Tag Archives: prose

Cooking up the truth!

I hear eloquent excuses whispered in dimly lit corners. Shadows flicker and colors fade to velvet and glass creating mirror images of ancient travelers.

I ignore vernacular reasons sang with a distracting rhythm. Concrete and steel reverberate staccato sounds so fast there’s no time to object, just shake your head and move out into the open air where fresh perspectives leave your head shaking.

I listen to factors that make a man stand tall holding his faults accountable. Clear skies and consciences drift transparent in fields of green. Remorse and regret peel back the truth of what tomorrow will bring. Like the morning dew doesn’t change the flowers I see, patience reveals the withering glory.

If we are what we eat, the we become what we hear. Listening carefully is akin to the tongues wisdom. For a word lasts longer than a meal, and the nourishment absorbed depends on the quality of the listener, as well as the chef.

U.S.S. Implosion

The ship lists; the starboard side judges the port with fate, while the port side glares down with contempt and favor. Fore and aft are no longer considered as waves lap at the feet of passengers. Not knowledgable enough to assist, they chatter and regurgitate what deck hands think they know.
The Captain looks to his Lieutenants with hope. Hope that they knew more than how to appease guilded sleeves. Hope that they would glance below and feel something besides the power of privilege. Hope that the reality of the ocean spray would awaken their souls.
Below deck the rabble rouses to their station. Grumbling at the years of toil. It was fine when they had theirs and it mattered not that fools gold and real gold were just a matter of reality both purchased this moment.
When the ship sails there’s hope and dreams. When the ship docks there’s anticipation and wonder. Alas, when the ship sinks there’s realization. Realization that everything sinks, all cloth gets wet, and lungs fill at the same rate no matter the lineage.
Now the playing field is even. This is a dangerous moment. A moment where all that matters is within you. The will to live or die for yourself or something greater. Prayers won’t reach heaven before you’re gurgling salt water and prayers, time has becomes a noose.
The spectrum of human emotion and behavior play out below the Captains Mast as he loses faith in humanity and goes down with his ship and dignity, but go down he will, just like the porter in the bowels of the ship.
The scrim of civility dissipates with a reality that comforts some and destroys others. True colors replace national colors and whip in the wind. No place to hide before deaths grasp. Running within anarchy serves the purpose. Everything is futile but breath and thought.
So here we are in rougher seas in a ship that’s rolling with the sea rather than on it. There is no Captain, no dignity, no order. Humanities become a whirlwind of ignorance within green seas. No more “man overboard!”, it’s every man for himself.
The difference today is the rabble is no longer satisfied with waiting silently below for orders. They know there’s no real captain, just a man with a uniform that sinks at the same rate as their tattered rags. They know because knowledge is the currency of the day, understanding is a myth. Truth is a creation, and lies are tools of the trade.
These times have came before and passed. Many ships lay full of treasures to blind future generations of pirates. There are stories of victories over the sea that are humbly recorded and hesitantly retold, because the understanding that reality has layers that order maintains hinges on knowledge that hides the truth of humanity.

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.

Making sense

I can touch with my spirit. My spiritual hand wisps across consciousness like smoke from a fire.

My minds eye stares through the physical realm as you begin to evanesce and intentions older than time reveal the aurora within.

I hear the tears of history raining down on barren fields crying out for an ocean of love within the peace of a raindrop flooding humanity.

I’ve tasted your world and it’s plastic attempts at recreating nature. It’s just texture to chew on while the mind reflects on the succulent joy of flesh and bone, bark and sap, mixed with blood and air to replenish the earth.

My sense of smell warns me the path of men is no place for a man and within mankind there is ignorance. It’s the man, not men, who stand alone with the wind in their face who stoically avoid the fetid intentions of the pack gone rogue.

I think, therefore I am is an eternal beacon to remind us to make sense, use sense, and be sense within a world gone mad. Ancient winds remind us we can touch without hands, see without eyes , and taste without our mouth. We can hear the world without ears and smell death without flared nostrils. The world is within us, all we have to make sense to feel it.

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

Ism’s and Ist’s

The ism and their ist’s imagining life is lived through manicured paths of thought. Not a step taken out of turn as passerby’s quickly move from place to time. Fluid thought reacts to forks and bends with the decisiveness of experience.

Capturing the echo of thought is like grasping smoke. Empty handed we read the signals of what was thought and only written. Folks dreaming of magic words and incantations of harmony dissipate in the silence that screams common sense.

Love is as violent as hate is silent. People get in the way of love for these brains in a jar, always somewhat short of the imagined, but here lies the beauty, a brain without eyes or flesh can’t know it’s an ugly process.

Hate hides behind anger like a barking dog chained and muzzled. Without teeth the power of fear becomes a memory or dread. These hands of wisdom never get bitten by truth they walk, they muse safely at the other end of the leash.

In a plastic world the idea of emotion molds imitations of life. Art can reflect life, but like a mirror, can only mimic reality. To truly live we must shed our reflection and wrap it up tightly in our image for disposal.

And are we not thinkers? One mind vibrating across the universe so obvious to the stars. This concentric egocentric warped existence that leaves most dizzy. The power to stop the world from spinning out of control is simply closing your eyes. Like the pre operational child who covers her eyes, no one can see you and the world is yours to create, if only for a phase.

So it’s in my space, within my circle that my world revolves. I’ll love and hate equally, adore and detest with out regard, and never will I compromise my beliefs for another man’s promise of enlightenment. I am human without a suffix to corral my freedom at distances so far I think I’m roaming the range. Words and letters are silent tools at times for those gathering.

I refuse to be cultivated, corralled, or muzzled. My thoughts are the last bastion of defense. Vigilance within doesn’t rely on physical prowess, but silently creates and destroys the barrage of intent. So here I stand, on thoughts that are free, with my feet firmly planted in the soil of dissonance open to the melodies of life.

Shattered

Shattered dreams of hope lay slumped in gray. No longer can a dream lift spirits under the weight of the myst. So from here I will rise and walk broken towards a light to fuse my fears into anger. Then, and only then can I smile again feeling the pain of others clothed in my humanity for all to fear.

For I survived the fall and rose to my knees scarred and numb. I slithered across the dank carpet of decay seeking a shard of light, but all I found were memories and broken pieces of yesterday void of reflection.

From my knees I can feel the power of the earth chanting to my feet. Rise, rise to the occasion, face the oppression and walk proud. Walk proud of the scars that legends are made of, because one day they’ll be stories and songs sang by beautiful voices about how I groaned to the heavens for one chance at revenge.

I embody the human spirit for you. I kneel before my own greatness so your back can strengthen in my darkness. We don’t need light to shine. The moon is not as vain as the sun, but guides lost souls to the dawn of a new day.