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The yellow flowers in their overt comeuppance of the spring time throngs fell fearlessly to the ground after three days in bloom then a new bud a new sprout stands against the tide fearless in his opportunity to sprout, bloom, and flourish before falling softly to their rest

Posted By t44 On 03.15.2013 @ 2:48 pm

The yellow flowers in their overt comeuppance of the spring time throngs fell fearlessly to the ground after three days is bloom then a new bud a new sprout stands against the tide fearless in his opportunity to sprout, bloom, and flourish before falling softly to their rest

Posted By t44 On 03.15.2013 @ 2:47 pm

I blasted away at the heart of the one who used to say yes all the time. shafted she was once in the bed now on the street swearing, yelling, hurling insults filled with profane and harsh sounds like a gunshot in the wound of another being I have found the gun blast brings release.

Posted By t44 On 03.14.2013 @ 12:40 pm

Busyness is a fire. life burns slowly, and what is found in tune within is seemless work. I don’t know what it is to rest; i only know fire. i only know work. and the flames burn my flesh to cinders and my soul to ash.

Posted By t44 On 03.05.2013 @ 3:27 pm

Knock down the door! All falls in centers of walls Shallow and little is the stability seen And Boom to you another Boom What in this dim lit hallway could awaken me From castles of boom boom boom What but a knock

Posted By t44 On 02.27.2013 @ 9:39 pm

baby girl don’t cry everything’s fine its all okay everywhere everything in this huge world what a lie what bulls**t what enigmatic fallacy we’re taught as children in life by our raisers and suitors and others

Posted By t44 On 01.29.2013 @ 1:09 pm

Visitations are held up by the soft, lined hands of those who love without restraint without condition who can simultaneously see all fault and problem and love anyways presence is what we speak of presence is what we notice sometimes people attend an event but really never visit

Posted By t44 On 01.21.2013 @ 1:40 pm

Promises are lighted by the soul behind the words that flow from the mouth. and each promise give to man from man or nature or God is a breath of fresh air in which we see our true selves: selves made for trust more than distrust for hope more than anxiety and for love more than fear

Posted By t44 On 01.08.2013 @ 7:05 pm

I mus walk forward and step in line and do my chores make it to work on time I musn’t fall or fail myself I have to cook and fix that shelf and it all screams a kind of must but its not true–that you can trust

Posted By t44 On 01.07.2013 @ 5:36 pm

the amount of sleep i need right now seems incessantly too much to borrow from the day. his time off is a paid affair which settles us all into our beds at night and allows us to doze and daze ourselves into restful dreams. i know of little comfort of this amount of pay, except that which leads us to our own dreams– reaching, grasping, and fighting. until the amount of sleep is worth nothing

Posted By t44 On 01.03.2013 @ 12:54 am

Both the beauty and wretched speak of the same divine. each fellow his all knows not what it is that’s mine. and all the steps and all the breaths lead one down a line, but all start in a Spirit that is one of Thine. each and every and all and both walk the world and always doth moving towards the great divide.

Posted By t44 On 12.04.2012 @ 8:38 am

Folly’s object is to objectify that which could never be. Each object falls off of me leaving me naked, exposed, forever myself. In these objects we place ourselves, riddled with fear, and then we wonder, “When the dust of our objects is blown away, will anything remain?”

Posted By t44 On 12.02.2012 @ 11:33 pm

Despite the differences in each wildflower I have seen each change and ever-tower For the walk of the face of the pristine cliff covers the flowers as the winds and rains shift

Posted By t44 On 09.18.2012 @ 11:19 am

Whether or not I weather or not the storm comes from a million miles to crash on the instant that strikes forth in the mesh of framework with which life moves forward and sees itself in the light of the sun for the invisible worm will fly and come whether or not we weather the storm.

Posted By t44 On 09.05.2012 @ 1:33 pm

I once saw a miracle: the sunshine stepped over the clouds and reached out a friendly hand in the bitter of winter in the harsh winds blowing. he walked forward to kiss my face, and then I followed his feet in the shadows of the day– just living shadow walking forward into overpowering light and then the cold fell away and I stood there in the light of day

Posted By t44 On 09.04.2012 @ 10:56 am

Look at them– the magazines. they are staring at us: those eyes– those lips – those faces framed and plastered on to the walls and ceilings of my mind. each take and each look sings. it sings of broken hearts and shallow lives; it sings of loves lost and lusts that are loved; and each turn of the page sounds like nails on a chalkboard but has somehow turned to music in my ears.

Posted By t44 On 08.29.2012 @ 1:10 am

Side by side we stood a-bold Not knowing what next seconds hold We looked at each other and took a gasp Of air as are fingers came unclasped. We dropped 5 stories towards the sea To understand the waters deep And when we rose I cannot say How full and new and alive I stayed.

Posted By t44 On 08.23.2012 @ 4:15 pm

My finger was punctured by the nail– not the kind that grows on it, but the metal kind. the kind made of iron and pointed in a direction that usually means that it is going into a piece of wood. this time however, it is in my finger. i look at it; it wobbles back and forth i look up and give a big yell

Posted By t44 On 08.07.2012 @ 10:53 am

I dare to say that this is not it. It is not meant to be this way. there is so much more to life– if you will only stop to breathe it in, you suffocate yourself with insecurities and held pains when in reality we are meant to be free. a new life awaits one colored like roses and daisies in the new spring you just must stop and look and accept he who brings.

Posted By t44 On 08.05.2012 @ 3:56 pm

there are many methods to writing poetry but all fall into one– into breathing. it is just watching the life around you suck air and spit out these beautiful moments–moments made clean or dirty but reflecting a light so large they cant be ignored. each and every one is a second where the mirrors reflect that fateful moment when a match is lit and pressed to the wick of the candle that lights the mind and soul so all this poetry may simply flow.

Posted By t44 On 08.01.2012 @ 12:55 am

I’ve lost things sometimes, and they’ve hurt. and I don’t know what to do but look for them, then i will have them back except for the fact that what i’ve lost can never be restored for it is not the same thing it was before.

Posted By t44 On 07.31.2012 @ 12:18 am

I suggest that you keep your suggestions to yourself. All you do is ramble on with incessant syllables spewing from the mouth like a trash heap. heaps and heaps of words pour out like tar on a broken road. You think it fixes things but the problems are so much deeper and it just smells. each word runs rampant as it rolls off your tongue and a suggestion is for building– not making undone.

Posted By t44 On 07.11.2012 @ 8:59 am

The bit and harness keeps the horse in line keeps him from running free not because he will be lost or because he will not know where to go but because he will know he will be so sure and so infallibly sure yet so completely wrong that he will run far and wide until he becomes so lost he won’t know how to get back again

Posted By t44 On 07.02.2012 @ 11:51 pm

I get the chills when nails meet an inconvenient chalkboard. each second those claws scratch the surface i can feel the hairs– one by one– stand up on the back of my neck. its as if a freezer is opened, and im hearing the sirens scream from the cliff side. and then one by one the chills give each hair a frail stand

Posted By t44 On 07.01.2012 @ 6:59 am

saying one word at a time is a strong distributor of ideas and less confusion. we see each word individually, powerfully, enigmatically. and then we see how they paint together.

Posted By t44 On 06.27.2012 @ 4:16 am

There are as many different kinds of soup as there are people: each drop suited to a particular taste bud and a sense of smell that blesses each as it passes through his nostrils. each scent is a pleasure, each sip–a joy. until we learn this distinct fact we will never be ready for solid food.

Posted By t44 On 06.25.2012 @ 11:50 pm

There are as many different kinds of soup as there are people: each drop suited to a particular taste bud and a sense of smell that blesses each as it passes through his nostrils. each scent is a pleasure, each sip–a joy. until we learn this distinct fact we will never be ready for solid food.

Posted By t44 On 06.25.2012 @ 11:45 pm

Persons are beings that speak without words. each sentence flows from the people and the persons– from tongues that have tasted sweet candy, sour lemon and bitter despair; eyes that have seen rapturously beautiful sunsets painted by the hand of a magnificent detailer; and ears that have heard melodies so sweet they couldn’t help but dance to each eb and flow in the music. It is from these persons that the sentences flow like the rock of a softly waving sea.

Posted By t44 On 06.21.2012 @ 7:14 am

I think each second is keen on being exactly where it is. Moments don’t just bump into each other exclaiming angrily or falling over in astonishment. no, they walk in line one after the other until a line is made– an array of army men all marching forth: in line, in step, in union with one another– keen on being in that exact spot– that exact template of time laid out by a great architect who is keen on time. He is so keen, in fact, that he steps over it.

Posted By t44 On 06.19.2012 @ 12:55 am

I think second is keen on being exactly where it is. Moments don’t just bump into each other exclaiming angrily or falling over in astonishment. no they walk in line one after the other until a line is made– an array of army men all marching forth: in line, in step, in union with one another– keen on being in that exact spot– that exact template of time laid out by a great architect who is keen on time. so keen in fact that he can step over it.

Posted By t44 On 06.19.2012 @ 12:50 am