While the radio was on…

songs song wonderful songs, the sound of music is sweetness to my ears, songs song beautiful songs, the sound of peace and happiness, of joy and suffering and sadness and truth, music sweet music and I wish I could be a part of that, I could be a single ringing harmonic, a sub harmonic that sends chills and moves hearts.

There’s music in the sighing of a reed;
There’s music in the gushing of a rill;
There’s music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.
~Lord Byron

Shorts

I am not drunk! I have not enough yet drunk to be drunk; Therefore of your devils brew pour us another that itI may be drunk!

---

A life hallow
mask to cover
lies to shadow
truth from another

---

We are more concerned with our heroes than out own lives.
~

Life is disaster
breathing
makes it faster
in and out
pain is pleasure
don’t take away
my life, my disaster

---

There’s a beast that needs to be soothed, the one inside my head that consumes. Everything. And leaves only dread of tomorrow, of what might be. Leaves only inaction and Malcontent. There’s a beast in my breast that fights my happiness and seeks to destroy. I am at war with my other nature. My half self.

---

Ive said all I need to say and now I’m headed out the door
I got the last word in and Ive got nothing more.

the Song the Soul the Poem

Poetry should be heard, spoken and understood. The cadence/rhythm of voice and tongue shapes the picture, Gives life and breath to the jumblePile of words. The poem takes its living seconds from the lungs of the poet speaking. Are you poet? Do you speak? Do you breath? on the Sixth day He created Man and shortly Man created Poem. He sang of Woman; of Growing things and Living things. Poem/Song took life from its creator. God breathed Man, Man breathed life to seconds of Song.

‘Course poetry can be read and understood just as well. If the reader goes at it with out a clue, no idea as to what he is to do with the flow or word list before him. What are these words? They speak to me so strangely. So strongly. I understand them but don’t understand why I understand. Its a subconscious thing, a mindless knowing, this silent awareness. Writer gave life to words, to representations of words and the idea of words. Gave life to this which gave life to a song/poem. The reader sees and the words infect/permeate swim in his mind. They arrange, rearrange themselves into twisted/pleasing configurations and pictures, into other thoughts and ideas and ideas of thoughts and thoughts of ideas. When Writer gives life to images of word, images of poem/song, he pours these into the windows of souls. Into my eyes come the assault of song/poem. Into my mind, willingly embraced, comes the flow of thought/idea. Mind to mind Writer speaks to reader, thought to idea, idea to thought. My eyes are open, my mind empty and waiting.

Burning, Radiating, Illuminating

The sun is a fascinating …

The sun is out.
Cold fucking sun doesn’t give anything but light.
Miserly, selfish sun. Grudgingly showing itself; Hungover sun
“I got up for this?” Sun.
Worthless, angry fireball. Superior, condescending sun

I light the world, the world returns a portion to me. I spill out over the universe; it takes without comment, without care. The moon returns all I give, it gives it away freely without thought. I give all I have to give, I release all I hold ungrudgingly, without expectation of return. I give all until I have nothing left to give, I give unto death

The sun looks like it should be in bed again…

Peaking out upon the morning. Looking out from behind the cloud. Playing hide and seek with the funny looking ants on  the ground. Hiding from the storm, not wanting to get wet not wanting to have its fire extinguished. Blinking through the lite showers smiling its multicolored upsidedown smile. Settling on the tip-top of the highest mountains, sleeping in the soft fields to awake in the small hills. Squinting at the quiet-bright blankness of winter. Counting days and weeks and months and years and hours and minutes and seconds and quarter seconds but forgetting half seconds forgetting small moments when everything freezes. Ignorant of the goings on when it turns to look at the other side; sad at its unknowledge getting a glimpse from its small sister/cousin, the cold disk of our evenings.

The sun is LivingDieing…