Tag: poetry

A free association?

Money is hard.  In the middle of the boondocks is where to find I my life friend vest. Vestitude in the inn, bridgestone in the brimm.  Grimm Reaper, till the soil, seap what you sow, sew a new crow, home a new phone.

Alas, my money comes to you, my sweet, not bitter, blessed, beloved fluttering sister-bye.  My, oh, hi, lovely.  Lovely my, yes.  Thank you.  Goodbye, why.

——————-

My cousin told me about an artist (singer) who had a journal, in which she wrote words that sounded good together, sentences and phrases that sounded nice and felt right, but hat didn’t necessarily make any real sense as sentences and such.  She then made a CD out of the words in this notebook.  I’m not sure who this is, though I have wanted to hear this album ever since he first explained about it to me – I find the idea bountifully beautiful.  Or something positive like that, anyway – I like the idea.  This was my own sort of exercise in that same sort of writing.  It wasn’t about making sense, but about telling a story through the sounds, without the assigned meanings of the words.  I’m guessing my effort to be a mediocre outcome, however I am nonetheless proud of my accomplishing it.

Thank you for reading.  😉 

Post-a-day 2017

Poetry, I suppose

An aimless wandering does my life seem to be at present,
with no alteration in sight.
More of the same, and more of the same…
Everything is the same.

Except that I feel different from the rest,
and as though I am not meant to stay here
with this flowing, owing, wandering world.

I move differently, indeed,
but it is not enough – I know it is not.
I am still here, aimlessly wandering,
waiting…
for something, for someone, for me?
I can feel that it is almost time to go,
and I haven’t the slightest idea where that means.
But go I shall.
That I know.
And then I’ll know.

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

What to write…? a poem

What to write…?  What to write…?

Of legends?  Of thoughts?  Or of tonight?

Do I analyze something maturely,

Or speak from the heart purely?

Shall I cry or weep with relief,

Or in a blow of deleaf… defeat?

What is the point (Shall I write about that?)?

My efforts feel pointless, and quite often, in fact.

But what does that matter, when the measure is of others, not myself?

For this is not just another trophy for my nonexistent shelf.

It is whole and complete, and perfect, you see,

for it is meant as a place to express for I, myself, and me.
Post-a-day 2017

 

A poem from Vienna

I lived in Vienna, Austria, briefly, and apparently wrote this on January 8, 2013:

I love life.
And all its experiences, too.
Really. Honestly.
Truly, I do.

With every person we meet, 
every sunset we see, 
every breath we take,
and every mistake we make,
We are given a choice to learn
or to let it all crash and burn.

And here and now and in all that I am
I choose to learn whenever I can –
To develop myself and keep sharing my love,
using strength on Earth and strength from Above.

For every lesson, yes every single one;
Each moment in darkness, each spent basking in the sun;
For every night and for every day;
and for every one who comes my way;
From dog to plant to Jung to Mädel,
For all in my life, I am forever grateful.

Post-a-day 2017