I’m looking at a picture of us
I didn’t like it at the time
There was something too real-
I felt ugly about it
But now I love it
You were trying to tell me something
And now that you don’t want to be seen
I’ve figured it out in the photo
While I was off mentally having fun
You were telling me you loved me
and that you were sick
They say a picture says a thousand words
What about emotions
We aren’t all equal,
You’re nothing but a fucking drunk
As she cheats
Eat your vegetables
or no inheritance for you
to the children
Rolling around the dishes
the old man splits his finger,
thinks of telling her,
It wouldn’t matter,
hasn’t for a long time
Kid picks up a rock
and tosses it through the window
of his father’s car
Doesn’t much matter
hasn’t for along time
but a dribble
a few things
I admire artists who have the talent and skills to sketch, paint, and draw. I don’t have the ability to do any of those things. For me, it’s a pleasure to view the creations of others.
And to think of an artist being told, in some form or another, that their art isn’t valuable…well that pisses me off. And that’s what happened to my friend, Melissa.
Please, jump on over to Melissa’s blog for me and check out her incredible image of a face with its watching, caring, deep set eyes, and let her know how valuable her art is. I can’t stand seeing someone put down when sharing their expressions with the world.
Here’s a link to the painting (scroll down to the end of the post)
I hope you all have a good day,
Unafraid to Die-
They called on us-
And saddled our Sorrow
My fingers are strong,
so I think I’ll type a bit more.
Set up my new desk this evening.
Having scotch to celebrate.
The old desk was tied
to my abuse.
Told myself it was OK.
How many years did I write on that?
How many rain drops fell.
Life is what we make it.
Unless you’re a child without a choice.
It’s dreary watching rain wash away the snow.
Not the feeling of depression dreary.
Simply the visual of what was,
back again to being unseen.
Recently I was blown away by a kind and generous man. I approached him about reading a published poem of mine, on stage, in NYC. Charles Joseph (aka SirCharlesThePoet) has an energy about him which I admire. Charles had, from my point of view, very little reason to do this for me, but he did. Because apparently, that’s how he is.
When Charles first sent me the video I couldn’t watch it. I tried, but needed to shut it off each time he started to read the poem. Not only because of what the poem means to me personally, but because of how large I view this moment- his act of kindness reached through my screen.
Please visit and participate with Sircharlesthepoet:
His About page: https://sircharlesthepoet.wordpress.com/about/
“Charles “Sircharlesthepoet” Joseph is a poet living in NYC, although he was born in Haiti. At 11 years old, Charles discovered America. Soon after his discovery of the States, at the age of 12, Charles started writing.”
Here is a link to the video. I am so very thankful for this. For Charles to read this poem on stage in NYC is a dream come true. I’m in shock that you did this for me, Charles, I will not forget. You are a talented, intelligent, creative mind. I’m happy to know you.
Our Self Embrace, orginally published on SpillWords Press:
Our Self Embrace
Cheers, Everyone! I do hope you are lucky enough to know Charles.
Passion breeds. Listen to the crickets, walk in the cornfield, alone. Smell the stalks and the earth below your feet, come home and relish in the thought of doing it again. Without passion we are lost and wandering among smiles that have never counted for anything other than self.
I received a phone call this morning.
the kind that lasts all day.
You can push it aside,
but it’s there, sitting in your stomach
and slowly climbs through your heart
and eventually into your head.
Where, either you deal with it,
or it deals with you.