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

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

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.
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.

When I decided to start blogging I was unsure what I should do with it, I knew that I want to write, share and express I have enjoyed the discovery and enjoy the process of writing something, being that it was unclear and that it felt like I was only starting I wrote what was on my heart writing about writing, random moments and writing more about the act of writing avoiding to write something down, this went on for longer than it should have and a friend once told me (now I will paraphrase) “but you are not writing”
He was right so I decided I will write and post my poems and that is when I had it a small “Forest Gump” moment I just decide that I will keep writing a poem on the blog every day for five days and somewhere I broke my stride but then it came again with vengeance I just kept posting poems, not knowing for how many weeks I would want to write I knew that I want to write at least one week worth of poetry but I kept writing and writing not sure when I will stop, I just kept running.
It went on for weeks and there were times when I cheated a bit well I had no rules but I posted poems that I have previously written, they needed some revision, more about that on a later blog the main thing I did was force myself to write and work on the art I love, I just kept writing a poem, each week I had five new poems I never thought I would have, all I did was write.
In the blogs to come, I want to share just what I have experienced in doing this Gump challenge and why it has changed so much of my writing and how I approach it.
When the words was said that I am not actually writing I felt it, I knew what I was doing, I was hiding, first class hiding if I have to say so myself I was hiding in plain sight I wrote and had the blog to prove it and yet a true friend saw the bullshit I was selling and I did what I do best run and keep running, running in this case straight into the direction of my heart and the more I ran toward my heart the less aware of fear I became I don’t know if I passed fear on the way to my heart or if I was running away from fear or through it but all I know is that I just posted my work and in a weird way became less and less worried what you the reader might think, now that might seem like I became lazy or not involved, that was not the case at all, all I wanted to give was honesty, I had more freedom to express and create, to cut and add what I wanted with very little thought of what might seem interesting to you, I just want to express this poem as I felt it should be as honest as I could, more on that later.

I did not think that a simple commitment to a small task like this would transform my writing as much as it did, or let me phrase it like this that it would reveal my writing as it did because for a large part we are always in the discovery of ourselves, we get revealed trough our art and that was the magic for me.
It is a liquid always moving and different but the same like an ocean or flame you see it, it is the same and yet there is always a reason to keep seeking and watching it, as it keeps revealing, so are we if we just keep in the direction of our heart.
Thank you for reading
Peace and Love.

How do you express a heart with so much life to share?
I have been only posting poetry for a while and now I feel like I want to let you all in on the things I have experienced in life and just committing to writing a poem for five days of the week every week for an undisclosed period of time.
I have to follow my own advice and just breathe, honestly, I feel like I want to explode.

I am just going to fall in with a rose, I have simple eyes when it comes to roses all I notice is the colour, but recently my horizons have been broadened about the different kinds and their names and I was reminded that there is always more to everything we see, roses are not just beautiful flowers with thorns.
I had the privilege to accompany Mark and Kelly to an art exhibition in Rosendale, and again my mind broke as it often does, inspired, overwhelmed with life and all its possibilities.
It was beautiful art of all kind, photos, paintings and sculptures, it felt special to be at a small town in a little place with tiny rooms and the world is going on with all its beauty and madness but there in that place at that moment we are just walking in a place with things created by other roses with wonderful names and layers and stories, appreciating their time and hands was an amazing privilege.
Realising the rose we see most often, judge the hardest for its thorns and only see as dull, is the reflected rose, it’s hard to see our own splendour and magic our own vibrancy.
We often feel guilty when we catch a glimpse of our beauty.

Walking seeing what people made I felt my heart resonate, as if there was soul music playing bouncing off from the art and the people, I hear the song I felt my hart harmonising with this song, and I got excited for my friends that I know have sweet music to share to sing, hum and play.
I got excited and I frustrated, with our hiding and feeling inferior or whatever the excuses are to not just let it all out, maybe it was more for me then for my friends maybe, sometimes when I stand on a mountain and watch the sunrise I honestly wish the world could just stand still and appreciate the splendour of light, and Mark and Kelly are such splendours rising suns of warmth and colour.
We all are, it is just easier to see in others.
On the drive back I broke into a badly spoken speech with what Kelly calls F-bombs of how FRUSTRATED I was with them because I want them not to hide or doubt their own light, they should create and go for it, the words I flung on our way back was aimed at myself as well.
Now that speech with some revision.
I am excited for all of us, there is not one dull rose, and the beauty of a sunrise and a rose is that it does not beg for an audience when it is just purely itself.

I often walk with Mark and we go to places and take photos of beautiful nature and wildlife or entertaining streets filled with structures and moments but I catch myself often taking photos of Mark taking photos, why when all around me is there waiting for a photo why am I taking a photo of someone that I can photograph at anytime? Life, life, he is alive there is a tangible passion a heartbeat that pulsates off of him, you can feel it and you are drawn to it, I have just stood and admired Kelly at being Kelly, playing the piano, creating a garden, I have been witness to many roses and rising suns, being themselves with no audience or recording just passion erupting, a moment of unforgiving no questions asked life. Honestly, I know of no better beauty than those moments.

I often think of worth the price tag or seats filled forgetting about depth.
The depth of the moment alone on a mountain and you see the sunrise or set or looking at the ocean only you and all its splendour there is and indescribable power and intimacy an unending depth, no need for an audience or a price tag only the awareness of this beauty, and that it is a reflection of us, there is no dull rose, seen or not seen, plucked or not.
I am more excited, for my fellow roses and rising suns, exited I see us growing I see us rising I see us reflecting, I am excited without expectation a peaceful excitement knowing that there is no dull rose.

The question we have
Am I good or bad
is it okay to feel this good
or that sad
why do I get so mad
and why do I still wonder

Years and years we ponder
years and years we ask
lives have asked the same
over and over again
we faced with what to do with this thing we have,

Often questioning feels in vain
and guilt climbs in my heart
for why do I complain
The questions we have all before had.
But answers, answers seem to only live
with a few quiet lives
some poetry, some songs
on old vinyl and paintings, protected from mould
art, of the dead who only left us with clues
How could that simply, be true
Who can believe that life with all its questions is that simple?

You have to be you.

Inbetween some sheets of poetry
I found that some words
pass the ears and speak to the soul
Thank you to all the poets and artists of old and new
That shared the language of the heart

I fear that I will hear the words
but not heed to the words spoken
I see how we all resonate
to the whispering ghosts of the past
calling for us to live more
worry, less
fear, less
Love more

Art has always been the way of the soul
The awakening call
here at my desk filled with those gentile voices
I hope that first my life
then my words do the same.