Friday, April 25, 2014
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Switching to word press for national poetry month
Click here for my April blog site...
My new blog site for National Poetry Month...
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Expired Trinkets
Expired Trinkets
Death follows-
right behind you.
Tip-toes
He's creepin'
Spy when he must.
You might even be sleepin.
Gleeming
He's knowin
You fell and are stuck.
Even the tough outta luck.
As your pain gets deeper,
out steps the reaper.
Into your dreams he settles you,
so unclear, wallowing-
denying our fear.
Haunting and taunting-
he's lurking
he's stalking
Don't listen if he comes a knockin'!
You hum those sweet prayers,
those nursery rhymes
and anything peaceful to pass the time.
This distraction might work for a minute or two-
but what now should you do
when your senses are triggered
to the drug's sweet intoxication,
speaking straight to your disease-
bringing you down to your knees?
You ain't goin' on no airplane, train, or bus.
So there's no need to rush,
'cause this ain't no ticket-
the only road it leads to is nowhere.
So make these expired trinkets!
Death follows-
right behind you.
Tip-toes
He's creepin'
Spy when he must.
You might even be sleepin.
Gleeming
He's knowin
You fell and are stuck.
Even the tough outta luck.
As your pain gets deeper,
out steps the reaper.
Into your dreams he settles you,
so unclear, wallowing-
denying our fear.
Haunting and taunting-
he's lurking
he's stalking
Don't listen if he comes a knockin'!
You hum those sweet prayers,
those nursery rhymes
and anything peaceful to pass the time.
This distraction might work for a minute or two-
but what now should you do
when your senses are triggered
to the drug's sweet intoxication,
speaking straight to your disease-
bringing you down to your knees?
You ain't goin' on no airplane, train, or bus.
So there's no need to rush,
'cause this ain't no ticket-
the only road it leads to is nowhere.
So make these expired trinkets!
RED
Never noticed red before smoke filled blue skies grey and young lungs poisoned by man-made drones believed heroes by pawns like prisoners of nuclear families with white labs and white picket fences. Green their God. Never knew red before pursed lips blew away the ash caked city.
Starting with one little book under piles of rubble.
“Mary’s Rose Garden” was the title- inside were tips on keeping such beautiful flowers in blossom. The ever changing colors – even on trees were unreal.
Was there a world before red and grey?
Before these dreary shades and isolated existence of but a few?
Before death was not such a daily reprieve? A burden, eventually desensitized out of us still living.
Young love before red…
How amazing!
It’s truth paradoxical and unrelenting: the little boy’s eyes gleamed.
Had the myths maddening tales been real?
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Growing Pains
----Bullying----
Cyber wars, silly name calling games-
Twisted words
spouted by two faced girls!
Worse when the worst is when they whisper hushed comments under Doritos stained tongues about her lack of style, nervous twitches, braces and goofy smile
It’s only a five minute walk but feels like she just ran a mile.
And those words still echo through her head, daily,
Making her mind crazy
She’s been cut down to the bone,
Throwing her of mommy’s little princess throne.
----Teenage angst----
Where am I from?
I am from the ocean tide.
My mother?
Who was she?
Where is she?
Still lost at the sea where she left me?
Maybe.
I am from another place.
Sometimes alone-
like in outer space.
Ya, minimize and call it “teensage angst” if you must,
But I am NOT coming back,
So don’t worry come dusk.
Feel lost and abandoned without a trace.
Nowhere to hide in such a mysterious rat race,
I can’t keep up the pace.
Who am I?
I am just another number.
860-988-1324- my cell
What a disgrace!
Is a number a person?
008-30-1236- my S.S.
Fuck!
I am so confused.
Where am I from?
I am from blood shackles and stale tears....
lonely echoes of dirty caked faces and inbreed fears...
cracked out bottomless bottles of despair...
Freeze dried tears to save for future years…
Where am I from?
I am from the institutions of regret.
Like a teacup shattered and glued back, but never the same.
Never again the same.
Broken. Impossible to tame.
Zig-zagged and ridged.
Crazed and fragile,
No more shakin’ the rattle.
Boiling water pours through me everyday.
I stand strong because I like it that way.
Standing tall. Proud. This is me.
But there are cracks.
So please don't laugh
Just cut me some slack…
Where am I from?
I am from the comfort and solace...
God gave me when you left my empty palace-
the root of the tree with no name.
A place where fear resides but shallow cries
break free from shame.
Turn me into a spark.
A spark that ignites the coals.
The black, crumbled coals.
A spark that sings a song of red-orange tones.
A spark that warms the restless walking in the cold.
Now I am fire.
Destruction!
Everything and everyone crossing my path is gone.
I am alone.
So don't touch me.
Don't hug me.
Don't even try to love me.
I am alone.
I want alone.
I need alone.
I die alone.
Where am I from?
I am from emptiness.
I am from despair.
But God gave me the tools to give a care.
So I will take the dare and move on from there.
The real question is not
“Where am I from?”
but “Where will I go from here?”
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Roots
Where am I from?
I am from the roots of a tree
without form;
a river with no depth
a canvas with no paint
An untainted, un-tattered, untouched, unknown divine miracle,
the unborn.
-------------
Without form,
there is no name, no label, no habits, no judgment, no scorn,
no pity, no forlorn misery, no shame, no fear, no blame, no ignorance…
just a heart beating wisdom of, the Sutra,
a reverberating light chanting, the Mantra.
Without form,
there is peace, an awakening; room for impermanent change
because everything and nothing changes,
thus, the irony of meaning and purpose;
the paradox of life.
---------
Who am I?
I am a she, a daughter, a sister, a child, a human being.
Alas, as she wakens, she becomes real!
She begins to feel, as she bonds with a mother, who’s one;
one with the earth, wind and the sun;
one whom once too had become.
Blossoming into life,
Breathing the air,
enjoying simplicity without credence or despair.
Every new scent,
a discovery,
an exotic revelry,
beautiful and true,
a precious unity.
II
But as she awakens to the world around her,
Her fantasy will break, her heart will crush and her brain will rush,
forgetting what she knew as a babe,
forgetting the universal gift we call the present.
Lost in a maze of endless possibilities and unclear deliveries,
She will freeze up, calm up and jam up.
She may even loose it all and forget her gratitude cup.
She may wallow in self-pity, curse God, her neighbors, even the old oak trees.
she will eventually become forlorn
and fall to her knees, in prayer, like a newborn again
she will foresee, things will not be as she once believed,
through the blood, sweat and tear stained blindfold,
finally shredded,
she will see truth expose itself as suffering
dreaded fears will unravel,
stumble her into regret, unleaded.
-----
Saw blood, felt pain. Saw greed, felt envy. Saw madness, felt confused. Saw death, felt grief. Saw injustice, felt anger. Saw corruption, felt useless. Saw war, felt sadness and fear. Saw addiction, felt desire. Saw ignorance, felt frustration. Saw shame, felt doubt. And the list goes on and on and on…
-----
At times, but for the most part, she will still be the tree without form, yet it may take a lifetime to find her source again, her beauty, he perfectly imperfect grace, her creativity, her spiritual space.
As her world drifts in and out of consciousness and her beautiful, perfect emptiness is replaced by an orchestra of colors, splashing from a palate to a blank slate so fast like Picasso.
Never looking quite perfect. Never looking quite sane. Never looking cautious. And never, ever, the same.
How do you then explain to a young lady, that she is perfectly imperfect and that’s what makes her so beautiful? How do you explain, the lies behind the masquerade?
How, when everyday for her is a battle.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Hidden Message: Can you find it?
Introspective- September, one, one.
True to our heart, 2001
We raised our flags, eleven
And
Screamed
At the wrong news, Jihadi’s and heaven
Let it happen
I cried. We all did and felt united forever.
Even some of the catalysts who organized or turned a blind eye,
regretted, the death of innocent pawns used to mask a cruel disguise.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Fast Enough America? Write More. DO Less.
Fast Enough America? Write More. DO Less.
I'm bored.
What do you want from me?
Something new.
Yes, but about what and why?
What interests you and will you even read it?
I dont even know when you do you will really hear the message.
What message? She asks with skepticism and returns to her I-Pod.
I don't quite know. I can't promise you inspiration, enlightenment or even enjoyment.
So why should I bother?
Because it's what I do. I write. I don't do it to bother you. I do it for me.
Why?
Because I enjoy the sensation of writing something unique, something that frees me from the mundane.
But I don't like to read.
How do you know?
Because. I dont know. I get bored I guess.
But not with your I-Pod?
No.
Why?
I guess because it's always changing. I can find something new and cool and fun to do, like listen to my favorite tunes, text, play games, or just surf the web and find funny videos on you tube.
So what if I write a poem about facebook? Would that amuse you?
Maybe. Ya, I guess. She looks up from her I-Pod.
What if you try writing something?
ME? I can't write for shit!
How do you know?
Trust me, I know. I suck.
Did someone tell you that or is that what you tell yourself?
Both!
I bet you can write something and someone out there will enjoy reading it.
I tried a blog on my I-Pod once. No comments.
Do you think if you receive no comments that no one read your stuff or enjoyed it?
Well, ya probably!
That is where your thinking is wrong. Think of it like a practice for yourself. Not for others.
How?
Start with writing one unique sentence a day. That will get old quick and you will write more and more and more. One day you may even have a story to tell.
Hmm. That would be cool. But I do have ADD and that makes reading, writing, school, all that, really hard.
Did you know Einstein had ADD? Only back then, they didn't have a diagnosis for everything.
Really?
So they say. So let's try it? What do you say?
Can I use my I-Pod?
I'm sure you have a notepad on there so I dont see why not. However, I would suggest using a pen and paper or at least a labtop just get the true feeling most writers get to experience without the distraction of interruptions like texts, emails and other disturbing pop ups. Do you know that technology is a gift and a curse for ADDs like us (I am one too by the way).
Really? I didnt know that!
Ya! And, the plus of technology is that it helps us find a way to organize our thoughts and keep track of dates, times, appointment... stuff like that. But it is horrible for us when writing or trying to be creative. Too many distractions. Computers too.
I can try pen and paper. That's different. Kinda like how school used to be when my parents went. Now everythings computers and smart boards.
I know. Craziness. It's like the powers that control the world, want to dumb us down, keep us enslaved to the lower class working society. Even the most talented and genus thinkers of the world are now getting either so caught up in the techno-world, they've settled on high paying jobs with little stimulation, or they go mental or worse, suicide.
No kidding!
Ya. You don't read The Underground?
No, what's that?
It's a newspaper that's not owned by the corporations.
I thought those were all banned.
Well, sorta. This one has remained under the radar somehow, but it's pretty interesting. Whenever I hear about something on the regular news and it sounds fishy, or like, they keep changing the story around, I go right to The Underground and get some pretty fascinating answers. These people really care about truth. Not money. Not power. Not even fame, although fame helps because it spreads the message, but again, it's a double edge sword. If it becomes too famous, they find out and destroy them. Discredit them with some bullshit about aliens or something not many people believe in and that makes them look like conspiracy nuts so people don't read anymore. They go back to the news. It's a vicious cycle. Look what happened to "The Truthers" back in 2019!
Ya, that sucked bad, I really liked them. I followed them on twitter and even signed some petitions.
So anyways, back to writing.... Where would you like to begin?
Hmmm... how about a prompt or something like that?
Sure. Sounds good! Hmmm... how about start with something like, "As she put down her I-Pod, it occurred to her, there may be something missing in her life and it wasn't a boy. Something deeper. She glanced at her I-Pod, then the mirror and at that instant, she knew what she needed to do. It had been so long since she wrote, but it just felt right. She picked up her tattered journal and began to write..."
Hahahaha... that's not really a prompt, Bo. You're talking about me!
Maybe. But it's a start! ;-)
Alright Bo, I'll try.
After a few days of practice .....
Is this fast enough for you?
If I try to write and you don't like it, does matter what I say?
No, because I'm free to do as I please,
I need to sacrifice my own ego and let the spirit guide me.
This journals been untouched for so long,
It'd be easier if I could just sing, Then I'd sing you a song or tell you a story,
But I'm hungry for inspiration and I got nothing.
One thing I do know is I need to let go of a lot.
Bo's right about my I-pad. That will be the first to go.
At least for a day.
Nah, let's take it slow, and start with a couple of hours, next I plan on taking a meditative snooze to rejuvenate, then some yoga should do the trick. I feel like I've been on hyper drive since I got the chip. I will play with the dog, then try to write some more. But for now this is all I got because, I swear something happened to my imagination since the V-chip. Independent thought is almost impossible- (for those who may not know, the commercial interruptions become overpowering especially when you are out of the chip points)
Time for a nap.
To be continued...
I'm bored.
What do you want from me?
Something new.
Yes, but about what and why?
What interests you and will you even read it?
I dont even know when you do you will really hear the message.
What message? She asks with skepticism and returns to her I-Pod.
I don't quite know. I can't promise you inspiration, enlightenment or even enjoyment.
So why should I bother?
Because it's what I do. I write. I don't do it to bother you. I do it for me.
Why?
Because I enjoy the sensation of writing something unique, something that frees me from the mundane.
But I don't like to read.
How do you know?
Because. I dont know. I get bored I guess.
But not with your I-Pod?
No.
Why?
I guess because it's always changing. I can find something new and cool and fun to do, like listen to my favorite tunes, text, play games, or just surf the web and find funny videos on you tube.
So what if I write a poem about facebook? Would that amuse you?
Maybe. Ya, I guess. She looks up from her I-Pod.
What if you try writing something?
ME? I can't write for shit!
How do you know?
Trust me, I know. I suck.
Did someone tell you that or is that what you tell yourself?
Both!
I bet you can write something and someone out there will enjoy reading it.
I tried a blog on my I-Pod once. No comments.
Do you think if you receive no comments that no one read your stuff or enjoyed it?
Well, ya probably!
That is where your thinking is wrong. Think of it like a practice for yourself. Not for others.
How?
Start with writing one unique sentence a day. That will get old quick and you will write more and more and more. One day you may even have a story to tell.
Hmm. That would be cool. But I do have ADD and that makes reading, writing, school, all that, really hard.
Did you know Einstein had ADD? Only back then, they didn't have a diagnosis for everything.
Really?
So they say. So let's try it? What do you say?
Can I use my I-Pod?
I'm sure you have a notepad on there so I dont see why not. However, I would suggest using a pen and paper or at least a labtop just get the true feeling most writers get to experience without the distraction of interruptions like texts, emails and other disturbing pop ups. Do you know that technology is a gift and a curse for ADDs like us (I am one too by the way).
Really? I didnt know that!
Ya! And, the plus of technology is that it helps us find a way to organize our thoughts and keep track of dates, times, appointment... stuff like that. But it is horrible for us when writing or trying to be creative. Too many distractions. Computers too.
I can try pen and paper. That's different. Kinda like how school used to be when my parents went. Now everythings computers and smart boards.
I know. Craziness. It's like the powers that control the world, want to dumb us down, keep us enslaved to the lower class working society. Even the most talented and genus thinkers of the world are now getting either so caught up in the techno-world, they've settled on high paying jobs with little stimulation, or they go mental or worse, suicide.
No kidding!
Ya. You don't read The Underground?
No, what's that?
It's a newspaper that's not owned by the corporations.
I thought those were all banned.
Well, sorta. This one has remained under the radar somehow, but it's pretty interesting. Whenever I hear about something on the regular news and it sounds fishy, or like, they keep changing the story around, I go right to The Underground and get some pretty fascinating answers. These people really care about truth. Not money. Not power. Not even fame, although fame helps because it spreads the message, but again, it's a double edge sword. If it becomes too famous, they find out and destroy them. Discredit them with some bullshit about aliens or something not many people believe in and that makes them look like conspiracy nuts so people don't read anymore. They go back to the news. It's a vicious cycle. Look what happened to "The Truthers" back in 2019!
Ya, that sucked bad, I really liked them. I followed them on twitter and even signed some petitions.
So anyways, back to writing.... Where would you like to begin?
Hmmm... how about a prompt or something like that?
Sure. Sounds good! Hmmm... how about start with something like, "As she put down her I-Pod, it occurred to her, there may be something missing in her life and it wasn't a boy. Something deeper. She glanced at her I-Pod, then the mirror and at that instant, she knew what she needed to do. It had been so long since she wrote, but it just felt right. She picked up her tattered journal and began to write..."
Hahahaha... that's not really a prompt, Bo. You're talking about me!
Maybe. But it's a start! ;-)
Alright Bo, I'll try.
After a few days of practice .....
Is this fast enough for you?
If I try to write and you don't like it, does matter what I say?
No, because I'm free to do as I please,
I need to sacrifice my own ego and let the spirit guide me.
This journals been untouched for so long,
It'd be easier if I could just sing, Then I'd sing you a song or tell you a story,
But I'm hungry for inspiration and I got nothing.
One thing I do know is I need to let go of a lot.
Bo's right about my I-pad. That will be the first to go.
At least for a day.
Nah, let's take it slow, and start with a couple of hours, next I plan on taking a meditative snooze to rejuvenate, then some yoga should do the trick. I feel like I've been on hyper drive since I got the chip. I will play with the dog, then try to write some more. But for now this is all I got because, I swear something happened to my imagination since the V-chip. Independent thought is almost impossible- (for those who may not know, the commercial interruptions become overpowering especially when you are out of the chip points)
Time for a nap.
To be continued...
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