Definition of Manhood

Don’t Ask me Who I am

It’s ironic to me then that a man
Is an arrow shooting into the future
And a woman is both the aim
And the place of strength from which

The bow shot the arrow in the first place
Oh well, It’s not like my mother failed
Just that I was a bit too pure for war
Not to be shot off into the world so quickly

Dying by that same arrow is an art
Though I think courage has died out
I’m not a man, in the sense of who they used to make them
Let me just live, love and say it well in

Good sentences, and I’ll be happy
As I commute from one hand to another
Like money, like the catalogue of value
I’ll be the unpublished writing

Who drowned in hot baths
Or a disclaimer than I never truly
Learned how to write but
I’m dying to get my soul back from you.

Open Invitation

Like Air & Water

Hello, I wish we would have connected earlier
We should meet in another life
We should meet in air

Me and you, with a new world between us
In loving people too much, or not enough
I felt the scenes of my life

Anonymously, my consuming interests
Were psycho-social
If not, to talk to everybody

As deeply as I could
We would sleep in open fields
And travel west in our hearts

To walk freely into the night
Maybe in, another time and place
I wouldn’t be so terrified of

The malignity of the mechanics
Of how separated our lives are now
A schizophrenic individualism

Where profit counts more than people;
Goodbye, I wish we would have known each other
We should meet in another life

We could meet in water
Me and you, without the deluded sense
Of desperate egoism of this culture

I will leave our unity for then
Until then, I will take a deep breath
To listen for the shore, that’s the heart
At the other end of time.

In some Secret part of Her #FreeVerse #gender

In some Secret part of Her

I felt a pang of loneliness when
I watched the lives of others
I could not place the appalling self-consciousness
I felt, surely horrible and common?

The inner words we dare to utter at ourselves
Cramped in the dark for so long
God, but if life is loneliness
Then every act is one of saving ourselves

We get married for companionship
And have children to grow old together
We volunteer our time to help society
Yet does the neurotic element

Ever truly wane, wanting mutually exclusive things
And not having them, we make do
For the rest of our days, this
Is the great compromise, feeling misunderstood

We learn to not take anything for granted
As if the present is our forever
And forever is always shifting, flowing, melting
And as a woman, we are required to serve

While men can escape social roles by rebellion
Or male privilege, or utter irresponsibility
As women we were required to give life
Until we forget who we were without them.

Posthumous #quotes #artist #art

Posthumous

Everything in our lives is writeable
But did we script in free-will?
Without recognizing consequences
I talk to God but the sky is empty
I followed philosophers who were out-dated

My lovers do not know how to
Protect me, from my worst enemy
Who is the breaking of idealism
The broken wheel of pragmatism
And cynicism of aging in the school

Of real-world hard knocks
Can you understand? That we loved
Our tragedies as poor substitutes to living?
That we needed deeper lows to
Experience and appreciate higher highs

What is an artist, they are who
Most desire the things that will destroy
Them in the end, like a fanaticism to beauty.

Notes from under the Bell Jar #NaPoWriMo #poetry

Why Can’t I try on Different Lives

Poetry, can you teach me how
To live richly in the present
I don’t want to regret the past
Lovers that scarred me

Or be timid about my future
My time that only comes once
I am so hungry, I can’t let it rest
For a shinning creative burgeoning

Burdened love that weighs me down
Like a project in lightness
I want to write forever, at my own pace
For creativity is the most tragic thing

That most people live dull and routine lives
While others must tread alone
The ambiguity of their becoming
In a treacherous freedom and poverty

Simply to do what they most love
In this world, to articulate endearingly
An inner work that likes to dress up.

Scarcity of Silence #FreeVerse #poems #micropoetry #silence #amwriting #NationalPoetryMonth

Scarcity of Silences

Silence isn’t depressing
It’s being with yourself, oneself, myself
That’s quality time
I knew it perfectly well

Nature is always present
Like when I used to walk in the woods
I wasn’t alone, I was surrounded
By trees, the forest, the snow melting

There weren’t windows, buildings noise
It was silence glittering and blinking
In terrible moments that were
Beautiful because they felt innate

Flat as a poster I walk this city
Without silence, or a clear mirror
Perhaps without silence, we
Find ourselves wanting everything

And everything we cannot have
I blame too much breeding
As the cause of the scarcity of silence
Dare I say it’s gone extinct?

Poetry takes me back to nature
When all the nature has been stripped
Searched, and taken, sort of how
The world treats a young woman
Who once knew what silence was.

Rest in Peace, Words #Literature #Amwriting

Rest in Peace, Words

Years later, there is no lack of poetry
No lack of PDF books and poor
Modern poets who are somehow famous
Famous for lack of a better term

Reviewed, peer networked, published
But I prefer to read poets
That felt the words they said
Did not need to edit and manipulate

The audience into believing they are clever
When I am dead, I will die a poet’s poet
With rain drenched hair of brightest April
I shall have peace, because

My entire life will have been a tribute
To lyrics, free-verse, open joys of solitude
The kind of aphoric-speech which future writers are best
Equipped to appreciate, I shall not have renown, no

But my verse shall live on, spoken
By artificial voices in make-believe
Settings of the future, poems will have a life all their own
And in dying poor, literature will have loved another poet
In the hush anonymity of it
I shall be that sparrow of too many little whispered words.

Featured Artist:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Land-in-sight-527843476

Becoming acutely aware of all that I took for granted ##SundayBlogShare #poetry

Becoming acutely aware of all that I took for granted

Someone, somewhere
Can understand me
I’ll never meet them
Not be loved like they could love me

I’ve so much to learn
About finding the right people to love
God, but life is loneliness
Despite all friendships made

Inspite of grinning faces and passing stages
‘Parties’ with no purpose in truth
Loneliness of the soul well
It’s an artistic condition some

ii

Suffer from it more than others
Like allergies, a more unique brain
Someone, somewhere
Has a brain a little more like mine

I’ll never meet them, but sometimes
Knowing that they exist, helps me
Get through the day, writing
Like an unabridged journal from me to you

iii

It’s overpowering and horrible to be self-conscious
Making up narrative and plots, inventing them
All the time, like spirit-chatter
Why so festive, why so gloomy
Because my inner voice is powerful.

Author’s Note:

This is a tribute to all human beings who suffer from the condition known as “poet’s brain”, please share it on facebook, twitter and other social media. There is some evidence that writers, artists and especially poets have more challenges regulating their emotions, lifestyle, anxiety and subsequent consequences of struggles with mental illness sometimes leading to breakdowns, and even to premature deaths by suicide.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Poets_who_committed_suicide

http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous_poets/suicidal_poets.aspx

Featured Artist:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Esencia-Primavera-527848910

The Purple Fat Feelings

The Purple Fat Feelings

I can never read all the books I want
Never love all the people I’d prefer
Hoping to live and feel
All the cursive of the human palette
I was left feeling horribly limited

I learned not to expect
Nothing from anybody
As the surest means of being surprised

I wanted to be startled by life
And found everything in life was scripted
The outgoing guts and
The ability to improvise
With a touch of self-doubt

I took deep breaths and bragged
Inside my own heart
For taking-in kisses left me feeling

Self-important and in love with everything
That was the Spring’s ingredient
The stars still go waltzing in blue and red

And if all the world dropped dead
I fancy love would still exist
On stars, for sale, for youthful fancy
Perhaps if we ever find ourselves
At peace, it will be because

We are dangerously close to wanting nothing
For now in my own prayer-silence
I’ll dream of books, love and fat purple feelings.

Life is the only real counsellor

Life is the only real counsellor

It’ s the Spring, a heartbeat at my feet
Tightrope above a feather bed
Looking down on beauty
From on high, landscape, foreign grounds

There are a few ways
Of spreading light
Be the candle or the mirror
And Lo’, beware of monotony

Mother of all deadly sins
For boredom is not evolution’s whim
Give me the tightrope, the short-squeeze
The misfortune of having strong desires

True originality consists of
A new vision of yourself, not new manners
But attitudes that can transport
Your entire life into more necessary habits

For there is time to be inarticulate
But not time to be indecisive
It’s the Spring, let’s get divorced
Marry, and say we are living

The life we want to!
We make our own stories
Hero of the shaky narrative
Good plot, bad blot, matters not!

It’s time to move forwards
For we shed tears in Winter
So we could start again in Spring.

Legacies of our stars

Legacies of our stars

It’s the Spring, it knows what we are
But knows not what we may be
And everything is possibility
Beneath these stars, this world stage

What part shall we play
In these seasons four, whom we love
But trust a few, doing wrong to none
There is a tide in us that flows

From love to love to legacy
It’s what we do that finally counts
The actions for which a life was made
And words have a foolish wit

For believing themselves acts, they make us witty fools
No legacy is so rich as honesty
Hell is an empty place, with all the devils here
Listen to all, speak your heart to a few
It’s the Spring, it’s time to show another face.