Mulching [pt 2]

...so there you have it. My new stylin' deckish thing. It feels inviting [as apposed to tolerated, like before.] I'm pretty pleased with it [as you can tell]. A part of a "grander scheme", that I'm working toward.
Well, back to it then.

I'll leave you with another older poem.

Unique

Your touch

Your walk

Your fingerprint

Your voice

…are all unique

To you.

One may attempt to imitate it

But somehow can never copy

You, not completely

Not the way you

Think

Or speak

Not the way

You construct sentences

Link thoughts together

…or create art

No one can copy

The way you communicate

With the maker of all things

Why… then

Do we struggle

With who we are?

Why do we

[some of us, anyway]

Struggle

To let the real “me”

Come out & “play”?

To let the real me

Create?

“but they will laugh at me”

[at least you had guts to put yourself out there]

Maybe they will laugh…

…maybe their laughter

Is their way of hiding the tears

…of their own feelings

Of inadequacy

To hide the fact

That they are jealous

That you had the courage to try

And they… did not.

You gave it a shot

[and they did, squat]

You are unique

Each human

Is

A Sculpture of God.

“The Art of The Almighty”

Sadly…

[I know, because I am chief

Among those who are like this]

Sadly…

It is easy to say such things…

As long…

As I’m not…

Looking in a mirror.

But before you hang your head for me…

I have many…

Who just keep on saying

That I

Am art, too.

That I make art

That I am an artist

That I am unique

In a good way, too.

Slowly

I am feeling

Ok to be alive

Maybe I am an artist

[maybe…

He can use my art

… to save us both]

Mulching

so my mulching is finally done, thanks Dad [who doesn't read blogs, but oh well]. My Dad helped me finish it. Did my allergies bother me? ....let's just say "I've felt better". I tried to take a few pix, but they are all horrendously dark. We completely changed the back "patio area" [this is using the term in THE most loose way humanly possible]. I actually like it now. My Dad is freakishly good at stuff like that, & I'm... well, not. I am finally starting to feel better than I have in a while [why do I feel like a broken record saying this?] I felt lousy for the last week & over the holiday weekend [Sun. I went from bed to the couch & back, nice]. So another of my "summer projects" is done. Next up, storm door. I'll post some pix later on. I'm kind of being a bit "anti-social" lately. I have set some pretty heavy goals for this year. [actually, I'm kind of catching up on an accumulating list of them. Most are more than six years old! ugh. Let's say I'm trying to put procrastination off till tomorrow.]
So, if those of you who live round here don't see me in my usual capacity, it's temporary. As for the sparseness of my blogging... I'm unplugging a good bit lately. I need to... [perhaps recalibrate is a good way to put it]

another older poem..... [written at my uncle's cabin]

A Walk Through the Woods

I walk through
The woods today
…feeling like
A lost prince
…found by
His beloved King
I drink in
Every smell
Every sound
Every color
Every image
I walk
Through
The rough
Draft of a
Kingdom
Soon coming

The world has seemed
[the past 3 years]
Like it was
Wearing thin
-almost
“tired of itself”
But as You
Seem to keep
Doing to [with?] me
It is always
The most dry
…just before it rains
It felt like
It was raining
All the time
-it still does
…but now
It is a different kind of rain
Cleansing
Clearing
Refreshing
Painting
-in new vivid colors
All that I see
All that I smell
Dark…
Is not as dark
Desperate…
Is less hopeless
Hope…
Oddly blooms
Like a flower in the desert
My life isn’t
Different
Hasn’t changed
…but I have
I see that I can
Go back
To my
“Self made trap”
I…
Don’t…
Wanna
I…
Like it
Out here
…with You

By Brian N.

an old poem

Written a few years ago now, this was my answer to the question: Why do you write? [I may write a new ..."poem answer", sometime]

why I write to you

I’m trying to write to you
Because the silence is killing me
I’m trying to write to you
Because when I look at you …
You look back at me (in the face, in the eye)
Because when you look at me…
You make me think you care
think you care whether I live, or die
you look hurt when you look at me
and realize that I want to die
you look like you will listen to whatever I say
…and care about me anyway.
You look like you want to protect me
You look like you believe that I matter
You look at me & don’t run away
You look at me & you seem to cry when I bleed
When I hurt, you have tears
When I’m lonely & you see me, you come near
Sometimes you are what I fear
I know you want to help me
When I talk, you hear me
When I’m not well, you watch over me
When I hurt, your presence heals me
When I wish I could feel God hug me
He sends you

This is my answer
This is the why
This is…
Why I write to you
You are… the end of my silence
You are… the ear,
That hears
I am finding my voice
Because you bother to hear it

...I don't know if someone pointedly asked me why I write to them, but the thought popped into my head at some point. And that came out.

hope you enjoy...

Poems based on the word mask [& the challenge of “pretending to be something else”]

Masks

Collect them all

Tiny little

Fake lives

We hide behind

So no one

Really knows

Who we are

Are they safe?

Of course they are

…but

That

May very well be

What’s wrong with them

Masks

Challenge no one

They don’t offend

[& it wouldn’t matter

If they did]

Because

If you don’t like

This one

We can

Swap it out

For a more appealing one

But masks

Are

Dead

It’s pretty hard

To keep a lifeless thing

On something

Organic

Sooner

Or later

The real person

Shows up

Anyway

The longer

It takes

The scarier

The day

When the mask

Falls

Off

Masks [what you meant…maybe,

kinda, sorta]

I love it

That I am

What you

Grab

And take with you

When you go off

To spend time with Him

You smile

[& laugh @ yourself]

He does, too

I get to be

The “paint brush” you use

To have

“Conversations in art”

With

The Artist

You pick me up

And look toward the sky

Pushing my buttons

To capture a small fraction

Of what you see

Thanking Him

For His ability

To make

What you are

Looking at

I’m not new

[& neither are you]

We fit

[we’re both more than a bit worn]

We’re both “scratched”

A bit “dented”

Here ‘n there

But He doesn’t mind

And we belong to each other

When you grab me in your hand

I feel your excitement

….& I hear you singing in your head

Laughing & giddy

Like a little boy

Wondering

Where

He’ll lead us today

Wondering what

He’ll point out this time?

So glad I can be a connection

A tether from you to Him

musings @ breaktime

love the clouds today.
the folding, swirling, puffy, abstract art of God. Marching slowly across the sky. Right now intermittently "flicking" raindrops on my windshield. Shades of blue - gray, sharp whites with shadows. Ribbons of rainbows playing hide 'n seek among other dark & light shapes.....

turning titles into poems

I'm having a bit of trouble with my computer lately. However I thought I'd post a few newer poems. These are based on L.L. 's latest post title.

A Golden Chain

[first angle]

A golden chain
Poetry seems to me
A secret weapon
To set me free
A chance to say
Things that sometimes
Can’t be said
A chance to
Get
Some black thing
Out of my head
To put it down
Lay it down
Fold the book
& walk away
A chance to
Get it
Out of the way
So I can better live
This day.

A golden chain

[second angle]

A golden chain
To lock me
Away
To keep me
From this here day
Private thoughts
That shouldn’t be
Robbing me
Of any good
That could be
Why do I
Allow these thoughts
To chain me?
When I should
Give them
The boot…