Tap-Tap-Tapping (Audio)

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Обои завязанные глаза, девушка на поле ...

I wish I could write something beautiful
I wish I could write something so real that it would change how things are
I can see it in my mind, a picture so clear, I can taste it and inhale its fragrances
The desires of my heart have burned me, they have hollowed me out
The landscape of my soul has been altered
Or perhaps it is just the overgrowth that has been cleared
For now I seem to see better the rise and fall and shape of me
It seemed as if the fire would consume me and I would be no more
As the last ember died and the wind hurried away the final wisp of smoke
I remained, still there, naked, scarred, and raw, but separate somehow from all that had been
I found only dry bitter ashes and the black barren solitude of my grief
I wandered in that place, alone for many days and many nights watering the ground with my tears
Remembering what was and what could have been, wishing for what is now, Not

I hope I will write something beautiful
I hope that my Soul will find Her voice and learn to sing a new song, one that has always been
I can hear a simple sweet strain rise and fall, strangely familiar like a dream of home
For now I make my way like a blind man, sight requiring new senses
Cautiously my words tap – tap – tap before me, through the ash and the unknown
Seeking their way, reaching out, feeling for the next step along this new path
Scribbles on a page, symbols seeking structure enough to contain the melody of Her
Clever words and ego were burned in the clearing of me, the illusion of my intellect brought low
Yet with what small vision remains I catch glimpses of green arising from the soot
Life indomitable pushes through the ruin and back into the light, buds break and blossom
The landscape is bare but not barren, even the ruin enriches and reveals the soil of me
Salt tears are still needed to water this place and in my laughter new seeds are sown
What was is no longer, what is to come is yet to be, so Now patient I wait, just tap – tap – tapping

Lost (Audio)

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Photo Art – Matt Chambliss

Something was missing, awry, incomplete, Lost
Something undefined haunted, just outside of comprehension
An Un-Thought Known, a Soul’s itch that can not be scratched
Searching for an answer to a question not asked
Seeking a treasure rumored to exist somehow, somewhere

Beautiful echoes, fine like a razor, opening closed spaces
Fragrance on the breeze enchants, calls, inspires

The taste of blue, gold, and brown, known but not realized

(I can hear the sunlight, the birth of stars, all known but not realized. Alt.)
Soul extended, seeking to touch the moon, always out of reach, lunacy
Reflections glimpsed on the periphery of matter yet never beheld

Source of longing hidden, unfathomable like echoes, fragrances, the flavor of blue
Senses, flesh, building empty treasure houses
Pilgrimage to no-where, there and back, there and back
Hope, disappointment, grief, hope, disappointment, grief
Tired, sinking low under the weight, all the houses have crumbled

Senses, Spirit, Soul, unfettered for a season
Ego humbled by folly
Yet even as the dust settled around and over the debris
There was laughter, a sweet simple melody, rich as the Earth
Quickened now, thirst creates a new and unseen path

As “I” crumbled my Self was found
The treasure is always in the heart of the Temple
The fool has died, but the Jester remains
I was lost but now am found
Was blind but now I see

A few thoughts on My Dad

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Father & Daughter

I got this for my birthday this weekend.  It was a precious gift.   (Not the carving but the words)

His eyes are a darker brown, although they look black sometimes

They are covered with skin, his eyelids

They resemble his Native American ancestry – Dark brown or tanned

Springing forth from his brownish eyes and tanned skin is black hair

Though it is the same as his black eyelashes, it is a little different

The rest of his hair has gray brought on by age, kids, finances, stress, worrying, fighting, and mistakes

I like his hair, gray and black

I like the things he used to tickle me with as a child so long ago, his eyelashes

I makes him, Him

His tall, formally lanky figure intimidates some but to me it is familiar

His crooked smile that was passed down to me – That is Home

His warm creative soul is why I am who I am today

This is who I call Dad

This is who others call Mr.

This is who God calls child

He is a man

He is my dad

He is a child

He is me

Ashes (Audio)

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Silence – Seething – Stillness

Ashes – Grey and black fill the throat, choking off life.

Only barren, sterile, ache fills the chest.

The exquisite has abandoned me somewhere between pleasure and pain.

Now only numb, dull, persistent ache.

It is dumb, with no voice, no purpose.

Pain with no purpose is a cruel thing.

Exposed as foolish sears the flesh.  It dries and clings to the bone.

Even the victims triumph over me.  Yet even in all their droning they do not comprehend the wave that crashed over me.  They are right, but only about themselves.

They articulate their pain and their pain demands justice, rightly so.  But I am impotent.  I have no healing to give.  Only ashes.

Tears now, condensed like jelly.  They fill the throat.  They amass themselves behind the eyes, unable to exit the body.  It burns and steals life from me.

Eyes once filled with joy now lifeless.

Bitterness permeates life.  Not bitterness at life but the bitterness of life.

Nothing is sweet.  Joy has abandoned me.

All good seems foul to me, or perhaps it is I who fouls the good.

Laughter of friends and family and loves long-held are no comfort.  I cannot cling to them.

I recoil into the ashes. . . Into the silence.

I know not why.

Except perhaps there I have a voice.

A voice of mourning and terrible grief.

The Second Half (Audio)

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Calling

I have skills

I have intelligence

I have proven courage

I am creative and imaginative

I have an easy way with people

I am moderately attractive

I am strong in action

I have access to resources

I am healthy

I have led

I have followed

I am experienced

Yet I sit

I am not lazy

I am accustomed to work

But now even marking white screen with black symbols is an effort

To what end

An act of faith, or a shot in the dark

I have

I have

I am

I am

Yet it all seems a mask, paper mache

Wire, paper, glue and hollow inside

Or perhaps a game played but no longer interesting

I seek a calling

A reason

A vision to manifest

A vocation to which I will submit the second half

A new reality on which to focus what I have and who I am

That I may be remade, renewed, restored, and redeemed

I want to be alive before I die

In submission to the true calling of my Soul

I will find my freedom