photo: Sam D.

They come and go
Like a night time revival
Only it’s morning and
We’re thick as thieves
As we come together
Ready for rigmarole’s ritual 
Fluttering about like tepid feathers
Rigid thoughts centered on
Not stepping on toes
Or missing the next run
Experiencing the ruminations of others
Lives daft with woe 
And fraught with wonder
As this journey takes hold
It highlights my day
Saw a woman sneaking onto the bus the back way
Words don’t come easy but inspiration does
Surfaces all around
Since my journey’s mostly made up
Of time that I bide
’till the end of the line comes
Late as usual
Apathetic to following rules cause 
I aim to balance out my bad attitude
And I’m relentless
In proving whatever needed to be proved
There are days when I can’t stop them
They move in mass
like Catholic children
in Sunday school best 
walking briskly through the tunnel
That ends as fast as it begins
And we stand strong in the train cars
We’re all stuck in
Stuffed like turkeys but breathing as wild as chickens
anxious and proud as we’re destined for our destinations
lurking behind support bars with pockets safely tucked in
else they suffer the same fate as pick pocket victims
It’s to cold to sweat it but plenty of time to plan ahead
My journey moves me
Like walking in snow and fighting wind
Carving foot prints one by one
Cause hindsights already set in
Cherishing every deep breath
Glasses fogging up quick
Obstructing my field of vision
But not nearly all of it…
Inspiration fills me up and
Music rocks me forthwith
Ear drums no longer celibate
“Watch for ice” – “And don’t slip!”
I yearn to arrive at the doorstep
So I can get down to business

The beautiful are unafraid
to bear the deepest parts of the soul
They face fears without regard
to any sentiment that may engulf
They bravely take the charge
don’t cry foul when the tables turn ’round
The beautiful reflect the good in some
while never once on us looking down
The beautiful are the rarest
the most well rounded of us all
Personify the golden mean in man
And the gravity that’s soon to fall

Dedicated to those who constantly make me want to be a better person. The world needs you. Never stop being.

image by Nonnetta

i.
It’s not always obvious, but it’s often staring you in the face.
It’s a feeling, a sickness; an evil called hate.
News and media are filled with it, although most can’t even relate.
Writers and poets are all too aware and through their words retaliate.
Hate means “intense dislike, to feel antipathy or an aversion towards.”
Not concerned with the good in others just the judging that often occurs.
Innocents killed, in pursuit of truth, when all along they were waging war.
Pride and arrogance allows its stay, while leaders worship the dollar more.
Governments are just as guilty as the religious politicians they protect.
Illegal wars, being fought in waves, declared by a twice-marred president.
The terrorists they seek wreak havoc on people in pursuit of power and control.
Hence the killing of civilian’s — place terrorists’ lives above the law.

ii.
If good begets good - evil begets evil.
Two wrongs don’t make a right, yet both create states of upheaval.
Morality falters as we witness hunger, poverty and a world at war.
Children forced to take up arms, then returned to a home that’s been war-torn.
For those in power, education is not as important as winning the next election.
The importance is placed on bling blinging instead of on sexual protection.
The world is restless to its core, the consequences of an uneasy dichotomy.
The current state of the world at large is a reminder that we need our autonomy.
The knowledge that power corrupts the best of us is proof enough of our own fallacy.
The SEC and Federal Reserve won’t stop considering the dollar bill almighty.
And the disconnect between Wall Street and those fueling the economy is deceiving.
Ah, but for now it seems that the powers that be will get paid to postpone the Revolution indefenitely.

i.
I love to write, create and conceptualize words,
And phrase them in ways I haven’t before heard.
Sometimes I come up with different topics for my blog, 
But more often than not it’s those random disconnected thoughts.
That pop up.
They aren’t consistent enough to write about in the first place. 
Secondly this results in saved drafts pending for days,
Until I get the urge to review, revise and edit away.
I use those times to process and frame, 
Come up with a style that accurately depicts my range.  
I used to be bad about dumbing down simple shit, 
So they could understand the meaning
In the words that I re-missed.
Constantly dropping hints,
In my writing here and there,
I had to get serious.

ii.
Words owned me,
When I adopted a writing style.
Punctuation and grammar police.
Let me alone for awhile.
But I stayed being lazy pen to pad. 
For years I wrote unfocused,
Just for the hell of it.
Directionless and mainly as a way to alleviate stress.
Celebrate pleasure, pain, and at times to taste success.
I’ve lent my fingers and my head time and time again. 
Even still writing remains.
My escape from all of it.

iii.
I read each and every comment left.  
Whatever’s taken from my diction,
Mostly your thoughts impress, 
Upon me and exact a certain thankfulness.
I take heed to what you’ve taken from taking the time to read.
Then I take you to heart. 
Because, well, that’s just me.
From time to time, I feel it necessary to reply,
Directly to a comment that’s directed at mine. 
Once in a while, I may be inclined,
To honor it with it’s own post,
In regard to a question why.
Partly to share the response with everybody, 
The understanding it could bring,
To another person inquiring.
Don’t feel slighted in the least,
If you don’t hear back from me.
Guarantee it probably means,
Damn you got me.
Thinking
It’s hard enough to not become monotonous.
Add to the fact that when writing gets sporadic,
I go with the flow.
Or go nuts.
Cause unlike Janet,
I don’t need control.
Me and my notepad,
We go way back, yo.

iv.
In high school they called me a dreamer.
Said my head was always in the clouds, 
And what I would dream of would never amount.
Yet not once did they cater to my expectations.
Barely passing  in sacrifice for streetwise occupations.
I sucked it up and caught wind of my future despite fears.
That I hadn’t put enough stock into prior years. 
I pushed myself and waged wars against doubt.
Allowed the past to remain time capped.
At least for now.
Toward every end leads a begin,
To put it bluntly, sans finis.
Thanks to all who read my blog.
This one’s for you.

 The End.

image: mike otto