Since you see the darkness
that surrounds,
Your eyes are wide.
But in your disdain
You judge…
Not that I think you wrong,
Yet still it seems that
Judgment taints you.
Paints you,
With a brush of hatred formed.
See their actions
And look away,
For sadly you may
Never understand
That which drives them
To hate.
Hide disdain and sneering glares,
For tis themselves
Their hate brings down.
You are better
For not being involved,
For not allowing yourself
To them to devolve.
Nary a thought
to organization,
Not one to abide
Micro managing
My time.
As long as I do
Does it matter when?
Or can it be late
When my mind refuses
To quiet at all?
Or early morning
As I watch the dawn?
Discipline in my work
Is not the same as
For another.
For me know that I
am doing.
And it is enough.
Sleep is a dangerous thing
Hidden from me yet again.
Elusive as a butterfly
Once caught on the wind,
Drifting endlessly away.
Stress and worry
Steals easily,
Peace of mind
Leaking away
Like water through
A broken pipe.
Even when reached
No guarantee of peace
In the ever elusive sleep,
For sometimes all that occurs
Is merely to waken…
Waken and weep.
So many bright
Flickering pinpricks
Of brightly shining lights.
Just this year have quietly
Been doused into the
Darkness of the ever after.
For them eternity has begun,
But for those who remain?
More and more of this drizzling
Grim and lonely rain.
For just a moment,
The light of their talent
Allowed us reprieve
From the pain.
Off to the eternal
So many this year.
Leaving only
To shed a tear.
So your in pain?
Stop thinking.
Just start writing
The first things
That come to mind
Continue till you can
Completely clear your mind.
Clean it up later.
Don’t structure.
Just write.
It’s difficult to write?
Only because you make it so.
Writing doesn’t have
to make sense.
It is merely a way
for the heart to bleed
emotional poison
into a form that
Your mind can process
and comprehend.
You have problems
with getting what
Is in your head
onto the paper?
Because you worry
Too much about
writing it perfect.
Write crap.
Push gibberish
on the page….
Then later.
After you have
had time.
Then edit.
Pretty it.
Squeeze your soul
From gibberish tossed
Carelessly to the page.
This is the second time I have tried to do this post. My Facebook friends list is filled with writer’s. I did that on purpose. I surrounded myself on social media with writer’s and artists and crafty people, so i no longer felt as alone. This morning, one of the writer’s, Author T L Grey, posed a question. As she posted two pictures with it…one of her (a truly lovely woman) and one of a soft white rose with pink edges….I doubt that she wanted the answer I gave her. The question? “If a rose could speak, what would it say?” My response? “That it was dying and missed it’s bush. The loneliness was unbearable.” Well at first she responded Carpe diem. Then she changed it to read “Why be one of several upon a bush instead of singled out and appreciated in the small space of time in which to bloom? The bush will bloom more flowers but this one particular flower has only a small time in which to shine.” I found this as thought provoking as the original question, and a bit telling. So I responded…”While that is true, most do focus on the ways that they are different. To their own detriment. The question was what a rose would say. I have always thought it sad that to enjoy a flower we have to kill it. So i hear the sadness of it’s own imminent demise. I hear regret that the rose did not appreciate the beauty of being a part of the bush until the bush was no longer there. Thus I hear loneliness.”
Now understand please that I do realize the fact that my response was slightly morbid. However her question wasn’t what we hear from the rose’s unique beauty. It wasn’t what does the rose symbolize. So I spoke what I feel any living thing would feel as they die. Death is usually a morbid topic.
As to her statement about being just another on the bush? Well have you ever seen a rose bush up close? No two roses are exactly alike. So it is a riotous community of individuality. I lived in a place once with three bushes. They were amazing. I admit the question and resulting conversation was an inspiration for me. So i did what my weird little poetic heart does. I did another poem for my latest volume. And because I can, I am sharing it with you…..
The voice of a rose
The voice of the rose
Depends on the ear
That hears and it’s
point of view.
The choice of a
Listening heart,
As to hear such
As sadness,
Adventure or
romantic speech.
None less valid,
Each in their own
Way right.
For why can
The voice of the rose
Not be as complex
as the Heart of man.
*her rose*
*I found this one on Google. *
The razor’s edge
Splitting me in two.
Moments of clarity,
Only one or two.
Twisted within
my sanity…
Trying to piece
Together the mind
That sleep left behind.
Every minute
that passes
Eternity in need,
Seeking a restful deed.
No cause for concern,
Even as the clock hands
Twist and swirl,
Naught left to do
On this tilt a whirl.
Sweet sandman return
To refresh my brain,
So i can be just
Myself again!
As life drops down
A cheek profound,
I can’t help this longing.
I am sinking,
Writing songs not to be
Sung or even passed along.
Closing my eyes
To hide a pain
Deep down
Alone again.
Sleep to faint
A distant dream,
Silence fades
As noise fills the head,
Noise that shows
I’m not dead.
Okay, i am often treated to bouts of insomnia. The reasons vary. Often it is just not being able to quiet my busy mind. Last night was the first time in over a month. I am up to thirty three poems out of the seventy I do in each volume for Life drops. I will likely share later one from that. I spent some time writing on the d20 game world that I have created. Lots of details still to do on that one. Managed about two fifty on my steampunk story, and another hundred and fifty on my drow novel. Didn’t get to the others. Helped my sister’s faeries do some for their Facebook page. Shared what i found worthwhile to my author page, to my shop page, and to my personal page. Still felt like I should have gotten more done. Didn’t get my crafts done yesterday. Still my mind isn’t slowing. Have cut way back on caffeine. Limiting myself to two cups of coffee a week and pretty much no pop. Heck even my tea is mostly herbal anymore. Still there are days when i can’t sleep. I’m about to try again for st least a short nap. So until I return…. may you sleep well and have only sweet dreams.
The Faeries of Birchwood Grove
By Patricia Harris
Dancing about to and fro,
Look at all the faeries go.
Birchwood grove is a busy place
Where all the faeries dance and play.
Advice and help for you to care
are easily found in abundance there.
Tips on animals, food and herbs,
gentle fun and lots of preserves.
Goods made with Love and care
easily found over there.
Pattimouse 