Alone Together – Guest Blog, My Baby (Audio)

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Guest writer.  My favorite poet and thrift store buddy.  My baby wrote this.  She hates that I don’t use punctuation.   Some of you have not seen this yet.  It was written by my 15 year old daughter.  My kids are so cool.

 

Alone – For ages, no one there to hold you when your are sad

You are different

People don’t understand you

Do they even try

My brain is different

Though many think I am

Outgoing

Funny

Weird

It is all but a mask

I think that if I am loud and energetic

People will want to be around me

That they will like me

I do this so I don’t have to be alone

The funny part is

I think I want company

That I want a liking to radiate and surround me like smoke

But then, I think of it further and I decide

I do not want it

I decide that it does not make me feel accompanied

But in fact more alone

It makes me feel a sense of aloneness

No one I have met is quite like me

What I mean by this is that I like to write, and listen to classical pianists play

Sometimes the notes I hear rush from the piano

Stealing tears from my eyes

Sadly I do not know what causes the wet drops that birth from my eyes

Believe me, I wish I did

Is it that their playing is so beautiful that I ooze jealousy

Or is it that I relate with the music

Maybe it is that with each note I hear a different emotion erupting from my soul

A new thought, memory, daydream

No one feels this way as far as I am aware

And it saddens me greatly

I like to think that I am normal, just like everyone else

But I can not lie, especially to my self

I like to look at my paintings

I have tried to paint, but alas, I am no good

Even though I am handicapped by the actual action of painting I can still gaze upon the beauty of Van Gogh

Who at this very moment is my favorite artist

The way his paintings mesh so perfectly together, and not one stroke looks out of place

His attention to detail is impeccable

And inspires me daily

Not only are his paintings appealing to me

So is his darkness

He was a sad man, suicidal

But through his darkness a light was shone, his art

He took his darkness and poured it out on to a bare canvas making light

When I think of Van Gogh I feel not alone

I feel like we are, in some odd way, alike

Although I have not found my light like he, his paintings

I have faith I will one day

I am like Van Gogh

We are alone together

I like photographs of my family, of my friends, of strangers

I prefer old photos

As I feel they have more history behind them

But new ones are OK I suppose

Pictures of happy people, feelings of love and warmth

Pictures of people laughing, I love them all

But sad ones I would have to say are my favorites

I feel happy gets old

But sad – When you see a sad picture you get the opportunity to ask yourself why, what happened

I find that interesting

I feel not alone when I see those photos

The sad looking pictures are like me

We relate

I am like the photos

We are alone

Together

Scary movies also intrigue me

The characters in them are also scared and confused

Looking for a way out just like I am

I am like the characters

We are alone together

Although people may be like me

I am still alone

And so is everyone else

We are alone together

Making Mudpies (Audio)

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Image result for river mud boy louisiana

Like soupy handfuls of river mud

Slung against a wall

My words splatter and spread

And slide to the floor

Fragrant, dark, and heavy loam

I feel the coarse silkiness between my fingers

There is something in the mix

But it refuses to hold a shape

Rather, my words form the banks

And contain the currents flowing through me

Fertile, deep, cool, and rich with promise

Yet they dissipate and have no force if removed from the flow

So for now, toes dug deeply into the ooze

I will sit and listen to the water

And the frogs and the buzz of my River

Playing in the mud and making mudpies

Some times it’s just like that

The Artist (Audio)

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The artist seeks to construct, enact, or proclaim

A construal of Reality and their relation to It

They carve out a sacred holy space where

Eternity can fleetingly inhabit time

The response, the praise

The worship, the erupting “Yes” is

The acknowledgement of a reality

Whose contingency lies

Beyond the everyday, the mundane

A frequency resonate with the soul

Which calls from beyond the shadows of the senses

 

Chuck – My Friend

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This is a short clip of Mr. Chuck King.  He is one of the most gracious souls I know.  He is philosophical, yet likes to laugh.  He is profoundly talented yet remains a student.  He is helping me find my groove.  Thank you Chuck!

 

Oceans (where feet may fail) – Reposted for a Friend

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Perhaps it is that when one feels washed overboard, afraid, exhausted, and without a raft there is something in the depths of grace for us there.  Perhaps the raft is what keeps us from knowing.  Blessings, sweetness, and understanding that you are not alone.

Whatever flavor of spirituality that you may tend toward there is a depth and beauty in this.  All poetry is metaphor anyway.  Hold them lightly or risk their death.  Where there is beauty there is the perfume of truth.  It resonated with my soul from that place in me that is too deep for words.  It allowed me to weep.  That is a good gift for a hardened sometimes stupid man like me. 🙂  Maybe my chakra thingy is better for it.  Blessings on your quest for the One who is beyond all metaphor.