….why paisley???

for those of you that haven’t noticed… april was national poetry month,, and the challenge to produce poetry every day was alluring,, so i took that challenge and ran with it…

as of this moment,, i am poetically spent… and it is no doubt as i have written 54 poems over the course of the month,, and those are just the ones that were completed and posted on one of my three blogs…

if for some reason you didn’t already know,, i have three creative blogs that i do my best to update daily,, although at times i do slouch on one or another… and they are:

…why paisley???
just paisley….
the ink pot

and then,, just for fun,, there is:

secret,,, secret,,, i’ve got a secret….

on which i publish your secrets anonymously for all the world to see,, and comment on should they be so moved…. if you have yet to stop in here,, do so and feel free to drop your secret in the anonymous secret drop off site as well…. i am forever searching for the most intimate of secrets!!!!!

so today i am going to take a day off and regroup.. read one of the three (yes i had to have all three!!!) biographical memoirs of janis joplin i just got from amazon yesterday,, and relax….

i will be back tomorrow,, rested and refreshed,, and on the first of eleven consecutive days off!!! i am indulging myself in kind of a “stay at home and do all the things i have put off all year in order to remain glued to the computer” type of vacation…..

see you then!!

this is loosely based on poefusions challenge to write in a form called via negativa.… the subject matter is comprised of my thoughts as i read a post entitled,, without desire,, by tom,, over at fallen verses….

i have been given to think,,
that love -
really doesn’t exist..
there is passion..
there is acceptance..
there is indifference…
and i think
what we have come to call love,,
is merely the mortar
that fills in the cracks,
strengthens the joints,
and smooths over
the rough spots
on the journey
between the three…

photo:

http://fc03.deviantart.com/fs8/i/2005/363/7/5/Heat_Shine_by_DonCox.jpg

prompt courtesy of writers island

painting: nanda by: rick mobbs

i used to believe, that i would find him..
the other half of me. the man, that would
fill in all the blanks.. that would make me feel,
complete.. that would take all the little broken pieces
of me,, and mix them with all the little fragments
of himself,, and together,, we would finally
be whole…

i used to believe that he and i, would
know each other, at first glance.. that we would
be on fire, in each others arms. that we would
know each others thoughts, and complete
each others sentances,, and we would instinctively
understand each others intermost fears,
and longings, and desires.. without ever having
to say a word…

i used to think that there was nothing
that could take that man from me,, but death-
once i found him.. that i would love him forever,,
and he me,, and we would walk off into the light
holding each others hand,, or calling out
each others name,, had one, or the other,
gone before…

and for a short time in this life,, i truly believed,
that i had found him.. the man that i would love
till the end of time. that i would be willing to
sacrifice, everything for…. the man, i would give,,
my life for..

and tho i proved time and time again
that i was willing to sacrifice, everything-
all that i had,, to have him, to hold him,
to love him, to call him mine,, in the end,,
i was unwilling to give my life.. and now sometimes,,
i wish that i had not been so selfish.. i wish i
had not thought more of myself than i
was worthy of..

i wish i had not allowed my desire
to be something we could never be together
(and that i never became on my own)
lure me away,, keep me from following thru,
on my vow to love him,, to be there for him,,
to never leave him,, to complete him,, as he,
completed me..

as had i.. had i done just that,, i would not
be sitting here knowing that i will never again-
be whole.. that i will never again feel complete..
that i will never again, know what it feels like
to love,, with my whole mind, and body, and soul..
…and being alive,, without those things,,
is meaningless…

please check out intropolis’ poem entitled nanda,, which was inspired by the same painting…

a few days ago the prompt on poefusion was to write a mantra… while i failed miserably at that,, i did mange to write a few words of wisdom i thought were worth sharing…..

*in truth, there is not one god,, but two… and each of them has a dollar riding on your destiny…

*would your desire to compete in the game of life be at all affected,, if i told you,, there can be no winner?

*youth would stop being wasted on the young,, if we quit living so damn long…

*unconditional love is an oxymoron…

*death,, is no where near as scary,, as getting old…

*beauty is in the eye of the beholder,, however the truth in this will not be made known to you,, until you, one day,, find yourself,, unheld…

*if a relatively small, uneducated, military faction that calls themselves Al-Qaeda,, could vaporize 2752 innocent human beings in the blink of an eye,, why cant we,, an immense, educated,, over privileged,, super power figure out how to dispose of our trash?

photo:

http://invisibly-touched.deviantart.com/art/Wisdom-50461999

courtesy of friday 5 at poefusion….

“aint no such thing
as the calm of the evenin’
an that quiet you hear
is a trick..”
as the words disappear
and the sirens set to screamin’
they splinter the silence
right quick..

on the corner, the new crop
the young ‘gits is slangin’
they dope or they bitches
or both..
as they mamas light votive’s
and pray their gods have forgiven
their freshly dead son’s
bloody oath..

as neighborhoods molder
under trash and addiction
punctuated by a bullets
loud pop..
we busy ourselves
with designer distractions
going green,, and how local
we shop….

photo:

http://mchasesteely.deviantart.com/art/Resident-of-the-3rd-Ward-2-61961954

as i reflected, yet again
on the picture of
unrest in the world today,,
i realized,,,
the source for all of our
most pressing concerns
can be summed up
in two words…

..money and pussy..

you may think me crude
for having
brought life down
to this,, its simplest form.
after all- we are intelligent,
civilized, human beings.
are we not??

we have evolved
far past the point where
monetary gratification
and carnal knowledge
are the root cause
(of all evil)
have we not??

stop and think about it
war
crime
abuse
hunger
disease
pollution

oversimplification??

perhaps… but
which of the above
is not the direct result of:
the lack of…
the desire for…
or the exploitation of…
either money or sex???

photo:

http://fc02.deviantart.com/fs14/f/2007/049/7/1/Sins_of_Greed___Wicked_Day_11_by_MicrophoneMistress.jpg

once again i have been caught up in technical difficulties,, but i do believe they are all worked out… (crossing fingers and legs…) at least for the moment… i happened upon an older post tonight by trailer park barbie that made me remember this post i originally did last october on just paisley…. in response to a poefusion prompt… if you get a moment after you read this,, check out the post over on tales from the trailer park…

he had run afoul..
he had lost all control..
he had one choice,
as he saw it
to gain it back..
he became a cyber wander,
a myspace gypsy,
a faceless man
hidden behind
the stolen face of a child..
he searched the web,
thru predatory,,
squinted,,
thirsty,,
blood shot eyes..
lecherously hiding
behind innocent screen names,,
his brand of fog and mizzle..
in search of a child
he could take as his own,,
to control,,
to enslave,,
to pinion…

photo:

http://fc02.deviantart.com/fs10/i/2006/104/a/1/Internet_Predator_by_Order66.jpg

this is a combination of the photo provided by monday mural on poefusion,, and the prompt “vinegar and oil” by read write poem… the prompt suggested we mix two things together that really don’t belong,, but in some way can share a common thread…

i used a snipped of a draft poem i wrote when i was in the deepest depths of depression,, and blended it with my clearest childhood memory,, as recorded in an earlier post called inner child…. a piece of prose that involves recalling childhood innocence…..

**********

where has the child gone..
the one who used to be,,
inside my mind,,
inside my heart,,
content not to be free??

jodi ~circa 1976

watercolor by leontine may

i spend way too much time
in the front yard
of my childhood home
thinking about dying..
never thought i would feel
so used up
in my white briefs,,
and no shirt..
so empty so old
so bitter so cold
most days i think, that
i’ve just had enough..
running around in circles
in the early morning grass
still wet with dew…

feeling shameful and yet
somehow- invigorated
i can’t remember my dreams
if i ever had them
life offers nothing
being outside with no shirt
in my underpants,,,
i haven’t already had
in full view,,
but seen by no one..
had it good had it bad
been happy been sad
no regrets
i just feel done..
running around in circles
in the early morning grass
still wet with dew…

for those of you that read this blog in a feed reader,, i have had to change my feed as the feedburner 2.2 plugin was conflicting with the wordpress 2.5 update and not allowing me to post pictures… sorry for any inconvenience…..

now that i have this ironed out… (and only took me two days!!!!!!)… i would think by the time i get home from work tonight i ought to be able to write something worth posting!!!!!

all you have to do to correct the feed address is click on this little orange icon… and you are there…..

the prompt this week for sunday scribblings is “compose”,, and in anticipation of the down time that may become involved in the current set of technical difficulties i am experiencing,, i decided to dust this one off,, it was originally posted in october of last year on the ink pot,, and speaks very clearly,, i believe,, about my feelings towards those that seem to need to “correct” what i choose to “compose”…..

to you who seek to poison,
my soul, my mind, my heart,,
to you who see a reason to,
inflict your rules upon my art..

to you who try to meddle in
and squelch the things you cannot quell
to you who cannot see, beyond the box-
in which you choose to dwell..

to you who see no difference
between transcription,, and written art,
it is to you, that i feel compelled to say,,
“i am not your counterpart..”

we may write in the same language
but the similarity ends there,
and to think that my work, should mirror yours-
well my friend,, thats just not fair.

for i give life to voices
that you have never heard
and squeezing them in side -your box
would be totally absurd..

for they live and breathe in spite me
i am their guest,, not their editor,
and to crush them down, to make then fit
would make me, very much,, their predator..

for while i offer them,, to one and all
for entertainments sheer delight,,
in the end, they will be,, my legacy-
not yours,, when i walk into the light….

photo:

http://iardacil.deviantart.com/art/Who-poisoned-my-soul-56544841