Bring Down The Storm (A Poem)

poetry

I am working,
working so hard
working all day
not sleeping at night
just to bring it down,
just to calm this storm.
If the storm calms,
if the winds die down
and the weather is at peace,
than we could get to a brighter side.
Don’t you want to get
to the brighter side
the happier tomorrow?
Don’t you want smiling faces
and joyful times all around?
You do, I know,
so I will keep working
working hard to bring down the storm,
to calm the winds,
and bring us to the brighter side.

This is another top search poem. I like doing them, but this week it seemed people were actually hitting real posts. Every top search was of a poem, story, or random post. This is the first top search poem I could actually do. The search was for, “I’m working so hard to bring down the storm so we could get to the brighter side”

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.

To The Beach

writing

I took a walk today to give myself time to think. I walked down to  the beach, thinking inspiration will find me with my feet in the sand. Yet, even before I stood on the shore I was reminded of my mind and a muse came whispering in my ear. He said, “feel your feet on the rough ground below. The asphalt hurts the soles of your feet, right?” Yes, the road below me was rough and hard to walk on without any shoes being worn. Still, I walked on knowing that the rough road would make the soft sand feel that much better.

I got to the stairs that led to my destination of cooling sand on this wonderfully peaceful evening to find that the night had long-held claim over the steps. The darkness of this alley way was caused by the two homes that blocked any moonlight or street light from entering. Still I felt the each step on my way down knowing that once I turned the corner there would light once more.

Now, at the bottom with my feet in the sand and my eyes taking in the romantic moonlight, the ocean breeze blew cold. For a moment I thought it was too cold, but when my ears opened they heard the breeze creating a melody with the ocean’s waves crashing on the shore and the distant wind chimes singing like bells, I knew that no cold would be too much for this beauty. The breeze then felt fine and reminded me that my body was still hot from the workout at the gym. The wind became a comfort not a burden, calming me instead of shutting my senses down.

I walked along the dark shore keeping my senses aware but my mind was thinking. It realized that although the road was rough relief came. Although times were dark,I light was found around a corner. Finally, my mind realized that although it may seem like the wind is cold if you change your perspective something that seems like a burden can be a comfort.

 

Here I stand (A Monologue)

writing

Here I stand. I stand on my own two feet, wishing that they were not attached, so that I could move around them and see where exactly I am. What am I doing? Where am I actually standing? And why am I standing? Still, at least I am indeed standing on my own two feet. I have the world ahead of me and I am making it on my own. Yes, look at me doing my own thing. I am living my very own adult life, alone. I have many questions and never too sure if I’m doing everything right. Most days I know I’ve done at least one major thing wrong, but still I am making it on my own. I am living this adult life, standing on my own two feet. But you know what? Some time, well most of the time I wish I wasn’t. I wish there was some sort of clear arrow pointing one way or the other. Still I guess that’s not entirely how this adult life thing works, so here I stand. I am here standing on my own two feet.

UPDATE

In November 2014 I did a recording of this monologue. I would like to share that with you know.

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.

Fingers

writing

My fingers want to dance on the keyboard and feel the story or poem pour out. They want to touch the words and sense the love that can be found within. Within each word there is love and there is hate. It is a battle that rages in each word. How do I use it right? What is the best word to use? How should I write? I must write the right way with the write words, but my fingers they just want to dance. They perform a ballet and then a waltz across the keyboard in the rhythm of my music.

Oh dance fingers dance and let my mind explore and explode with the background music. Show me what I think and how I feel. Shed light to the dark areas of my soul. Where I do not dare to go. Yes, fingers dance on and press the keys to write my own heart’s song with the notes being words  of the wordless song.

How I do enjoy when my fingers dance along  with the music that I hear. They become fairies beckoning me to a new world, or a familiar home.They show me a story that was locked in my mind, unless they decide to write a poem or a new melody. AS I sit they shine love like a n old friend and converse with my mind like a counselor.

Yes, I love when my fingers dance.

If you haven’t tried closing your eyes and writing whatever comes to mind as you listen to music with no vocals you should. That is what I did with this.

Let me know what you think.

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.

Come and See (A Poem)

poetry

Today, I could not think of anything to write, so I put my music on and then looked at my top searches. I read, “come and see what thy has done for me.” This is inspired by that search.

Come and see.
Come to see.
Please come and see
what he has done for me.
He has filled my heart
and gave me my soul.
Can you see?
He has done wondrous things for me.

Come and see;
please come to see
see the love,
see my heart,
see who I am.
He has given every thing to me.
Can you see?

What a blessing
and what great hope.
I hope you can see
the miracles that were
given to little ol’ me.
Can you see?

Please, come and see
all that was given to me
was given by He.
Can you see?

For a Second Time I am A Bagel (short story)

writing

 

I am still a bagel living my bagel life. I wake up and go to work. I come home and some night I hang out with friends.

While sharing conversation and company with my closest friend a question about pain came up. My friend did not ask about sorrow or the pain that came from hardship. His question was more simple. “Can bagels feel pain?” He pondered out loud to the group.

I was off put a little by the idea that the thought even arose in his head. Of course bagel felt pain. Every living thing can feel pain in one way or another. I being a bagel physical feels pain when some one pokes me, squeezes me too tightly in their hands and when they start to cut into my sides. Every time a knife comes near I must declare that I am still living and beg them not to cut me open.

I also feel great emotional pain. I feel this deep sorrow when I see my people sold as slaves to become someone’s breakfast. My heart breaks when I see the joy of a monster biting down on an unfortunate bagel. As that monster bites down on their bagel my soul crumbles as it can feel the mashing and breaking of a fellow bagel.

I am lost in my thoughts of pain as my friends continue to ponder and had almost come to the conclusion that bagel could not feel any type of pain. It was at the conversation’s end that I told them that bagels could feel pain.

The did not believe me and one of the others changed the topic before much more could be said. I did not mind the change in conversation, since I did not want to explain to people who should have known that bagels feel pain.

It appears that this whole “I am a bagel” is starting to be a thing within my group of friends.  I am not fighting it and actually may start a video series about being a bagel. I just need to make/ get a bagel puppet. I say get because it’s just going to be a bagel with olive eyes and pretzel sticks for legs and arms. The friends of a bagel may be difficult to do though.

We shall see what happens with this. I am enjoying writing the short stories at least.

Magic Machine (A Poem)

poetry

I ride up into the sky
among the clouds they call fog,
watching the others disappear
into the mist,
into the darkness,
with the lights that shine from behind
being the only reminder of where they go.

I ride safe inside
my magic machine
that takes me far
over many lands
or close
where I can dream of far greater things.

Yes, I ride my magic machine into the sky.