Tag Archives: #writing

CALL ME BROKEN

Oh, speak not of my heart untrue,
Though absence seeks to temper my desire,
As readily I could bid myself adieu
As part from the soul within your fire.
In your bosom lies my dwelling of love:
If I’ve strayed, like threads unraveled, I return,
To the moment, not with time exchanged above,
Yet with my essence, a cleansing urn.
Never think, though frailties course my veins,
That they could mar this sacred trust we share,
To forsake, for naught, your myriad gains,
For you, my rose, my universe is bare.
Within its vast expanse, hear my call,
For nothing exists, save you, my all.

:: 01.26.2024 ::


LOVE IS TOO YOUNG TO KNOW WHAT CONSCIENCE IS

Is love too young to know what CONSCIENCE is
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body’s treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason;
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her ‘love’ for whose dear love I rise and fall.

“The Little Love-God Lying.”

:: 01.26.2024 ::


THE CANVAS OF TIME

THE SKIN is prominent
within all of Life

Whose dippy hands cross rhyme
within a strange water
called Time

/ as we are all /

nothing / and memories that flow___

In the tapestry of moments, we weave
Threads of laughter and tears, perceive
The dance of shadows in the mind
A kaleidoscope of memories we find

Yet, within this vast expanse of recall
Fragments of existence, both big and small
Nothing but echoes in the grand design
Whispers of a fleeting, ephemeral sign

The hands of Time dip in the waters deep
Creating ripples where memories sleep

An intricate dance of joy and strife
Etched upon the canvas of Life

And as we navigate this transient sea
Our skin, a vessel of identity

In the tapestry, we play our part
A symphony of the soul, a work of art.

:: 01.23.2024 ::


MYSTERIOUS ETYMOLOGIES

MYSTERIOUS ETYMOLOGIES

and which came first?
syllable or the sound
of pain?
what…did you say?
they ARE the same
whether uttered or
spoken or eventually
written — all the same!

must a glyph truly obtain
a sense of distinction?

it is now its own.

:: 07.14.2020 ::

Notes for the Students:

THIS POEM explores the interconnectedness of language, sound, and emotion. The poet contemplates the origin of words and the relationship between syllables and the expression of pain. The question of which came first, the syllable or the sound of pain, reflects on the primal and innate nature of language as a means of conveying human experience.

The repetition of the phrase “they ARE the same” emphasizes the unity of spoken and written language, suggesting that the essence of expression remains constant across different forms. The poem questions the necessity for a glyph (a written symbol) to have a distinct meaning, implying that language evolves organically and may not always follow rigid rules.

The final lines, “it is now its own,” suggest a sense of independence and self-contained identity for language. This could be interpreted as an acknowledgment of the power of language to shape its own meaning and significance over time.

Overall, the poem invites readers to reflect on the mysterious and evolving nature of language, emphasizing its ability to capture and convey complex emotions and experiences.


Like Flying Within Fog

He loved to walk the bank,
within gray dawn.

All the lake’s waking
riding on the morning mist.

Suggesting.

All his stories,
a lifetime to collect.

No one else could know.
Surely he was on to
something he could show.

He’d always found,
an ease, a release
drifting within the fog.

A place where ideas
could break free.

:: 01.22.2024 ::


PAUL MCCARTNEY AND BRIAN WILSON

I asked God and He spoke |

how should you ever:

“Psychosis is a natural response to being unable to solve problems, Casey.”

“How d’ya mean?”

“In childhood we are more creative, that part of our brain that dreams at night has more access to our daytime thinking and we can dream up the most wonderful fantasies, live them in a sort of way. It’s what small children do all the time.”

“Go on.”

“But for the most part we fail to continue using our imaginations, or rather, it gets ‘educated’ out of us. The brain connections between the subconscious and the conscious minds weaken, like when anything is unused.

God only knows what I’d be without you
If you should ever leave me
Though life would still go on believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me — how God knows
I am without you.

:: 01.21.2024 ::


NINO ROTA – romeo and juliet


In F major’s gentle embrace, a tale unfolds, Beethoven’s gift, a story with grace, it molds. Strings whisper softly, in tender embrace, A symphony of feelings, in a timeless space.

Notes pirouette like a dance on air, Love’s whispers woven with utmost care. Fingers calloused, worn, caress the keys, Revealing a world where heartache flees.

Majestic phrases, a plea sincere, A canvas painted with melodies dear. Orchestral whispers beneath the moon’s soft light, Beethoven’s Romance, a celestial flight.

In F major key, passion takes flight, A serenade of joy, an ode to the night. Eternal echoes in each heartfelt note, Beethoven’s Romance, a melody afloat.

Let this humble boy’s pen convey, The beauty of Beethoven’s masterpiece today. With a heart sincere, and dreams so vast, A song unfolds, from a pen so steadfast.


BROKEN SHARDS OF LOVE

I look at the sun — in my dreams
i am a TRAVELING gentleman
into the deep sees

: \ ;/

If by some some years you heard
it was clear ooh — ooooh

Oooh — baby bebe bebe ooooh!

I saw your love (heart) i'[m crying

as i am substrate –= love and feeling

oooooh – love | A rose of love and red
leaves no trace — i will return : \
i touch KASMIRE | OH father,
dead. like our wife / my mother \ how
i learned your mistakes _.

\In the realm of the mind’s turmoil, the dance with mental illness,
the eccentricity that whispers of madness, may appear as a spectacle
when observed from afar, yet the mirth fades when experienced within.

Picture your most haunting nightmare, let it linger in your thoughts.
Now, envision a scenario where awakening is elusive, for you are already
ensconced in the wakefulness of the perpetual dream. Those fantastical notions
that weave coherence in the realm of slumber start to intertwine with waking reality.

I sense your curiosity, the yearning to decipher if my journey mirrors such a narrative.
However, my revelation shall remain veiled for now; forgive my reticence, as our acquaintance is but in its nascent stage.

Should apprehension whisper in the recesses of your mind, casting shadows
upon your countenance, there’s a subtle unease that graces your features.

Ah, I comprehend. You ponder whether my quest to “awaken” might incite a descent into madness,
a trepidation that precedes the revelation of truth. Well, let me assure you, for some,
that is the path untrodden, but not for those who find solace in my company. The journey to “awakening” need not be accompanied by the tumult of psychosis. Yet, I am transparent with you – the aftermath of a “nervous breakdown” renders the mind fragile, a state undesirable, I assure you. The labyrinth of thoughts can lead one astray, inflicting years of tumult from which recovery proves elusive. It can sever ties with those cherished, those held dear. I implore you to steer clear of such perils, especially you, with your endearing nature. I find you delightful, and in our journey together, certain guidelines must be etched, for I must discern when your presence graces our shared realm…

:: 01.21.2024 ::


ROSE DIE BACK

In the stance, a malady of beauty unfolds,
And a government descends amidst weed-laden halls,
Flesh intertwines along the corridors of governance

The maidens partake of the morning feast,
Offering souls to a pale, skeletal simian,
Beneath the Winter sun’s embrace,
Caressing the tree within the dwelling. $$$$

A second debate ensues over such a pact.

The enigmatic artisan, veiled in anonymity and potential hostility,
Scouts with an obligation in his grasp,
A force integral, reliant on the essence ingested from…

The customary process unfolds,
Viruses delineated across the canvas of Time.
Ours to decipher, to comprehend THAT????

Where do HER feet tread?
In the morning light,
The thunderous echoes resonate,
As she peruses the front page” ” ” ”

Stars ablaze in the cosmic expanse,
Yet She delves beyond the lines of stories. . . .

They possess the ability
To seize control,
Viruses &&& they become one.
The Scientists,
Formed in the stance. . .

Traits that ride,
Many in number. . .

Thoroughly equipped,
Navigating the streets,
A few days pass:::

:: 01.19.2024 ::


HEAVEY IS THE INTESTELLAR

My baby
be okay
and love
and love
give to us
Just give
to US

My love
speak now
every day
is alive
and i drift
off to your world

I am rumbling
i am the love heart
that no one can see!

Im waiting for you.
they don’t know fuckery
and fuckery is dead —
heavy is the heart

Into the deepest Stars
that most do not know |
Heavy is the Astronauts

Exploring the Interstellar
World where we invisited
once before ______  .