he told me and

I looked up, saw his affront

Staring intently, as if he were challenging

to inspire embarrassment with a shade of

question, for me to offer an explanation

Or, maybe both…people always

tend to think more thoughts than

what seems plausible;

An apparent stereotype of my own

relating on close mindedness that only first

glances can conceive

 

His stature was clear

The game was on, without both

players realizing when it had started

A chess match apparently already won, seeing his

daggers slice and tear through the

layers of vulnerabilities on the surface

Wearing his best victory grin, he

came closer thinking the game was

over as he thought about his checkmate

King riding Queen in complete

dominance

 

All of the while keeping his hands busy

pretending to cook something and

almost abandoning his own disguise

to celebrate his achievement

Peeling back the first few layers

of the onion, slowly and methodically

More interested in appearances

than anything substantially filling

 

That was the story, the tale in my mind

When I tried to explain myself to a

different person later on in life

As if I could relate the feelings and emotions

of one moment and transpire it

into the next

“Bite into the Onion!” was met

with distracted thickness and

judgment of appropriate responses

 

A different chess game, perhaps

With no victors or losers to give

attention

Only me and my bad breath

with the pieces laid out on the table

 

 

I am grateful for challenges ❤

Ghost Horses

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You think you have us all?

Your hardened eyes of intimidation

Gazing out past your mind’s view being

directed by the tip of your nose

Egotistical, sprouting seeds of hate

that wilt in sickness in between every

sidewalk crack and old pavement road

of the crumbling cities

Spreading across the earth with the poisonous vapors

catching on the wind of all of the mouths;

breathing out silent screams of hatred, lust, and painful sorrows

Perfect white teeth, once braced, now

shielding the sharpest blade this place has ever heard

Twisting, rolling, folding, until truth is created

We ride tonight

We ride tonight

(Two times for the dramatic effect as it clicks in your head, remembering similarities)

Do you ever feel afraid at the repetition of intensity?

Snapping you out of your purchased complacency

brought to you, kindly, from advertised drugs

We’ve always said that our Ghost Horses

were better for riding through the clouds

I bet you look over your shoulder and

wonder that very thought

Do you see me coming for you yet?

Everyone loves to live and forget

Perhaps you’ve misplaced the lines that trace my face

As it’s gone absent and has been replaced with the

disillusioned and treasured pictures that you see now

Moving on to the next distraction of popularity

Changing looks, bodies, and thoughts

Each day passes brings us one day closer to reality

(I am he as you are she as you are me and we are all together)

What is the ultimate plan again?

I’ve repressed the madness building up

within your contemptment

General Cronie I am at your command!

I’ll drink the poison sold at

your 7 Day Store

I’ll gulp it down as you howl

“As You Were!”

Swallow Swallow Swallow

Three sips and I’m still thirsty

Come on, come On

I’ll cheers on the last drop;

we’re all a little bit crazy, right?

 

I am grateful for 25 cent fortunes ❤