Posted in Music Video, Musings, Photography, Poetry, Soul Journal

Wasting time or time wasting away…

i will be game… and play
so thank you to Philosophy Through Photography

Life is a series of riddles
i propose
to catch the color sphere
children born of wild dreams
this wasting time
or is time wasting me away -again… (jeanne 9/19/2018)

Lightning crashes a new mother cries
Her placenta falls to the floor
The angel opens her eyes
The confusion sets in
Before the doctor can even close the door

Lightning crashes an old mother dies
Her intentions fall to the floor
The angel closes her eyes
The confusion that was hers
Belongs now to the baby down the hall

Oh now feel it, comin’ back again
Like a rollin’, thunder chasing the wind
Forces pullin’ from
The center of the earth again

I can feel it.
Lightning crashes a new mother cries
This moment she’s been waiting for
The angel opens her eyes
Pale blue colored iris
Presents the circle
And puts the glory out to hide, hide

Oh now feel it, comin’ back again
Like a rollin’, thunder chasing the wind
Forces pullin’ from
The center of the earth again
I can feel it.

Oh now feel it, comin’ back again
Like a rollin’, thunder chasing the wind
Forces pullin’ from
The center of the earth again
I can feel it.

Oh now feel it, comin’ back again
Like a rollin’, thunder chasing the wind
Forces pullin’ from
The center of the earth again
I can feel it.

Songwriters: Chad Alan Gracey / Chad David Taylor / Edward Joel Kowalczyk / Patrick Dahlheimer

Lightning Crashes lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

************

I suppose i should shed light on why i chose this song, these lyrics, on this day. Yesterday was my youngest daughter’s birthday. So my mind automatically drifts to birth as amniotic fluids flood in…

choking chlorophyll
induced comas
reds, oranges and yellows
fill my mind

she was born three weeks late… scheduled for a c-section on a monday, she arrived days earlier, on saturday, with the nurses finding no heart beat on the monitors, i lay tied to an operating table, subdued by mighty drugs and gasping air…

baby’s gasps silent

and then i asked “is she beautiful?”

days later i held her
eager to go home
i caught a fever
days ensued and now years later
the nightmare
still plays as she wanders
in fogs of her own.

a baby died
the same day
in the same hospital
that my first child
was born
to a mother
shaking in the wind
afraid to hold a tiny hand
limply reaching to wipe a tear
the news ripped our ears

and not to be out done
my son born
before the doctor
a frantic cabbie
and gassed-up taxi
new york bore silence
as we upstaged the world news
and i slid into oblivion
a homeless man
stationed on 71st and second
hunger pains surrounding me
i wondered how i
could move further
amazed at my strength
men were fed
that day.

so yeah… this! my morning chatter… watered by coffee

louie
strength over matter

and last night’s final curtain… to be painted… as this is a photo edited for study

fog-induced

sorry, if i disappoint you but i really do not

know who to choose to keep this award/game

flowing, so i leave it up to anyone who wants

to jump up and join in… thank you!

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Attending the Opera

— Read on Fabric on the Daily Post

What are we willing to give up? What would i find behind your curtain as i swing it aside? Have you, will you, consider letting me know?

I wait. Anticipate. Is this a game eagerly played by two? Or only i?

Am i setting myself up for your opera. Life over as fast as it started. Slow. Drawn out misery. Ending with a cry of freedom!

A peek behind the madness of death exists behind every curtain. It matters not your fabric woven. The rapacious appetite for breath carries us along.

I do not plan to go anywhere. Neither behind your curtain. Or stand before it. I want to be your covering. Shield you from peering eyes.

Posted in Poetry

In her head

swam black

interrupted by the whites of eyes

peering into a pool of red.

Born blue -she flew

escaped the cell created

a dungeon of nightmares -rare

to be so bold, this world so cold.

Is this not the “happily-ever-after” we aspire?

Posted in Art, Poetry

Origins

the-dance-of-life
The dance of life -Edvard Munch 1899-1900

Since the beginning of time
man yearned to hold
bare hands grabbing the void.
Who knows where thoughts descend
knowledge within himself?
boulders resting on shoulders.

Rocks for sitting and moving and groaning
time expanding and growing, infinitely exploding.

Plans from a power unseen
acknowledging humanity’s innocence green
contemplating our enemies.
Oral stories spread through the land
From where did they come?
the dance of life moving on.

Time between legs inspiring
tucked between the ways of seeing
inquisitive symbols depart thoughts.
Creating in white, red and black
why discovery depicted in painting?
determined to be so clear.

Rocks for sitting and moving and groaning
time expanding and growing, infinitely exploding.

Posted in Opinion, Poetry

At the beginning

“Exclamation point!!!” said me.

The wheels of the brain are churning and driving along with this thought, I turned into the driveway and paused. What is there? Anywhere? I can move but every room is empty. 

Fear begins at birth. 

Are they smiling at me?

Confusion sets in. Memories flood the senses. You hear the first cry, your own. A wail! You were set free and dropped into a larger sea of stale air and ugly words. 

I just can’t get this life right.

I just cant!
I’ll bring everyone down with me.

Who means anything? To anyone? They don’t treat me right and no one understands. The great teachers, full of wisdom, bleed words. I drink their life in hopes my heart beats strong. Yes! I get it and I see and why can’t their wisdom be what drives the masses?

Chaos rules the world. A drop of rain brings relief until it spreads ripples beyond the intended hurt. One drop is not enough to balm the sorrow felt. One tear spared no one from blame.