Tag Archives: thinking

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 ❤

Dear Child

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My tears fall down

drop…drop….

 

Draining my soul

as I think it does

What can be said about

the monsters of this land;

From a time before we were

promised the mystical “everything”

and nothing but a happy ending?

My tongue’s cut out and

wrapped up in bloodstained linen

My eyes sewn shut while

my wrists are bound tight together

I tried, Dear Child

to stay alive long enough

to fight

But there are those who

choose to be the wiser

of this world

Sacrificing it all for the

perfect escape from truth

Blinded by expectations of brightness

while we all drown in the light;

begging for blackness

The power lies within the

weight of our pockets and

not within the weightlessness

of our minds.

 

I am grateful for the many faces of humility ❤

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Keep My Head’

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I was looking down

one step closer and then the next

Feet light, bouncing

to the rhythms in my mind

The blue skies stretched down

their hands full of love and contentment

Kissing my clothes, my hair, and my skin

With a destination unclear, I knew that the only way to go was straight

forward, aligning myself while

maintaining my distance between the borders

Of the protective trees standing tall

with their green leaves waving

to say hello and

grab my attention at a particular

moment, my face turning to

take a look

 

 

You were there and

I knew, even if my eyes

didn’t want to believe at first

Not much taller than me, you

appeared shorter under the

massive pine trees hovering above

but that’s just the first response

to any questioner’s thoughts

Until I saw your face

and then my heart just stopped

You were happy, the happiest

I’ve ever seen

With your red flannel plaid shirt

and acid wash holy knee jeans

Just you, standing there facing me

wearing a noose tied around

your neck as you held

the other side in your right hand

Now, heart racing uncontrollably

Feelings peculiar and potentially uneasy

 

 

The world in 2D with its

shiny pictures and glossy scenes

An alien to the plastic smiles, or

so I want to believe

Unless there is still hope

but you didn’t speak and

now I regret these thoughts creeping

into every story that I hear

or think to understand, any of

These reactions that I’ve fought

Could you possibly relate to any of this at all?

 

 

I am grateful for changes ❤

The Book

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At the bottom of a box I found a book

A thrill, really

An excitement to begin someone else’s story,

without really knowing anything about

any of it

 

The pages turned, the words placed elegantly

across the off-white surface

Calligraphy adorning the beginning

of each chapter, the first letter of

the first word

 

The writer was good in displaying his craft

Creating time portals for lost souls

to try to find their bodies again

A fascinating relation of one person haunting her while

she haunted him

The battle of love

retold in the countless war stories

of the oldER, ordER

 

I opened the book wide

Folded it out and laid it upon the wooden

desk, as I continued to

flip, flip, flip

not noticing the time

passing or the music echoing somewhere

from some corner

of the room

 

Until I stopped on open blank pages;

as if it didn’t even exist

The story just ended

 

I am grateful for shorter days ❤

Memories

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We were talking

as we always tend to find ourselves

Midconversation, without even realizing

we’ve said anything

Words of explanations to escape the pain of

dealing with it all firsthand

A discharge of the unhappy breath of

a man known as nothing, and me observing;

what is it we claim to believe, really again?

He looked at me with an intensity

that only he could seem to produce

The words spewing from his lips in

a disgusted contempt

A snarl changing the shape

of his face;

as he thought about what he was saying

“NO!”

I said

The only word I was brave enough

to interject his vent

To disrupt his train of thought and offer an

attempt to break through the brick wall

of his layers of strength and of sickness

Overlapping and intertwining

intermixing with the drugs he’s been buying

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

A familiar repetition to anyone who’s ever been

afraid to feel

I saw it then, the look in his eyes

The flicker of fire

Somehow he’s managed to

still have a shadow of smoke

burning inside

I couldn’t breathe

As if he needed my breath then

sucked it into himself

to fill himself up with the thoughts

running around in my head

and the feelings that I’ve felt

A quick gaze into my soul to

continue his practices of exploration

Never thinking that he could

open himself up to me

As he stood there vulnerable to comfort

facing in my direction

As if we somehow forgot the threaded string

roping us together

Chest to Chest

There was never a mirror, nor a piece of glass

There are no fairy-tales nor explosive tragic endings

 

There are only the imprinting golden lights of

memories shining in our dreams

Who cares what to believe anymore

 

I am grateful for live music and talented musicians ❤

Eldorado

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How long is an acceptable

timeframe for one to attain

his or her prize for the life

that is hoped for and wished?

 

The CEO sleeps in his

10,000 thread count silky sheets

Head on pillow while sweet

dreams fill his eyes with happiness

Remembering from a time

of beginning, when wallet was empty

Now, blessed from earning

his ultimate happiness of affording any luxury

 

The sister of spirit sitting in her

house of god reading her psalms

Dedicating her life to holiness

and many moments spent “alone”

Waiting her entire life to finally

compliment herself in her

obtainment of Heaven;

loving everyone and everything

 

What of joy, what of this true love?

A mission to accomplish for any

foolish boy or girl, romanticizing and

getting lost in the many lovely fairy tales

Or, motivated by goals of self

Whether selfless or not

Words are not to be trusted in

circumstances such as this

 

Four seasons depicting times of change

Flashes of life and death celebrations

Individuals interchanging ideas of an Eldorado;

Mine, has always been the same

 

I am grateful for rainy days ❤

Scalp — Toenails

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The circuit board highways

Traveling in and out of the

pores on

top of scalp,

Dissecting time through body

in a confusing arrangement of

directional pale yellow street-lamps,

Down to the tips of any of the

various toenails

These lines narrating the interstates

paved out by fate

Destiny as it’s seen from the

focuses of those meant

to see, to ponder

to create

 

I am grateful for new music and sunshine! ❤

Enjoying “Sunbears!” You Will Live Forever