Temper
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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.
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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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ROSE
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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.
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{New thing here! Word of the Day will be posted with a quick poem or flash-fiction that is inspired by the word and contains the word. Point of this is exercise is to keep my writing in the moment. Anyone who wishes to play simply comment there post to the Word of the Day.}
Word of the Day: Light
Timed by a spin, tilted in space
I Stare at specks of you.
Covering the sky above,
winking me to believe
tomorrow will bring
one of you closer to me.
In your morning Light,
you show me this world.
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Cafe Writing January Project is very interesting. This is my first time trying this after discovering the site through a fellow blogger Why Paisley. I chose to write about a picture I love, this is not really fiction but more of a scene, a reflection of one of my role models Nikola Tesla. This picture has inspired me over the years and has showed me that anything is possible. A short poem I also wrote following the piece.
Tesla’s Chair of Electricity
Current through the air, oh those dreams you dared. The first time I saw you in the photo above, almost a hundred years after the negative dried, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Who would stand so close to danger? Who wouldn’t fear the electrical current that surrounds them? The answer is the man who discovered the impossible. The man out of time, the ‘Lord of the Lightning’. Looking at you, writing away, discovering something new, I let my mind slip into the past and travel to your time. It was 1899 in Colorado Springs that you constructed a tower of metal to send electricity through the air all the way to New York. To this day a task that has never been completed, a task that no one is crazy enough to try.
I’ve fallen in love with the meaning of this picture, the achievements of your mind. The truth that once you put your mind towards something don’t let anything stop you. However even the smartest of men fail, even the most brilliant fall. You lived your life, stubborn but true to science. A life about current and the radio wave and today you are the image of the mad scientist as the man you once mocked is seen as the icon of a genius. What I see most out of this picture is fearless and dedication, an old world that will never come back again since those discoveries have brought us our modern necessities, your imagination empowers our modern economy.
What would it be like to be in that chair, to surround one self with thousands of volts of current? The never stopping snaps and crackles that puncture the inner ear, or feel the burning sensation as a stream of white light comes near. What would it feel to have the current flow through the body the way you demonstrated to so many, would is tickle or sting? You do not care for these silly questions. No. You do not care at all. These are below you as you write our future technology.
As I stare into the past, the picture tells me more, it talks to me and teases me and makes me come up with wild dreams. If a man can accomplish so much, pour thousands of volts of electricity through there body, change the world with a switch and yet a hundred years later be a ghost to the modern world then our actions no matter how grand they become in the end only belong to the person who performed them. I want to be in Tesla’s chair of electricity and be so calm and focused while the rest of the world shoots off its chaotic lightning storm.
His Name Blew A Fuse
The birthplace for our obsession
of the great radio waves,
the man who perfected the art.
He proves this point calmly
sitting in an uncommon spot.
Whether a genius or a mad man,
it is easy to note his radiance.
As thunder strikes around him,
the lighting sparks within.
Thank you Nikola Tesla,
for all the cell phones and data,
transmitted through the air.
Without the ‘man out of time’,
electricity would only be direct.
Though his name blew a fuse
many remember his alternate current.
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After many years of just scribbling things on paper I was surprised to discover that my passion has been writing poetry. It took me a while to realize what poetry is, at least what it means for me. I am a writer and write daily, not online as you can see by the missing dates in this and other blogs that I constantly tell myself I will continue to post. The thing is poetry is a language of its own, a short and sweet gesture, a daring tool to strike people down. It can be harsh, dangerous, deadly or sweet, caring and innocent. Depending on words.
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.
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.
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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.
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Something about the sound of the month October that seems poetic. It kind of slips off your tongue, or gets stuck in the back of your mouth building up saliva. Either way its awkward and sexy which are two things that make inspirational for me, maybe its the smell, moth balls come to mind – the ones my grandmother’s smelled like when I use to visit. Walking higher up into the the three story house the stronger the fumes were, making you dizzy at times until you realized it was the old cedar dressers in the third floor attic. Up there you could look into the two acre property over the multi-color orange-yellow leaves as they fell on the grass praying that you weren’t staying long enough for manual labor. But all the property made very large piles of leaves that were enjoyable to let your body leap backwards into the unknown hoping for a soft landing. Like writing we turn our backs and make a leap of faith, and hope for that soft landing as we did once as a kid. So here is to October and to the inspirations to the month ahead.
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I will try to post an inspirational poem each week from a favorite poet. The first is one that I have admired since my first read in the 9th grade. Maybe I didn’t understand it as well as I do today and of course Shakespeare is a little over used with the world of poetry, but Fear No More is not one of his over-done poems. With the way the world is today, war, poverty and everything else the same as the day Shakespeare wrote this sonnet, I feel rereading it again makes me interpet the meaning differently. Is it about love or death?
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!
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$198.95 for a pair of jeans,
the number echoed inside.
My ears heard before the eyes.
Sitting across with a bag
orange and green by her feet.
A voice next to me questioned
she asked about the brand
about the jeans, about the fit.
The answer struck me
hurt my insides.
The jeans were no more,
fell out of the bag days ago
left on a seat of a bus
one like this.
$198.95 for a pair of jeans
ones that she never wore.
She smiled and said
I still have the bag!
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