Could Be ( A Poem)

poetry
This could be amazing;
ride upon unicorns
over sparkling rainbows
while bards play magical melodies
and wild nymphs dance on trees
amazing.
Others may spring into light
out of sheer joy.
This could bring delightful dancing doggies
or curiously cute cats,
wonders upon wonders could be brought.

On the other hand
if you flip the tape,
reverse my hopes,
show my fears.

This could be terrible,
rotted death could ooze out its orifices
like black tar filled humiliation
and the sulfur smell of dying dreams
those that were crushed by failure,
which would cause a dank cave
to become a bare home for my soul
with only swollen sadness
to guide my lonely days.

There is a burning flame
a flickering fire inside
that holds to the unicorn
almost seeing the sparkling rainbow
and knows
even if dying dreams are crushed by failure
new one will arise
out of the dream pulp
or ashes of failure.
The phoenix that is my heart
will go on
will create.

Let Me Live (A Poem)

poetry
Let me live among the stars
Allow me to dance a jazz-square
on the moon.
If not teach me
how to trap my dreams in reality.

I will soar high
above my common life
living in the clouds of my desire
then like gravity
you pull be back
to where I sit.

Let me fly.
Let me soar.
Let me live,
even for a moment more.

Instead you pull me
chain me
and remind me of my fears.
Road blocks are made
while obstacles rise
like you forget what’s inside.

My heart will soar
I will fly.
You may be helpful
reminding me of reality
but my dear mind
you know my heart and my soul.
They will win.
I will live among the stars
and dance on the moon,
so please just step aside.

To Sleep (A Poem)

poetry
Will my eyes fall
before my mind fades?
Will poetic words escape,
running faster than sleep?

They are there,
right behind my pen,
pushing and struggling to be freed.
Too many push
Too many are jammed into the passage way.
The ink cannot be spread fast enough,
they are clogged and stuck.
My eyes are falling
as my mind fades.
My poetry lost the race;
sleep won.

My Nightmare Mind Box

writing

My mind is a box, lately, that I am trapped inside. My optimism says there must be a door, a window, or a hidden way out. I don’t see one. All I see are wall entrapping myself in my mind causing me to be unable to do much of anything I would consider being me.

To the left is the security of my day job, creating a thick time-consuming wall. To the right is my obligations and my bills stacked as high as my job with no holes to escape from. Behind me is my past failures, current fears, and reminders that the future can not be known. There is a reason my back is towards that wall, by focusing on that wall I would sit down, stop fighting and accept the box I’m in. Above me, on the ceiling of this box are all the people, careers, and talents that I compare myself to. I place them above me, although I am the only me. Below me are all my ideas trapped under glass in a cloudy stew of tar and mire. Still I know they’re there, just like a mother knows her baby. In front of me are painting of could-be’s, maybe’s, and the future if I only live my current life . I know there are keys to unlock each painting, except for the immanent future, that one does not need a key. The keys to my dream futures are unknown, lost or far from me. I do not believe they are in this box. All I can do is stand and look at the pretty pictures hoping and looking for at least one key.

Perhaps breaking the glass under my feet will lead to a key.

Artist ( A Monologue)

writing

I want to boldly tell you; I am an artist. I’m sure you already knew that or at least suspected. I mean how can anyone really hide their creativity? I know I’ve tried to hide or ignore my creative side, wanting to be normal. I yearned for a quiet mind that could simply observes the world and did not have a need to share its beauty.

Yes, there was a time I wanted to be normal, but not any more. An ordinary life in no life for me and if it seems like my life is just like yours ask me what I’m thinking about. For you see I have worlds and universes living in my head. My mind is filled with lands of poetry, worlds of paintings, and many stories in many different universes. They are all just waiting to be created.

When I am at my day job tapping the keys of my computer part of my mind may be trapping dragons to get to the keys of a prison to rescue some royalty. While I’m driving home I am most likely also involved in an elaborate love affair that will tragically end  when I park my car. If I am watching the sunset I am also memorizing the colors in hopes that I could paint it one day.

You see my mind is not a quiet place most of the time, which now I love. It makes my life extraordinary in an ordinary world. This is why I must boldly tell you; I am an artist. I’m sure you already knew that or at least suspected.

Kitty's Monologue

writing

Kitty is a character in my novel, who can not talk. She finds different ways to communicate and share knowledge. There is a lot to her, but she can’t always get that across. This monologue is an internal monologue taking place inside Kitty’s mind to Noah, one of the other main characters and the person she is closest to.

I do hear you. I do understand you. I do deserve my position. I really do and I know you know I should be where I am. I just wonder if the others think I belong. Sometimes I know that I don’t, but then you look at me and I belong. Your brother seems hard and protective of his mission. He can’t see that it is my mission too.

I am locked inside my mind. I wish I could just tell you and your brother. Really I wish I could tell everyone what is happening inside. It is like the neural pathways  connecting my voice and thoughts are missing. With every trauma or change they are erased and I must relearn how to make sounds that would be considered words. To make matters worst my memories are misplaced. They are not lost, just misplaced. This makes it hard even know what I know. All my memories are intact, but they are hidden from me and it seems like just when I find a memory or way to connect my vocal cords and thoughts together they are erased or jumbled up.

I hope you understand that I am doing my best. Your smile makes me think you know, but how? I never know until I start reconnecting things. Maybe that is why you’re with me; to help me remember that I am not permanently broken just different with misplaced memories.

Hopefully one day I will get to thank you. Hopefully one day everyone will understand. I am smart and I am worthy of helping. It may be a long time, but I do hope.

I hope you like this and if you follow my blog you will learn more about the characters of  Duality, since I am pretty focused on it. At least I am trying to be really focused on it. 

Inside Thoughts

writing

 

The words are bubbling. They are brewing. I once danced with them on the beach with the setting sun. Now the moon reigns and the words are a mush of over cooked strew. They are just bubbling and brewing no longer dancing in my mind.

The beautiful melody of fantastic descriptions and deep pondering has left my side. I now sit wishing and wanting for the words I needed to say to arise again. I wait for them to dance out of the sludge like stew that is now taking over my mind.

Tiredness slows down my thoughts and the need for sleep mixes all of them together. At sunset with the cool breeze whispering words to me, my mind was perfectly poetic as it pondered a pure poem.  Now only random ramblings can be rattled off as the stew thickens and traps the dancing melody of the pure poem inside.

If I see you (A Poem)

writing

If you read this
I hope you know who you are.
If you know who you are
I hope you believe this.
If you believe this
I hope you read this through.

I want to tell you
my mind can get filled
with images of you,
hopes of the future,
fears kept by the past,
and memories of a different life.

My mind tells me things
about you
about me.
It shouts that when I see you,
if I see you,
when we are face to face
I will shout at you
yell hateful things
let you know where you stand
where my heart is.
My mind tells me
I hate you
I am angry towards you
you never deserved me.
Rage builds up so easily
like a red hot fire
that burns my soul.

My mind tells me things,
but I am not just a mind.
My heart also speaks.
She whispers, no.
I will hug you
and tell you you are my friend.
I have forgiven you
and I have forgiven me.
The hurt is only a memory.
My rage does not burn,
not in my heart.
I will pick up the pieces
of the friendship once lost
and show you that I see
how good friends we can be.

You see I have my life
and you have yours.
I once told you friends we’ll be
and I promise you in my heart
friends we will always be.
No matter what happens
or what the time may bring.
I promised you friends we are
and I really believe
we will be friends
now and forever.

So, if we meet again,
please know,
you are my friend
even if you have long let me go.

Timed (A Poem)

poetry

 

Time me as I tell a tale.
One that takes travelers
to towns untold of
or towers that torn down.
I will tell you timed tales
or tackle a tangled tango of words.
Only using ten tiny minutes of time
my timed tales or tangled tangos
should tell you of terrific feelings
or twist your tongue
till it is its own tangled tango.
Yes, I will tackle and taken down
this twisted tangled tango
and leave the telling of tall tales
to one with more time,
since I only will take ten to write.
Ten minutes to tangle up
Ten minutes to tear down the tango
and leave only a trace of the tale
of travelers taken to a town
or was it that they tackled down tall tower?
Tell me which tale did I tell
in the time before now?
Either way, we and tackling this twisted tango
at least our talented tongues can tackle
the twists and turns taken
with this tangled mess of twisted words
that would turn daytime into twilight
if you took the time to analyze.
For you see you would need
tons of twine to tie logic into this tango.
Simply put this is all but a timed tango
only to see how talented a twisted mind can be
when timed to write a tall tale using mostly T’s.

Sale (creative rant)

writing

 

I am not for sale but you can by small pieces  of me. My body, heart, and soul are only mine. You can not buy or bid on them. Yet, I will bleed for you. I will bleed out all my creativity. I will happily give you all of my mind as long as I know where to find it at the end of the night.

Yes, I will give my all to give my art, but you will never buy my heart. I will bleed for you because my love will never end. Still no money and no treasure will be set to claim my very self. I will give you every piece of me and some times those pieces will be free. However, those pieces are the things I can spare, those bits are what needs to come out.

So thank you for collecting the things that I shed, but please know I am not for sale.

 

What do you artistic people think? Is that how you see selling your art? It was a random creative rant, so I don’t even know what I think.