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Photo: Guayasamin mural}

No. No. No.

You say it with an evil tounge,

flying high on an adrlene rush.

Holes are in the walls

and the tv’s eating a shoe.

No. No. No.

Life compressed with stress,

pumping through my veins.

As the high slips, breathing regains,

looking around I see only me.

My beast no longer in control,

I stand alone cleaning your mess.

Fire

Dancing on my oxygen,

heating my desires.

I admire all your sin,

your fire that never dies.

Sparking my attention,

they fly high in the air.

The memories that mention

all my friends who care.

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Romantic and warm when you are red,

covered in the blood of Nature.

Cut and pruned for our pleasure,

making one smile with a sniff.

All your mystery amuses me,

many uses for such a flower.

I give you away to the girl I love,

and one day she cuts you long

and tosses you upon my grave.

I believe that poetry is what captures our imagination, and everyone has a poem that we’ve got lost in at least once in our life. For me I posted the first one I got lost in not long ago (Fear No More) but since then there has been many more. Writing poetry and writing in general I have found four little helpful tools, hints as some may call them.

1.  Just write daily. Write about what is around you, nothing important, nothing at all. Write about waking up, going to the bathroom. One poem that many people like of mine is about Toilet Paper. Write about, take notes while your going to work, having your coffee, about the people you see and what they are doing. Poetry is about the interaction of life. It is about the comparison of actions in society and the world.
2.  Look at your notes. Re-read them. Then go watch TV or read a book.
3.  Open your notes and take a couple of words from them… Maybe just one word. Think about that situation, that moment. Only that moment. Maybe it was walking onto the bus, or brushing your teeth. How did it feel, what did it feel like, have you done it before. Dig deep.
4.  Continue with it. Poetry and writing in general is about the details. We can take these details from our life and we can take the emotions, feelings, senses that go with these things. Because we can take the simple thing of Brushing ones teeth and turn it around from the Toothbrush’s perspective. We are the creator of this world, this new world that will inspire another generation.

Brush away another poem today.

Writing is my passion,

My way of living in the moment.

A gift I give to the world,

one character at a time.

I hope all who read this continue with there writing daily in any form they can. Its important not to give up on the dream, not to give in to the stresses of modern life.  Stay focused and in the moment and keep the passion of writing alive.

Stretched and thin

Six packed within

Where are you?

The round ball below

The figure of youth gone

This curse of age a sin

I wish away at the gym.

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun;
Nor the furious winter’s rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers come to dust.

Fear no more the frown of the great,
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dread thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan;
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

Her beauty takes me away

Picturing ourselves far from here

Swimming in Mediterranean,

Or sky diving over the desert

Maybe even in outer space

I can see myself in the glass

Pictured perfect next to her

Framed by the sounds of the city

A plastic smile and painted eyes

Never changing an expression,

Never challenging my world

The dream is over

I stroll down to the next window.

Nothing seemed to be different on the surface and for a minute or two it streamed unnoticeable.

Black spots invaded my vision

Fear laid upon my door

To late for a band-aid, as the red puddle next to my foot grew.

Only a finger, a small narrow part of the body.

Only a piece of metal that pierced it blindly.

Only me alone, heart pounding as the spots grow.

I look down to see what beauty my splatter makes.

Smile its only a cut on the finger.

‘Cover it’, my ghosts whisper to me, ‘cover it and it shall heal’.

On my recent trip to Ecuador I visited the north side of Cotopaxi which was about a two hour drive from Quito. We hiked around the foot hills of the mountain and at times were slightly above 14,000 feet above sea level. The picture above was taken from about that altitude. The following is a poem I wrote about this mountain and Quito.

Cotopaxi
{Terry Culkin}

Standing in the middle of the world

looking toward the mountain base

the wind takes my fears

the clouds fall around me

and slowly take me in

I close my eyes, I am back there tonight

hiking towards Cotopaxi

white with mixtures of grey

nothing but soaring birds, nothing but pouring rain

pouring

I do not make it to the top

each breath will no longer take me

but those visions

like looking down from a star, forever

and so I find the air too thin,

descend

10,000 feet above sea level

the face of god carved into a mountain

Quito spreads like a fountain

an addiction the altitude bleeds

and I am free

flying, flying from the heart of the city

I close my eyes, landing on Cotopaxi

{by Terry Culkin}

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Green eyes squinting towards the sky,

a deep breath in, her mind escaping back inside.

Only moments ago she was on the far side of the glass.

Her memories linger on words, black type

letter by letter; traveling a thousand miles per second.

Never saw her lips move, a two-dimensional

picture sent and received, typed and entered.

Years of conversations in ones and zeros,

smiles and laughs echo in cyber space –

never met the girl on the far side of the glass.

Sharing our secret stories, those

dreams and fears locked inside,

a confessional booth through telephone calls

cyber chats over a digital line.

Never to hear her voice from the next room,

slide my hand through her hair,

smell the smoke when she cooks,

watch her eat from across the table.

Is this reality or a virtual hell?

Can you remember a face of someone you never met?

Can you find love thousands of miles away?

Even though our hands never touched,

pushing her further away is a sin.

However, our lives physically apart,

countries bordering between,

the gravity of the Universe,

keeps her on the far side of the glass.