Tag Archives: poet

Continence

Realms lie outside reality.
Escape plans never run,
but dreams can’t hurt,
Or can they.

Speculation teases reality
with possibly as bait
for impossible journeys,
Outside the mind.

Dimensions elude us by design.
For those who care to leave,
this world has dichotomies
our minds intuitively fear to travel.

It’s safe within hope and fear.
Boundaries are like blankets
that cover or smother
what’s outside; us.

There’s a world within us
that many fear to travel
and other dwell to death.

The balancing scale lay twisted
as a legacy to sanity
and history feared by soft hearts
mocking ghosts they can’t touch.

So now truth is twisted and polished
for purposes and intents weaker
Than the weapons they carry.

Calloused hands are carved in statues to be admired
and stroked by manicured realities
so far fetched even dogs lie down.

The sliding scale of reality mesmerizes thick brains
and thin skin
creating beautiful dreams.

I remember now though
beauty is a mask
and a smile can blind
those that lack focus.

The path home is gone,
a portal closed to actions
and relegated to words
of the loudest idiot.

I just hope somewhere in the text
are inspirations understood
by future patriots willing and able
to stand true in the face of ignorance, otherwise we’re doomed.

Universal

Incantations vibrate across space
And time ripples with intent
Through open minds

Smoke rises
From ashes of hope
Lifting our spirits high above reality

Auroras sway to a rhythmic beat
Illuminating the mysterious
Colors of emotion

Seasons revolve
Around the light of day
Highlighting the need for tomorrow

It’s hope that shines within our soul
Warming our heart to our mind
With balance

We’re connected
Within this space that separates
Our flesh from our shared humanity.

We can’t see or touch this spirit
With our consciousness
In the way

We feel the world
With our intent to connect within
And be part of the worlds emotion

What we say and do means little
If what we feel is disconnected
From our heart

The universe
Is within us and constant
Our soul guides our spirits home

So I become we and the true nature
Of us is realized in quiet moments
Alone in the dark

A Brush With Life

If pictures can paint a thousand words, our words can paint a million pictures, so speak your mind carefully. Remember that your heart and mind beat as one in a delicate balance.

The art of life is free within the confines of our physical world, but our thought, our dreams, are a world without boundaries. A gallery of wonder revealed within every vessel of hope. Create with your mind and paint your spirit with the rainbow of light.

Death looms for most, a release for a few, and a new beginning for others. The patina of time glimmers on fading memories like water colors running on canvas. A landscape of light melding into a blur of colors washing what was coherent. This is why the light within the tunnel is surrounded by darkness, we become the color.

Be your own portrait, don’t be painted by time or circumstance. Everyone’s an artist. Some with their hands, others with their minds. The difference in the medium is irrelevant, it’s the one who choses their brush carefully and let’s their heart move their hands that creates beauty.

Self Less

Self, a universal mind alert
Moving in shadows
Leaving dust swirling
Around darting eyes

I Am self, strong and proud
Withering behind ideals
Crushed by culture
And the desire to be

You hide your self
In pockets of emptiness
Stuffed with decayed dreams
Fidgeting copper coins with bony fingers

My self ruminates in the sunlight
For all to see and mock

I don’t have to be you
Or anyone else hiding behind flesh

And smiles that dimly light a facade
Don’t glow, they’re merely coals
Warmed with yesterday’s fire

But the eyes tell all, windows to the soul as a scrim for your self.
Open your heart to your mind
And learn what freedom reveals.

Don’t fear our selfs, they’re one in the same. Dissected by station and aspirations that tear at moral fabric
Like a fat man dressed in a small suit.

I’m above and beyond being a symbol of time, culture, or class.
I live now, for this glorious moment
Because everything else is a dream.

Free Man

I fight daily against an enemy of words. The world tries to steal my freedom with names that fit people, but make no sense to a person. All I want to do is honor the pride in my hands, the hands that feed my imagination and my hunger.

I have no color. I’m not a continent, I’m a land to myself. I live where my boundaries take me, not where I am placed. I build a life for my own, not for scavengers to fly above waiting till the time is ripe.

A group is insecure by nature and needs others to validate their beliefs, I need no man to walk the paths of my journey, you may shake my hand, but never my beliefs, so go elsewhere for weaker constitutions.

I see other men joining. I will never join anything but my beloved. I don’t need another mans glory to walk proud. I don’t need clothing and adornments to demonstrate my weakness within another mans prowess, I stand alone. You cannot define a free man, he won’t allow it.
I understand most men seek solace in the company of other men under a banner of past accomplishments by other men, but me, I’m not livestock. I’m brave enough to be free.

Things do not make me, the earth does. My nature is not built of glass and steel, I’m relentless like the growth that overtakes your buildings long after they’ve been abandoned for new fantasies.

I don’t need to be entertained by false displays of bravado or heroism. I fight a war for my existence everyday not to be defined by the ignorance around me. Slogans and creeds are the vines that choke a free man. Banners and flags are just signs of which direction the storm is coming. My mind is outside the realm of incarceration, no matter where my body is.

I wish no man Ill will, nor do I judge a man for being led. We stand where we’re placed, from there we put down roots based on our topography, or keep moving to avoid being cultivated. Germination is more than seeds in dirt, and to stand in awe at the explosion of light throughout your life trying to climb on the backs of other men like weeds in a garden doesn’t create fertile souls. Turning the soul over continuously prepares the mind to consider the spirit.

Stay free my friend. Resist the world and it defining ambitions. Don’t come my way with your seeds of destruction, it will be like planting seeds in a jungle, the wild ones will always take over and define themselves. I wish you a lifetime of calloused hands toiling, and sweating brows dripping, into your own pastoral bliss.

Places and Spaces

I can see things, not with my eyes, with my heart and soul. This is a place where feelings rule and pictures are secondary. A place where the sand is more than a beach.

I can feel things, not with my hands, with my being. This is a place where the wind is suspect and memories Pail in comparison. A place where feelings leave emotions behind.

I can sense things, not with my mind, but with my spirit. This is a place where my being is touched by the past alerting me to the future. A place where the present is only where I stand and my spirit conspires with my soul to take me other places.

These spaces are a moment. A moment of tranquil confidence and now doesn’t exist. A place for dreams to flirt with reality making Heaven a possibility.

American Dream

American Dream
Man stop with that tired ass shit about flags and matters. Bitch you ain’t got no skin in this game and you wanna whine from a distance. It’s my people who matter you Stupid fuck!
My people, “poor folks” who spend their time like their money. Poor folks who ain’t locked up and hustle around town bustin their ass on jobs your lazy ass couldn’t do on a good day, not even in the middle of that middle class mid life exercise crisis you go through, yeah, the one sandwiched between the fat phases that are really you.
I ain’t talkin bout the Mcdonalds eating baby momma and daddy who are poor by choice cause their ass don’t know how to do nothing but structure their day around a TV and a couch. I’m talking about my people, poor folks hustling all day in the sun, in the rain, and within the storm to make a dollar and still find time for their family.
My folks don’t spend money to keep their kids out of the house, they save money and teach their kids how to run a house. I see your nasty little bastards can’t even clean up after themselves, then look through my folks when they come around to make a few dollars by cleaning up after you. It’s ok though cause love is our currency and our account is managed well.
You expect us to feel something about some damn blue and black coloring game. Fuck you! That’s just cops and robbers playing that game then crying when it gets real. If you ain’t about the life, on either side, then get the fuck out.
You talk about that flag like its a marketing sign. My folks know what God and Country is about, cause it’s our sons, and now our daughters, who are going to die for it while those ungrateful little assholes you raise are in college crying about what fucking sex they are, you ain’t about shit!!!
Now we’re gettin ready to vote again so all you plastic niggers, stale crackers, and spray tanned wetbacks are gonna be out here trying to convince us about your “creds” cause your great grandpa had a hustle. Stay where your at bitch. You need my people now for that vote. That white privileged bitch is gonna be out there trying to convince us she’s a “coal miners daughter now”! Get outta here with that shit, we’re figuring just how important we are and you’re ass needs a resume dated in January bitch, and tell your friends bout it too.
There’s two sides to every coin. Most times my folks, poor folks” are invisible. We can clean your houses, yards, and offices while you’re out trashing the inside of your car. You don’t really care about us outside a ballot, but that’s cool. You won’t see us in November either, you’ll just feel us in January when your spouse and kids are looking at you trying to figure out what your lazy ass can do besides run your mouth and live off my folks!