Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Coffee shop sits.

Time to take a break from the poem blog posts and write something else. I guess I could perhaps update you on my life? But why? It's still as mundane and as organized since the last time we spoke. I've been working on a pen name for when I publish. I have some controversial poetry under my sleeve and pen names are a protection from out of hand ridicule or praise.
It's the weirdest feeling at times knowing exactly what I want to do. I wonder often if school is in my way of fulfilling my true purpose. How is stressing over economics homework really helping me become a better writer?
I guess the challenge and the laughs are what I should get out of it.
I've been pretty reserved lately. Preferring to not spend a lot of time with other people. I love just sitting in a coffee shop studying, writing, and reading. There isn't anything more fun to me, sometimes. I also have been having these surges of wanting to be more adventurous. Doing things like rock climbing, canoeing, camping, pretty much anything that is outdoors.
My trip to LA brought the life back into me so to speak, really boosted my confidence, and just made me so grateful for my life.
I've been freed from the chains so to speak, and God has really shown me time and time again I have nothing to worry about. Odd little things like MASSIVE harvest moons at 5 am while driving to work. Sometimes those are the best things in life. Not to be cliche' which I'm already kind of dwindling down that path, but that moon was probably one of the best moments in my life. I have always had an appreciation for nature, and being older and more mature has allowed me to appreciate it beyond a physical level. I can see sometimes the romanticism of being a transcendentalist. Listening to 'Walden' By Henry David Thoreau has more than made me want to build a house with my own hands, grow my own food, and just enjoy the simple pleasures. All the extravagance people boast are petty shallow endeavors in which their hype will pass very quickly, and boredom will set in till the next 'exciting' thing presents itself.
My patience is starting to go thin in anticipation for UNT this fall. I'm praying I'll finally meet the people I need to meet. No one is perfect and I'm fully aware, but I need people with my same interests. The basis of a human relationship is relate-ability. This isn't you like bikes and I like bikes thing. That's very trivial it something more with relate-ability within your mind. Flowing is the key to a relationship. You could be opposites in pretty much all (besides religion and politics) and if you flow your relationship has more potential for success. That's a theory I have that continually is proven right. As long as sensible well-rounded people are the subjects. Which are the only people I care for.

The subject of people bores me though, so many people discuss it over and over again. It becomes tedious. I like talking about books and movies.
But, lately, I have not a whole lot to say, mostly a lot to think about.
Hmmm.
Well, my biggest concern in my poetry at the moment. I hope to be successful with it. Or have people find me successful because I love it so much and want respect for it.

I need to start going to poetry readings more...

Monday, March 29, 2010

At night.

I like it best when it's dark and there is no one on the road
Every trip, scuff and call out of insanity
Is ignored, because I love myself too much
I have a soft spot for those kind-hearted folk
The ones who tip their hats, and smile at you
Even when they don't know your name
Or the score you got on that last test.
It's so nice.
My weakness goes as deep as my love
for white wine on a sunny morning
Allowing the alcohol to take over my
Body and evolve me into a higher species
One that doesn't take no for an answer
And always gets up for mothers who have no seat
I like it best at night
When the moon seems to be full
But isn't because the slightest sliver is missing
The desire to paint in that portion becomes
So overwhelming I run home so I can write this
Hoping to salvage the last bits of the memory
Before all the dimly lit street lamps steal them away
Blaming the moon shadows for my fits of sadness
And Rage
If I can't blame them who else will I blame?
I can't blame the people or my circumstances
So I just mail off my demise to a random address
Hoping the recipient can't read between the lines.
Or at least doesn't speak English.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Flattery.

Disgusting repulsive gluttony
Reeks the voices of the American people
We reek of our demise
Rotten carcasses of the flesh
Yellow veins and black eyes
What do you think of us
Green, green earth?
The soil in our hair
Our mouths filled with dirt
Motherland, I am your Captain
Your devoted demise
We are here to possible
Recognize
The stench
That is awaiting at Capitol Hill
Please, Mr. President
Pass another bill.


Wednesday, March 24, 2010

untitled #15

There's a screen door in my mind
Where all the great things
Get caught in the mesh
Weeding through the vibrant words
That loop through my eyes
Allowing only calculations
And logical problems
Disguised as something
Aesthetically pleasing
Beautiful, perhaps
But nothing more
Then why the San Andreas Fault
won't allow California to collapse
But we can say farewell to San Francisco
Farewell, to every golden bridge
Knowing that maybe the slightest gravitational pull
Might be the defining moment
Where we all bury ourselves under our sheets
Hoping these thin pages
With the blots of ink
Which were pulled from the Amazon rainforest
Which allows the seasons to change
We can all draw stars
We can all from memory draw lines
Why can't we create worlds?
For I am always feeling as if a combustion of artful thought
might flow from my veins when the slightest cut happens
But what am I anyway?
Immortal.
We don't die.
We can't die.
Who else will take you away
to beyond what wonderland conveys
to every soul that hoped
Prayed
or at least shouted at every red light
that lasted more than a second
Knowing what we were wasting
What we could waste
I might stumble to Istanbul and Timbuktu
Pour the knowledge of the east
Allow the oceans to nourish
My ever dry mouth
If only I could hold onto this
This perplexing energy that for some reason
Never ceases to stop
Stop holding me up
Letting me touch those fiery spheres in the sky
Why?
It's a trip worth the taking
A step worth the making
Of what we might suddenly all stumble upon
Realizing
It's all about the drop off the edge of a cliff
When every element is within your sight
Even though the Ferris wheel never runs at night.
But wouldn't you agree the man made lights are so bright?

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Untitled #14

I feel inspired.
Beyond the knowledge that my life is merely a glimpse
Of what is more than nothing.
Beyond the fact that the stars are deceptive bulbs of light
That died six years ago.
Beyond the time in which America is crushed by those
She said she helped.
Beyond the mere conversation on whether I should believe
Because believing means I might have to stop.
I am inspired.
Every mountain top is my tabernacle.
Every home is my foundation.
Every dream is my possibility.
Every death is my soul.
No longer am I a faint whisper
Nor am I the brief breeze
Destroyer, how I long to be the destroyer
The villain only present
in the recesses of your mind
The dusty corners that no one visits
I wait
In the shadows I wait
So that when you pass by
I'll shout
Shouting louder than before
Quieter than before
The simple elegance
That has been ignored.



Saturday, March 6, 2010

Wondering.

How do I know if I'm crazy?
Is it a mental illness, or merely not adhering to whatever one else is doing.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Exquisite

I have often thought the only answer could be
That these recurring expenditures
Were the killers of me
Blaming the society
The man of the hour
If I had a better chance
A better life
A better time
That if someone hadn't existed
This world would be mine
With these selfish notions
Eroding away my head
I often thought
My haven would be amongst the dead
Would this environment ever be able
To handle me?
Is it possible for me to inhabit a world
That can't provide the things I need
In my upward position I sit thinking in my grave
For the coffin is the only realm
Where my dreams aren't in a state
of dismay
Life is an abundant pleasure and a reckless sin
Doing my absolute best to not give in
Giving in to the notion that no one will notice
Or no one will care
That the transparency of my whims
Won't cause people to care
Because too many opinions
Means to many lives
That need protecting
Best be silent and prepare to die.