For just a moment...
Let us forget..,
What we...were.
What happened,
to Us.
Our past,
like thorns in our thoughts...
Marked....with blood and loss.
We lose sight of what,
Could have been.
The valleys and mountains of your body,
A biblical garden of eden.
Your skin left scared,
Years of corrupt lovers and abandonment
Have left your earth rough.
But after many dark....dark nights,
The sun still rises...
The bright blue sky above...
The youth...has finally grown up.
The grain stands tall,
And the age old saying....stays true.
You reap what you sow.
Դլե Յաման,
կարոտ մնացի հայրենիքի
Martiros Saryan "Armenian Landscape"
Musings, alone on a Saturday night
I was once a Sunday Morning Dreamer
Birthday candles blown out
Wishing for a love so true,
Eternity in awe of us.
The clay brakes off
The real me seeps through
The cracks of the facade
We put up to find love.
The distance between us grew
Our kisses were shorter
My hands, not allowed to explore
I don't blame you for it.
How could you keep loving me
Now that you know me so well?
"The Lovers II" (1928) by Rene Magritte
2,787 Miles
The old saying goes,
"Distance makes the heart grow fonder."
2,787 miles.
Coming to terms with the loss
of someone who wasn't there.
The Sun doesn't ask of you anymore.
And the Lighting to young to remember.
2,787 miles.
The bright lights, the call of the big city.
You were always destined for greatness.
My heart, didn't grow fonder.
but after all this time,
its finally let go.
Maybe the truest cliche of them all needs a remake,
"Time and Distance heals all wounds."
It feels as if the rain has come to wash away the past.
Gustave Caillebotte Oarsman in a Top Hat (1878)
The air is a bit more crisp today, as I write aimlessly on this blog. I openly, and often, admit to seeking the attention and validation of others about my writing. But this one is for me. There seems to be a new wave coming, I'm ready to sail into whatever may be ahead.
Forever More
What once was fantasy,
Is all I've ever known.
Happy Alone...
my memories..
guiding me.
In every breath
There's life.
The morning sun,
smiles bright.
I've found myself
In the light.
These winding roads,
take me home.
The fog clear,
Could you believe me now
If I Smile...
The bottle under my bed
left Alone, gathering dust.
My feet rooted in the soil,
I begin to grow again.
What once was a fantasy
Is all I'll ever know
French new wave greats Director Jean-Luc Godard and cinematographer Raoul Coutard 1960 Paris
I am not sure where I am going with this premise, maybe just combine them into one? Not sure yet, let me know what you all think.
muffled voices
whispering into my neck
the taste of Tequila
on their breath as they leave my room
their skin marked with
the Love I promised
Red and Sore,
they'll never forget
the night we spent.
Their morning coffee
just a bit more bitter
the next day. The taste
of Marlboro reds,
still coating their tongue..
I watch you as you washed away
the lies used to reel you into my arms.
Stumbling as you step out of the shower..
cold air gripping your skin, stinging
where my hands gripped you into staying..
You can't get yourself to look me in the eyes,
empty promises of "doing this" again,
You'll go home, you'll go back to what's
been calling you all night, remembering me;
Every time you tie your hair tight,
Every time you hear "unconscious desires".
Passing thoughts they fade, like the
Bruises I kissed away, Replacing them
with scars of regret, A drunken mistake..
Like my life so far, Sailing away into the sunset
We can just move on, maybe to the next stop,
Hopefully she's as beautiful as you..
Third post of the new year and oh does it feel good to have the writing bug again. The support from those of you who read my ramblings has truly been the highlight of my Sunday nights/Monday mornings. I've broke my post view records twice this month and I'd hope to do it for the third weekend in a row. For those of you who are mad, Thank you!
There is only one poem this week but two artworks by the great expressionist Egon Schiele. Schiele was the Tumblr famous and world renowned artist Gustav Klimt's protege. And in my humble opinion Schiele outshines his master in expressing the true rawness of emotion and expression in his art. Klimt, who was once reprimanded for producing overtly sexually graphic paintings for a Science academy, was known for painting his muses into his work. Schiele enjoyed parodying his master, and at times stealing his muses outright as his own mistresses. In all his eccentricities, Schiele's paintings epitomize the grotesque beauty in Sex and Sexuality. He has become an obsession in the past week I cant seem to get out of my head.
(Egon Schiele "The Girl"1918)
Nabakov's Wet Dream
She walked with her head forward,
Her sun-kissed face.....
drew the light from the entire room.
Why would I read Ted Hughes?
She knew what love was,
only agreeing on the differences.
Her fears manifested in her potential,
her small frame, Shaded by her huge
Presence.
Losing her thought's into the second cup
her voice cracked, She seemed real.
She was art, and She knew it.
Maybe she didn't. Maybe I wasn't there
pretentiously lost in my own voice,
trying to prove to her that I was real.
Something in the way she said
"familiar yet so distant'
rang through the fog,
as Mingus played that work song,
She became art.
(Egon Schiele "The Embrace" 1917)
And finally the song of the post, Charles Mingus - Work Song. Enjoy
