Speckled with colors
and pink dyed hands,
I came to write
about what I saw in this land.
Words escaped me
my mind drew blank
as I push a story aside
to focus on how to create.
Yet, here I sit
speckled with colors
and pink dyed hands
only thinking lost thoughts
waiting for words to write.
I will write about nothing. Nothing is what I will write about, but what is nothing except the lack of what you want to be. Perhaps I will write about everything instead of the nothingness that I run from. Â The nothing that is dark and cold from lack of heat and light. Why would I write about the things that could be considered nothing. Nothing is in fact nothing that I want to write. I will not write about nothing. Nothing is not what I will write about, but I will write about everything instead.
Yes, I will write about everything in my mind. I will jot down notes about  my phone turning off, if only for the night, about conversations with groups of friends, and about people being bagels in a tired mind’s dreams.  I will think about what I write as the words are typed, not wishing to edit the words on the screen. I will only write and write I will. Yes, I will write about everything in my mind.
Let me fly away on the great big plane that is called my mine, so that I can dream about all the lovely things that come from the nothing being left behind. Who left this nothing, this hole for me to find and can I fill it up again with all the things that it lacks. I will shine the light of consciousness in the dark corners to go exploring into the depths of the unknown, like caves in a familiar mountain that was always left alone. I will fill the holes up with my thoughts, with ideas of love and of what I believe about being home.
I will write about nothing. Yes, I will write about everything in my mind, so let me fly away on the great big plane that is called my mind.
I will wait
for inspiration to come
for thought to appear,
like a word bubble from my head.
I will wait
until my mind is ready
and my brain turns on,
like a computer booting up.
I will wait
until I am ready
until my body tells me
it is time to write.
Then when patience
is no longer needed
and inspiration comes
I will write.
I will write whatever
my mind tells me to write,
my brain whispers to my fingers,
and what is scribbled
in the thought bubble above my head.
When I know what to write
I will ready my body
unleash my mind
and write,
but until then
I will wait.
 Sometimes you need to wait other times you just need to write. This of course is a combination of both. I needed to write as I waited.
What do I do?
sit in anger
in grief
waiting and watching
the ball of angry twine tighten?
What do I do?
Scream and shout
about the beauty that was lost
wallowing in my heart
about how it was unfair?
What do I do?
Watch my soul grow dark
and my heart breaks
What do I do?
I write
pushing off the anger
wiping clean the screams
that want to creep out.
I turn the light of my soul
to shine bright
and move on.
What do I do?
I continue on
I laugh at the poem that comes out
and smile
I get to write even more.
What do I do?
I win the battle
that rages inside of me
 I first wrote a lovely little poem about aging and being loved. It was sweet and happy with the repeating line smile and play. Well that obviously did not want to be published and wound up being deleted some how. That is where this came from.
I hope you enjoyed this and have a wonderful day remembering you don’t have to be angry when your work winds up being for nothing.Â
Always smile and know you are loved.
A week or two (maybe three), you may have noticed a change to my blog. I changed the theme and added a logo/ painting to the top of the site. This same painting is on my YouTube channel, Twitter profile, and Facebook page as backgrounds.
This painting was a fun one to do because the only rule I gave myself was that it had to represent me in some way. I used my favorite color combination, which is blue and yellow. I tried to add in something other ones, but it the end it was blue and yellow that lasted. I also made sure to throw in some wave looking things at the end, since I love the water so much.
I recorded myself painting this video and sped it up. Then I added The Beetle’s song From Me To You. So take a minute or two to watch this painting that is a little part of myself that I give to you.
Thank you for reading, watching, and generally supporting me. Please let me know what you think.
On YouTube, I do have a playlist dedicated to sped up paintings. I also have a section on this site where I share my visual arts portfolio along with my painting portfolio.
I can see what people search for when they find my blog, or what they search for to find my blog. Today I saw a very cool sentence that I am sure is from something, but I’m not sure what it is from. I am going to use it as a writing prompt for this post. The quote is. “you can only narrate my past but you can never write my future.”Â
I hope you enjoy.
You can narrate my past.
Please do,
and tell me all the things I went through.
Speak the words that you believe
the words that will add up to my story.
How do you see my life?
How will you narrate my past?
I ask you to narrate my past,
but you can never write my future.
I myself can only plan the unseen.
I do not write my story,
so you cannot either.
Let the future be
and tell me all about what has been.
Yes, You can narrate my past
but you can never write my future.
You can tell me my story,
but will not be able to force the unseen.
There is a little cafe near my house that I believe I am becoming a regular at. Today I went by myself and had breakfast. I decided to write a little as I waited. This is one of the poems I wrote while enjoying their food. It really is a great place.
With painted wall,
warm and inviting
art hangs welcoming guest
saying be who you are
do what you will
and enjoy the good that is served
With the sky on the ceiling
bright and pleasing
curtains hang to welcome guest
saying come near or far
do what you will
and enjoy the food that is served
So I write and dream
sitting in the corner so I can watch
the couples eat
The students study
and an other lone female reading the paper
I sit, watch and writing
doing what I will
and enjoying the food that is served.
Poetry comes out
with my eyes closed
when sleep in near;
brilliant poems flow
when paper is far
and repeating is not enough.
Wisdom and intelligence overwhelm me
when the only outlet is to speak it to myself
or when no one is listening.
Yet when I open my eyes
words fly away
like fading dreams they fly.
The poetry inside is trapped
like a rat in a house unable to be freed
as soon as the paper is in reach.
I open my mouth when some is around
and only babble spews out.
So I write with my eyes closed,
freeing my poems from the paper trap
and write when no on is around
with the quiet of my mind.