Spinning Stories

Hearts, and the trips beyond.

If I could spin the story right,
I’d make it full of colors-
every one imaginable,
and a few no one had ever seen.

If I could spin the story right,
there would be less insanity,
more quiet moments
where the peace seeped in.

If I could spin the story right,
the damage would be less severe,
memories would still be intact
with a heavy disposition to cheer.

If I could spin the story right,
there would be unfaltering love
with the mettle of each character
unbreakable and durable as steel.

If I could spin the story right,
there would be more smiles,
less wincing at the world,
joy would be realized more often.

If I could spin the story right,
we wouldn’t be here today.
The journey that walked this trail
home to you, was longer than long,
fraught with pain beyond compare,
a longing for something more.

The story was spun just right,
for here we stand.

Learning

To show a visual representation of the learning process and what it feels like.
Thought cloud, dizzy to be acquiring so much no knowledge at times.

Play often with the boundaries inside you head
before they harden into labyrinthine walls.
Doubt the truth of what you know dear one,
for nothing is ever so simple as it may seem.
When the philosopher writes such common tongue
as “I think therefore I am,” dig deeper into
understanding what is meant. Uncoil the beauty
of knowledge shared and questions expanded.
That uncomfortable pressure inside your brain
is nothing more than the price of admission
to a world of creative and well intended information,
each and every bit, a treasure in its own way.

Mistakes

To leave through an open door or stay caged inside the beast.

Quiver in the tallow as salt begins to pour,
the taste of it is far from clean
and you yourself don’t look so pure.

The muck and monstrous improprieties
have left flavored scents about,
nothing satisfies the lust and varieties so much as going without

In this endless ocean of wanton disregard,
it’s always easier to give in,
then fight as needed and so awfully hard.

Eventually it all catches up
and time will slip from past to present,
you will find your just deserts as it plucks away at your presence.

Never is a long-term thing,
an entity like infinity,
but cast your hopes on it to happen
and likely you’ll find a hoarse voice with which to sing.

Make It

“Which way?”

Hallowed evening
moonlit sky
lost direction
asking why
mindless choices
numbing thoughts
careless actions
hurtful shots
taking aim
bitter words
lifeless eyes
broken heard
all consuming
voided – gone
checks cashed
runaway mom
take back
decisions made
better life
absent shade
too late
change past
future hopes
dreams last
action counts
words fly
desperate times
for you and I.

“Lovely Psychosis” – directions for survival as a poem.

Boy, psychosis was one hell of a drug - courtesy of The Plaid Zebra.
All credit to The Plaid Zebra for this image.

Once there was optimism to see silver laced clouds
till the world shook on its axis and decidedly bowed.
Psychosis (they say) is to go quite insane,
lose touch with reality, but they never mention the pain.
When all that is true breaks at the seams,
life becomes survival, desperation and screams.
Mistrusting your judgement since all you see is false,
no more gut feelings to rely on, you’ve got to just halt.
Buried beneath the weight of taunting monsters and more,
the theories roll, there is no staunching it despite how you implore.
Eventually, the doctor will finally take note,
through terror laced tears you sought out help and hope.
The medicine works! That’s great, saves the day,
the 50lb weight gain, well at least you’re not in a grave.
Time will return that the world is no longer asunder,
blessed peace will come back, beautiful and quiet as thunder.
There isn’t much that the mind cannot do,
it a remarkable system when it runs smooth.
So if you find yourself in that darkest of nights,
keep hold of your love and never stop searching for light.
Psychosis is agony, there’s no hiding it,
vulnerability is the solution though surrendering seems amiss.
Give trust to those that care about you,
seeing through their eyes might keep you from the thorazine zoo.
Recognize, none of us perfection incarnate,
schizo or not we all have a life to live well and stories to make.

Dead Fish (a poem)

All credit for image goes to WildAid.org

Dorsal fins cutting through the water
where all the minnows go –
if I were you I’d run for shore
instead of watching dinner and a show.

Instead you flop and flounder
indistinct against the water –
concerned with treading in place
while things are getting so much hotter.

It’s a shame for all them fish,
the ones that got caught far too soon –
they looked so playfully fun once,
now they’re bathed in blood beneath the moon.

When Once I was Dead

Credit to HDQWalls for the image.

Dirge on a river
winds lifting up a hymn.
Philosophical pondering
seeking solace on a whim.
Asking questions with no voice
the thoughts come like a sparrow,
cautionary tales spread far and wide
when all our lives are narrowed.
Dancing in the moment
dusk turns into night,
leave behind the mortal coil,
set gaze and erupt in flight.

Winter Devilry

The Devil Makes Three

Duplicate that hardened flow of hate
which wrestles inside our hearts-
where blood will pump and agitate
those impulses which never stop.

Find wisdom in the madness shared
the endless beat of noise against-
where blood will pump and glare
these impulses which hit intense.

Jump the hoops and tangled webs
that wash across our veins-
where blood will pump and slowly ebb,
these impulses aren’t all sane.

Damn each fellow man beneath a river of coal,
driven by demons he’s never met-
who haunt him during times of hope,
scald his soul despite the snow.

Pink Stuff

Credit for photo to: blog.writersdomain.net

Damaged in an intrinsic way
which belies the way we think,
I’ve settled now in harmless times
with glasses casting shades of pink.

Never say the world is tough
or filtered with what’s unfair,
in desperate times when life sucks
take the cue and be aware.

So crinkling in memorized skin
and dancing with memories come neigh,
I’ve taken solace in the work being done
strive always to hold my head up high.

Plasticity in that neural net
the one which directs the play,
regrows the joy that fear had stole
and gives birth to come what may.

Ink Speaks & Words Share

All credit for image to Project Interfaith

Pen me a story all pelted with pain–
I’ll send you a memory quite completely insane.
Pen me a story all covered in scars–
I’ll whisper you love underneath the stars.
Pen me a story all wrapped up in joy–
I’ll rip off the paper and play with your emotional toys.
Pen me a story all soaked in ambition–
I’ll congratulate you from a distance and hope for fruition.
Pen me a story all righteously proud–
I’ll admiringly stand and clap just as loud.
Pen me a story devoid of suffering or shame–
I’ll question how long you lived and whether you played the game.
Pen me a story short on words but big on feel–
I’ll embrace your passion that fills me with zeal.

For each story you write and each tale that you tell,
connection is made as we all walk this road of life to the final farewell.
Strangers no more as the wording unfolds,
your experiences are more valuable then ever would be gold.
Friend since you vulnerably shared to cross the divide,
forever you’ll find my acceptance as I stand by your side.
We all start alone until our experiences happen,
no one need stand lonely feelings that they’re trapped in.
A world without others who have felt all the same–
if you’re missing companionship then drop any shame.
Drop any pretense or false facing thoughts–
your loveable for you, now and until time itself stops.