Brown veins reach toward a sky we call blue
Not wearing her summer dress
She seems to bare a scarier appearance
Not ashamed of her nude presentation
She knows winters do not last.
At night when few are willing to look
She dresses in wishes,
Engagement rings twinkle on the betrothed
bony fingers.

Many pass her, outstanding as she is,
they pass without a glance.
She stays standing
knowing spring will come
seeking fruit and shade.
they might see her dancing in that summer dress
so too autumn will come and they will fall away
as her leaves
she will be left, maybe even forgotten
for another winter, she does not anger nor judge
She stands.
still outstanding
that’s the beauty of being you in all seasons

Five nights passed and seven stars had to die to grant him his wish, seven stars was the price for a priceless pen, The aspiring writer held this heavenly pen tight as if it was the answer to his dried mind ready to write till the rising of the sun, yet not a word, not a line could he write, cursing the stars he walks to the well of good wishes and started casting coin after coin wishing on the right book to write a good story all night and the whole of the next day he cast coin after coin even asked passersby for coins as it took all he had, and then some, was the price for the well to grant him his wish, next to him a steel blue book with moon white pages, it was lunar parchment, each page had a glow, was soft and textured, the greatest book ever crafted and the moon was never full again.
The writer with his wishes in his hands sat down expecting words but not one came to his mind.
Not a good story, he could not write a word afraid to waste ink afraid to waste a page, for what more could he wish?

What makes a good story?
There are many things that make a story good the characters the themes and the plot, how your characters grow, and the pacing, and how the themes are there, but not predictable, and countless other things that accomplished writers have written and made videos for us to learn from.
Focusing on the craft and all its elements are important to a good story, I believe the story is good before the crafting and elements, they are the fuel to the fire, and can make the telling of the good story amazing, but we can focus on every element and seek all the best ways, and drink as much caffeine or get as drunk as possible or do whatever is the next thing we believe is the best thing, but that is not what makes a story a good one, the breath of the fire, is the spark.
A spark does not always create fire at first, sometimes we have to spark a couple of times before something is lit.
The spark I speak of is that feeling that there is something, that pull, from within we all have this spark but as a spark, it is often fleeting and many just move on giving up on that fire and sleep cold and hungry soul, hungry uncomfortable and not satisfied looking at the stars and casting wishes, thinking that we need something to inspire us or create us, we are afraid to focus on the spark because it feels distant and fragile, but you cannot deny it a spark is a flame it is a fire inside you, we all have it, you have it.
The spark is you, that feeling of an idea that just sits with you sometimes it’s a small thing like a hunch and sometimes it is an idea, it is that you inside you, you are a fire of sparks and trusting your fire will make you a wild one setting all alight, believe in your spark it is a good story.

I think of the writers that wrote the stories that have lasting ripples in my life, how they must have trusted word by word as they write the story, trusting that this is worth telling, Their courage has left a mark on my life, and it all form trusting that spark, I think a story with all the good techniques and all the best ways of writing can still be a bit of a blunder if not honest, it will pass you, but a good story is an honest story, an honest story comes from a true spark, comes from you.
Thank you for reading
Have an epic week
Peace and Love.

“I am tired,” words I hear more often each day, “I am just tired,” “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I am just so tired these days.”

We face the day as if it will be a battle as if we must be prepared for this thing called life that will punch us in the face so we try and try to evade and block its punch but it always gets us.
Mondays are often the heavyweight and then Fridays are kinder more like sparing, facing the day as if it is going to be a fight will eventually make you swing, and it is tiring jabbing at air.
Every day we make people and circumstances our opponents, invisible enemies all around us, the world has even made 2020 the bad guy beating us all and we hope for 2021 to be the hero to save us, a mind that is always at war will make a soul fatigued, everything is a battle for us and I don’t know why.

What occupies the mind will trouble the spirit or lift it, in the back of our mind we always have that thing we need or want to do, but because of fear or fatigue we place it on the shelf and go on and we try to move on and yet that never settles it keeps us up, keeps us tired we do not rest because we did not handle this thing that keeps us troubled, could be a phone call you have to make or talking to someone or applying for that job or quitting that job or whatever we postpone and our spirit does not put things on hold it carries what we try to ignore.
Our heart always speaks to us, often it speaks courageously and it speaks spontaneously, and it speaks with passion and speaks of love, and we with our daily battles often do not feel brave for such things. We place our hearts on the shelf we basically ignore our own existence, passion pounces often without appointments and we have our day planned so, let’s shelf you, for now.
Our heart whispers let’s go be, and we say no, not now, now I have to stay and do, our heart jumps and bleeds for love but even that we shelf because right now it does not make sense or bad timing or…
Fill the gaps, we have this constant battle with ourselves with our honest self, and I can not think of anything more tiring than the constant killing of the heart.

Mind your heart because it does not lie to you, trusting your heart can be a scary thing, I honestly believe that God is the whisper of the heart, saying to do such seemingly ridiculous things, it could be a silly thing like take this way back home instead of the usual path, it could be that feeling of waiting before you buy, or buy that now, it could be the more daunting things like, get out of this thing you are in now, could be a job or a people or a town, it could also be, stay, these things are scary and that is the why we often place it on a shelf but I believe that is why we are so often fatigued and with that fatigue, we won’t feel ready to make such scary choices and that is how we often stay in situations for years,
being in a job you don’t like for years or at a place or in a bad relationship or not in one at all, or don’t have a job, not at the place we want to be because we are fighting ourselves, we have this battle with our heart, because often our heart does not make sense

“Fatigue makes cowards of us all”- Vince Lombardi.
I believe we are tired because we deny who we are, we fear the choices we need to make or want to make, mind your heart start listening, I can not guarantee that each feeling is your heart and even if it is the outcome will be rainbows and sunshine in Lala land, but I believe choosing the heart leads to discover you, and that is your greatest gift, don’t be afraid if your heart whispers love it is already there, act on it.

I hope that you had an epic week and that you enjoyed this read.
Thank you for reading.
Peace and Love.

In my skin, I live
Yet alive I have felt just outside it
The day I braved outside normal
caressed the uncomfortable brush
Then a fresh breath visits the lungs
Brave, the desire even the path unclear
A heart, as compass may entice fear
but the path of Love
Is a living path.

I prayed without knowing your name and nature
I heard from others who you are and how to speak
As if my tongue was not fit
My breath not true
I could not say to you
my heart,
I believed you could not listen or hear
such a troubled tongue.
What an affair,
I prayed in the only way I heard
bargains deals wagers and records
As if you did not care about me but for my deed
So I say let me insure, give me the cure
What is the cost of my soul dark, broken, and foul.
Often desperately wailing, with callused clasped hands
god oh, god hear, this beggar’s plead.
Your name and nature I did not know.

Now I whisper, giggle and guffaw.
Speaking with You.
hands now open
untroubled tongue sings Your name
With the wind, trees, flowers, bees, we all say
Your name
Your name a favorite breath to breath
On bicycle free and flying
sitting writing, everything
everywhere You and me always
Never away
I now pray
I pray
As a child plays

Standing with coins in my pocket, I face this giant with lights and buttons filled with colors I have to choose, which sugary treats will be worth my coins. Having made my choice, a packet of sour worms, I wonder was it the right choice was it a fair trade the packet is quite small, and someone next to me walked away with Astros did I make the right choice?

When I look back at my life I see that most of my life I have lived according to the exchange rate, I have swapped almost everything for everything, when I was young it was simple homework for playtime, and sometimes it would be a Pikachu, Meowth, Bulbasaur, for a Charizard.
Now I see that I made many transactions often unspoken ones, exchanges to be excepted and liked, exchanges that would only coast to conform not knowing I was actually exchanging myself, rather not wear this shirt, this one is “cool” rather not go barefoot, or whatever it was was small exchanges, unseen and almost unnoticed.
I have realized that to this day I still live with this exchange rate, what we call manners often is only exchange for being accepted, walk barefoot in a mall and see what happens, fart loudly while walking down the street, I can hear all the buts and protesting. We force smile and wave because if you don’t then you will be perceived as nasty or mean

I have seen how this exchange rate has influenced my relationships, and even how I saw and treated God. I often treated friendship as a trade you buy today I will tomorrow, a message for a message, a gift for a gift, I could not be the only one receiving nor the only one giving, we all have heard it or even said it, earn my respect, that’s saying earn my kindness, love, and my friendship what are you exchanging to be in my circle?
I often worked for love or friendships I did this trade subconsciously because that is how it worked it was how life is all around me.

Dear God I will stop swearing if you can just let me win this one time, God I know I have been bad but I won’t be anymore if you can just help me out this one time, the exchange prayers are endless, we even live in a state of constant exchange, God I give you a good life as good as I can in exchange for heaven, ever wonder what you did wrong when things go wrong in your life, today was shit but yesterday I was rude to that other teller and now I got what was coming to me, my bad deeds in exchange for punishment, and sometimes we chuck a coin into the vending God and two cokes roll out instead of one, and that might of been because I was exceptionally good, the exchanges are endless.

I still catch myself bargaining with God, I want to go on this trip, I explain why it would be good and what good I will do, I want to earn more money so I lay my budget down before him with hopes that it would reveal that I will be good for this raise or more income, here God I will give you this if you could give me that, God here is my talent it’s for you now please help me publish, or God here is my voice I will sing for you as if singing can ever be void of God as if our talent is separate of God.
I wonder it and heard it form others; I did not use my talent for God so God took it away, what a bad investment God made in me, I only gave my voice for money and fame, now I have lost it all, what a tragic exchange.

I can only speak for myself, with no relationship exchange makes sense because we believe in the worth of things and actions, not in the worth of self, I think this is probably one of the greatest lies we believe and that is that we are not enough or not worthy by just being us.
We are.
You are.
I am.

Dear God, I won’t… again, if you can just…

Standing with coins in my pocket, I face this giant with lights and buttons filled with colors I have to choose, which sugary treats will be worth my coins. Having made my choice, a packet of sour worms, I wonder was it the right choice was it a fair trade the packet is quite small, and someone next to me walked away with Astros did I make the right choice?

When I look back at my life I see that most of my life I have lived according to the exchange rate, I have swapped almost everything for everything, when I was young it was simple homework for playtime, and sometimes it would be a Pikachu, Meowth, Bulbasaur, for a Charizard.
Now I see that I made many transactions often unspoken ones, exchanges to be excepted and liked, exchanges that would only coast to conform not knowing I was actually exchanging myself, rather not wear this shirt, this one is “cool” rather not go barefoot, or whatever it was was small exchanges, unseen and almost unnoticed.
I have realized that to this day I still live with this exchange rate, what we call manners often is only exchange for being accepted, walk barefoot in a mall and see what happens, fart loudly while walking down the street, I can hear all the buts and protesting. We force smile and wave because if you don’t then you will be perceived as nasty or mean

I have seen how this exchange rate has influenced my relationships, and even how I saw and treated God. I often treated friendship as a trade you buy today I will tomorrow, a message for a message, a gift for a gift, I could not be the only one receiving nor the only one giving, we all have heard it or even said it, earn my respect, that’s saying earn my kindness, love, and my friendship what are you exchanging to be in my circle?
I often worked for love or friendships I did this trade subconsciously because that is how it worked it was how life is all around me.

Dear God I will stop swearing if you can just let me win this one time, God I know I have been bad but I won’t be anymore if you can just help me out this one time, the exchange prayers are endless, we even live in a state of constant exchange, God I give you a good life as good as I can in exchange for heaven, ever wonder what you did wrong when things go wrong in your life, today was shit but yesterday I was rude to that other teller and now I got what was coming to me, my bad deeds in exchange for punishment, and sometimes we chuck a coin into the vending God and two cokes roll out instead of one, and that might of been because I was exceptionally good, the exchanges are endless.

I still catch myself bargaining with God, I want to go on this trip, I explain why it would be good and what good I will do, I want to earn more money so I lay my budget down before him with hopes that it would reveal that I will be good for this raise or more income, here God I will give you this if you could give me that, God here is my talent it’s for you now please help me publish, or God here is my voice I will sing for you as if singing can ever be void of God as if our talent is separate of God.
I wonder it and heard it form others; I did not use my talent for God so God took it away, what a bad investment God made in me, I only gave my voice for money and fame, now I have lost it all, what a tragic exchange.

I can only speak for myself, with no relationship exchange makes sense because we believe in the worth of things and actions, not in the worth of self, I think this is probably one of the greatest lies we believe and that is that we are not enough or not worthy by just being us.
We are.
You are.
I am.

They are playing with paper guns, I think sometimes it’s a phone, then a boomerang, and then the funniest it seems to be something gross a bug or a snot I don’t know but my heart is light as I witness them playing with these pieces of folded paper.
I know that is still in us all, we often act that growing up kills the child in us that is not true the child can never be killed, only placed in dark spaces and ignored till the banging on the door only becomes part of the daily noise.
The world is a limitless wonder, we can never run out of breathtaking moments and marvel.
The world will always give opportunities for exploration and play.

We stop to play mostly because of fear, fear of what others might think or what we think they will think we are taught what looks foolish and we fear how we are perceived no one wants to look foolish, but, children do not have that care, only this gorgeous moment where a folded piece of paper can be anything and we as the adults encourage this and do not judge them for acting like this paper gun is a snot or whatever we laugh with them and if no one is watching we play along because all we want as loving parent or friends and adults is for a child to play, be free and healthy.
Growing up I have never felt the child die, the only thing was I became ashamed of him, you know the moment you did something that just busted out of you a moment you were childlike and you heard the words, that is not what adults do or that was not cool.
We are composed and put together we are walking in line and say hello and goodbye people, not come and play with me, jump in a crowed and say tea party or crack a joke with your whole body, even our laughter has become muffled and revised, not too loud, no weird rhythms, only a good amount of laugh, and not too exuberant, dare not giggle that is for little girls.
Laughter is the child even if we suppress or deform the child never dies, creativity is the child fun and play is the child, we only hide that part we only become shy and fearful of our childlikeness.

There is this illusion that growing up means hardship, and that a child’s life is light and filled with butterflies, and an adult’s life is the nightmares that have become real, we have responsibilities and work,
“A life”
Kids are these beautiful angels pure and innocent, and then we transform into the monsters guilty and ugly, we won’t say it but look at our actions there is no mercy for adults and no mercy on ourselves. I think most of us went through that stage where we did not want to become an adult, I believe it is because it looked like the opposite of who we are, I did not want to grow up because I did not want to lose believe or my wonder, it is as we were taught that the opposite of adult is child, we cannot see it that way we can’t transform into the opposite of what we started as.

It is scary for a child to grow up, we often say that’s life (only when bad things happen), and talk about the horrors of life and we promote it as a selling point as if the harder it is and the worse it is the more you are adulating (more successful)
As a defense to our lost passions, we tell kids, wait till you grow up, as if we are butterflies that turn into caterpillars or worse worm monsters living only for the grind. Work monsters that know only of pain and what life truly is, we have moments of play but that is tamed and only for the weekends, and holidays but even that has the cruel whip of life.
The child lives inside, paper guns or boomerang is still inside, we try and suppress it that is why so many of us are often tired and that we feel so fatigued because we hide who we are.
We forget, there is a quote in the little prince “growing up is not the problem forgetting is.”
Don’t forget, don’t let the lies of how you have been brought up make you shy or ashamed of that child in you, don’t forget to play and be, excited a child loves the day no matter the name, today is Monday but we have paper and our imagination, we have our laugh, we are the beautiful innocent child, we grow but not out of our “childship” we are not the broken and forgotten, we have not transformed into monsters, don’t be ashamed don’t be shy come out that dark room now is the time to play, this is a life full of moments to marvel and Love.

Thank you for reading
Peace and Love

They doubt us now.
Don’t fall for their real words
For it’s not the truth
Love your dreams
Enough to offer them
Your bruised skin
Hard, hard work
Offer them your tired eyes.
Offer them your time
Blood, honesty, and Love.
Dreamers
Your dreams are true
With a true life!
The Brave act on their words.
Their heart whispers, dear dreams I know you.
I know you’re scent, you smell like God’s breath.
You are what God whispers to us personally.
You are the language of the heart
That’s why others often don’t understand.
Pain blinds the eyes
Nothing is more painful than losing yourself
even if it is not often felt.
Fear deafens the ears, open violent mouths.

Do not hate who do not see
do not hold, them hostage for your fear
Dream and act
Dream and work
Dream and be you.

I nervously sat in a room darkened with my fear, the gloom sat on the walls my melancholy a tangible feeling to anyone who passes this room of darkness, it was not what I intended, all I wanted to do is write a poem, but a fear-filled mind quickly can conjure nightmares that even makes sunlight dim to nightfall, I was afraid that I will fail. (I fucking hate failing)

While my mind entertains these lies I cannot think clearly, I cannot put pen to paper I cannot move all that keeps popping up inside is why are you doing this, who are you fooling, why even try, you will get exposed as a fraud, with my cluttered mind laying heavy on my heart I could not write.

Walking outside in the light trying to breathe I go about my day as normal, knowing that today, I still need to write a poem.

I cannot recall what poem I wrote on that day but I know I had many similar days not as dramatic as that might have sounded but we all know that voice that pops up in the quite with your fingers on the keys or pen at hand or whatever you doing that voice that pops up often in the quiet spewing lies, lies that disqualifies and breaks down, lies that tries to avoid true quiet, the quiet that settles in your heart like a leaf on water, the quiet knowing of truth, that quiet place where you are still and you know you are. 

Writing often requires quietly sitting and thinking what to write, what to rhyme, thinking of the characters and all their why’s and the what if’s in the stories, whatever you writing, sitting, and doing nothing is a part of it, drifting in thought sitting in the quiet.

It was hard for me to sit in the quiet because of the voices I mentioned, I believe all expression, has this challenge whatever your art, there is a stillness that must, for us to truly express our heart.

I believe many of us struggle with this.

Life is just one enormous conglomeration of noise, alarms wake us, notifications on our phones now we always have music with us in our ears, or podcasts and radio, traffic, peoples voices, and opinions, we move from noise to noise, we go home and watch shows or listen to music, always noise, my mother will work around the house but the TV will be on the news not watching but listening, we always have noise, I think we fear stillness, quiet, not moving, well I know that I struggle with it, I always have to do something, have to seem busy, someone must not see me just sitting for no apparent reason, we have to make noise and “hustle” that is a successful life.

The quiet will bring stillness and awareness of the moment and a connection with you that is what I believe we fear, ourselves facing the truth of us.

I don’t want to go on this too deep for now but I am reminded of the quote in Coach Carter 

“It is our light, not our darkness, that most frighten us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do.” 

I think we get glimpses of our light when we are still and that may frighten us because often that light seems contradictory to what we know as normal, but I want to write more about the practical things that happened as I forced myself to write a poem every day from Monday to Friday for ten weeks.

I got used to the quiet, instead of having this epic battle with my mind and the fear of not getting anywhere I found peace within the process a comfort with that bit of discomfort and my mind started to work with me, I found stories everywhere. 

Often I would sit in the house and nothing is coming to mind, maybe only words or small ideas but nothing substantial, not that epic flow, and I would often sit two hours having written only three lines or less or more but it’s not poetry it is just words or phrases, I would then still not worry or fear I would do something ells and come back or what I recently started to do is go to another place, jumping on my bicycle and go I like nature so I would find a place near water and sit and write sometimes, I would go to a place to buy a coffee, I did not always like that because that felt too stereotypical (also just a battle with an illusion.)

I would like to go to this pizza place and sit at this certain booth order a cappuccino and write and stories would come one of the poems was about a girl building her own pizza.

I would just walk outside my house find a place to sit and write about that spot, there were bees just humming above me as I sat in the shade of a tree and that became a poem everything started to whisper to me as I became comfortable with the stillness, even noisy places make for amazing poetry but I needed to be still within.

The noise in my mind was lies, mostly just what I thought people might think, and not living up to their expectations that I decide that they have, weird how we work( I don’t believe that I am the only one doing this) I immediately had a mind of disqualification before I could even write, I first had to battle this noise, I don’t have answers to a noiseless life, nor the five steps to becoming the world’s best selling author but what I have discovered for myself is that spending time with what you love will require a stillness of heart and that will force you to face you, and facing you, will reveal you and the lies that you believe then it slowly happens without you know, you are, I don’t know how it works all that I know is that it does and that we must, most of us want to become forgetting that we already are, and stillness of heart helps reveal that truth. 

Now I am a lover of quiet places it encourages stillness.

Thank you for reading, have an epic day.

Peace and Love. 

I wrote a poem a day every Monday to Friday for ten weeks.
What happened well I have discovered that we are not limited, I wrote and thought that I am going to hit a blank I am not going to have a poem to write that my creativity will run out, and it did not somehow I found more and more words more and more ideas and I got better at it than I thought, I got more excited for what I was writing because I have discovered that there is just so much more, weird that the less I wrote the harder the words came and the less creative I felt.

Writing often I felt fatigue at times and that made me lazy and that I want to give up just that I just have to give up or skip the day and if that feeling was strong I hit some of my old books and wrote, rediscovered them and edited them and posted them felt a bit like cheating, but I just needed to get over my silly issues and enjoy giving new life to old pages.
One of the biggest things that happend is that I disovered how I write, call it a process but I started know mysself and trusting myself to write, my poems started changing it was a voice that was always speaking yet I have never gave it the time of day I could not always recognise it but now I have and I hear the diffrent tones and depths, and I know there is still much to discover.

I have a new confidance when writing my poems, I have become comfortible with the sitting and quiet, I often got fustrated (Fbomb)
with myself I need to get this poem out why am I just sitting here why cant I get a line written down, its going to look like I am doing nothing, what must I write about all the voices are just noise that builds wall around creativity, sparks need air, when I made peace with how I write knowing that it will come the more free I wrote the more I could write my heart out.
There is a beauty that comes with freedom and acceptance a trust that I can not give voice to yet for me it is still a young discovery, I have excitment in this new knowing and trust.

I will write more aout this “gump challenge and the discoveries with blogs to come.
Thank you for reading
Peace and Love.