Back in The Game

Ditch It
negative thinking

Mellow it out
tight attitude


Stay Clean
Stay Focused
Stay Active
Rest Steadily

Swoosh

At the Barrels Bottom

" If you find yourself lost and struggling at the murky bottom of a barrel, sometimes it is best to wade and wait for the rain to lift you towards the top "

Stuck, slow, and stiff. Treading in a pool lacking any character or quality. A cool breeze, cold & numb feet, an immobile mass. Well, I'm tired of arranging what never gets clean. Near delirium torn without hands or feet. Haven't been known to exist so low. This cigarettes ember is the light of life. It's burn weaves down a straight white edge into a territory merely labeled, still unexplored.

"Should've, Would've, Could've," Desiring the lightness of the breeze but I'm to heavy to be moved by it. Laden with thoughts to appease what is thoughtless. Then.. a tingle & a breath; I'm stil susceptible. Keep it, hold on... at this point nothing can wear thin. A motion of a grindstone, but a movement none the less. Breath, finally a shuffle of the trees. This weight shuffles with but hardly shifts, mellows, or even bats an eye. This disguise has been melting into something less vague, and well.. it's something.

When trees never seem so hallow, I feel so indisputably sick and worn, tired. Well think, no, just settle at the bottom of a barrel where the wood bears no crack and the water is stagnant with the bite of dead fish. Time takes quality so it's a guess when restraint clicks & doesn't take time. Redefinition

Ron Paul did alright in Maine. He barely missed Romney and previously in Minnesota the snow unfroze the vote of many. I'll be here yet again without capacity or conclusion; with boxes & bindings and quotes. I walk with this cigarette held up by a limp limb, without question, just an uneasy crescent of not wanting it to end, not soon, allow me to be so I may redeem my luster for life, rather than ideas about it.  The tobacco smoke reminds me that the flame is never fully extinguished.

The mits are off, my soul is stagnant, and my feet soles are frigid and numb. I step into the yard and let go of what hasn't floundered, the flame is extinguished yet I'm still here allowing myself to live. I walk past the threshold and close the door. It isn't a feat, it's a step, a step that is marked but left for another to measure.

I enjoy the beauty of a gate rusted shut, a board game without the potential of pieces to move, the flowing waters that drip into a sewer grate, & an abandoned building echoing the footsteps of a single ghost, feeding off yesterdays dust.

2-2-12 Fear

Fear exists because I don't understand something.
I haven't experienced it directly, and haven't encountered it continiously. If I'm very afraid of something I begin having nightmares and unwarrented thoughts. These are abstractions to an actual experience. For a simple example, I might develop a shyness to the cold as it bites my tender skin. Anybody would tell you that to feel sensitive to the cold is a natural response, but if I haven't understood this myself I might think myself to have an alien quality towards the cold and become afraid to experience it.

Fear is only an abstraction, it's a shadow of an experience we are still hesitant to get to know. Fear is not a foe so don't make an enemy out of it. A fighter's whip can give his arm farther reach, thrust, and velocity, and also focus these forces upon it's tip; In the same way fear can be handled as an extension of myself, a pointer of what to understand, and perhaps a hint of how to approach that very same fear.

Journal 11-04-11 Choices and Decisions

I'm brought into submission by the quiet fact that repeatedly stares me in the face, the choices I make reflect the outcome I perceive. And these choices, there aims, intents; From where do they come? Are they my own need for more? weather it be relaxation, food to eat, pleasant surroundings etc. Or do they emerge from a deeper purpose, to be of service , to advocate the changes my deeper self longs to see?

It's very easy to be misconstrued, even forget the faces of those I'm talking too. It's difficult to be an individual that is often alone and pick and choose. Sometimes so many thoughts fill my head that I don't know which is essential. I wonder, do I have the courage to say what needs to be said, to take the necessary action? I know that I do, and that the universe provides accordingly to our actions and thoughts. Than why is choosing a path and direction so difficult? Perhaps because it seems to disclude the things I have already known and loved, the weight of one dream weighing another. Perhaps it is leaving an illusion of consistancy amongst ever-shifting conditions that shape me. I know that I have talents which I've placed value upon in the past, writing and it's articulation there of, a willingness to explore, and also a compassion for others. I also am aware of faults that hinder these principles, stubbornness, self-deception, becoming distracted and making the same mistakes.

I know that my life here is to serve a purpose and that this purpose result continues if I work with it rather than against it, even surrender to it's outcome throughout. I feel because we are always changing it's important to have a skill as a measure of consistency, or a basis of our actions. This skill for me seems to be learning planting and growth to eventually organically grow my own nourishment. This post fits more under a journal entry than poetry, but it's time for a change of pace on this bright afternoon. Until next time.

Peace & Love

Time's Flying By

All the time time is passing, flying, fleeing into living
I ask to be forgiven from judgement, criticisms
I fight take flight and fumble, try to be perfect and stumble
Hey I recognize you too in this interwoven jungle
That sometimes is a struggle, a journey like a movie
I find myself distracted by the beauty and it's cruelty

I hope to live it grateful, I hope to make it happy
I hope to know and have to hold so many friends and family
Your presence here it matters, your mind your eyes their fabric
From dreaded to ecstatic, purposeful and manic
This life is what we give it, our share of what's been handed
In youth I thought that truth lay in the burning of both candles

I hope to live it grateful so at the end I'm not left stranded
With less than love and laughter, a smile that is candid
I'm called by sense of purpose, I'm let go in humility
I look again and comb the map for soils of fertility
No folding to futility cause life is too short
To leave your sweet unique face from the image of my thoughts

I've already made a difference in the life's of friends and family
I see off in the distance the flowers of humanity
The flavors of a time frame, the work and also migraines
But all and all the freedom of the fruits in choices I've made
So let this please make my day, Envelop and define it
Signed and sealed in honesty and all that's backed behind it

Times Flying

Let's be Free & Joyous

Lets keep speaking until the silence breaks like shattered ice

Lets speak up about the faith and fictions we feel

Talking on the cusp of wind, the cup of life is carried

Freedom is not contained in words, in booklets, or actions

Freedom is your very self and all that surrounds

Wholly Free Let Us Be

Living Long Lives In Peace

Lonesome Roads

Lonesome road abridged by empty
Leaving trails both hungry heavy
Living on a single sentence
Eyes blink back relapsing heaven

... Stretching further, proper penance
Diving into un-tossed leaven
Feelings prosper, leave in seconds
Here I stand a lonesome peasant

Work with none to furnish fancy
Clenched fists with none too happy
All the signs negate the proof
Mirrors stare dead into you

Smiles are for the ripe and free
Roads are for the young and smooth
Lips are for the kissing booth
Deeds are for the well to do

Unclasped the cap from foreign pen
It's speaks it nerves in stuttered ink
I move and dive and write and think
These weighted lives of hefty things

Flourished cheeks on lonesome roads
Single Shrubs shelter the earth
The ray of sun beats down on minds
That see the substance hard to find

We walk and pace these dusty trails
Awake, At rest, and Half way home
The distant calls of faded past
Brings back a longing to our bones