Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Seeing with Passion

Evening sparks light

My desire is every person understood we are ever evolving in our understanding of ourselves. Realize we get trapped in sick thoughts to dwell on our failures and shortcomings. Feel ill-equipped to deal with those who harm us. Desire everything that is wrong in order to numb our pain.

But time waits for no one. While moons rise and suns set, you will realize the warmth of forgiveness. Live for that day.

I believe in love and ultimate truth. What remains relative is desire. Desire does not search for or find truth, but rather forcibly bends light, to pompously plop itself down on a pedestal, and demand its way. This is neither love or wisdom.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Broken Voices

My glasses are kaleidoscope lenses.

I’m not sure how this happens. This felt hurt in soaked land. Or why I share the shards. Pieces not able to fit together. How far I fell before I flapped wings, sewed as rainbow parachutes.

Sometimes. —-I dont play fair. I play true. You asked me not to care. I played true then too. Quieted my heart until i barely breathed. Felt unsure why my soul still sang. Then dared the impossible. And you ran faster than the wind could carry me.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, prose

The road arrived.

Life is lived on levels and arrived at in stages. —Edwin Louis Cole

Good morning. As the turning of days and as the grass sprouted from winter slumber, I found myself at a point where I realize I can tarry no longer. I must be courageous and serious. I must be willing and full of hope. I must grasp every word that spills from my heart and wring them dry, until I no longer see the darkness inside. What then should I do when the light allows too much room for curiosity? The despair I roam within ebbs and throws me into oblivion. I must be willing to try and write what I set out to create. Even if I fail. I must no longer tarry as if my days are endless. Grey is as good of a place as any to either brighten the world with hope or darken it with tragedy. I hope my efforts will lift us to hear the galloping of freedom drawing ever near. That heaven’s promises of long ago will not cease to keep heads from drowning under the growing storm. I sense the road has arrived. I cannot deny my calling any longer. I cannot be a child of milk and cookies. I must be willing to learn and sift knowledge. To discern the day’s signs and the evenings quandaries. To be, is my last attempt at fulfilling my heart’s rhythm. The beating lasts but a few days more. I am ready to accept my fate. Let it be so.

If we fail
fail to see the wind
coming at the break neck speed
of a metal horse
on tracks,

If we fail
fail in our comfort
food, shelter and clothing
scraped together with goodwill
given as scraps to wild dogs,

If we fail
fail as foreign spies
on fellow citizens
drumming up grievances and rounding up heads
rolling in wooden bowls
we ravish our own hands.



We fail.
We won’t change history any more than armies before us.
We drip in mother’s blood
and scour our bodies of father’s filth.
We bury bones in rags
doused with our enemies vapors. And cheer.
Cheer our own demise as we beg for freedom from our own ills.
Posted in Poetry

Abandoned Voices

The emptiness was swallowed. In the end, nothing was left except tired. She took to the pillows with ease. Found her pulse where needle injections hurled insults into the vein. And breathed through another night, absent of light.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, prose

To my own drum

lay ears upon me
the steady beat of fever
the silent wings fly

I miss handwritten notes, long talks, music, and prayers. I miss Indiana friends.

I feel a victim of the present instant gratification culture. Unwittingly, I have been swallowed whole by a mob mentality of shoving and pushing our way to the top. The guise of morality when we know we are sinners. The breach of sacred life has been cheapened with money.

I know myself. But how well? And how well do I know you? Are we all numbers and votes and popularity slogans? Will I be diminished if the politicians and I disagree?

Perhaps I best live and let it all go. Release the slogans and messages, the poetry and art. Let my world be still. To then be reborn, so when I write or paint or dance it means I am living free. To not feed the monsters we all have become.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Week in Review: B&W

Endurance. Fire. Water. Emerge. Make a splash. Boundaries and halos. Forgiveness. Clarity. Path forward. Joy. Fog. Agony… The peace promised will arrive on time. Do not give up.

It has been quite a week. How has your week been? Care to share? Please do.