Saturday, May 18, 2013

My Muse:An Introduction

Since I have made reference to the presence of my assigned Muse a time or two, it is only right I provide you all with a formal written introduction. I believe it is important for those who take the time to read the words I have crafted, and profess sometimes to be impressed, to know me, the architect and builder. The introduction to me can be found in the words that I write; along with a formal profile on this site.

While it is my unique intellectual and emotional perceptions of the incidents that have taken place during my personal life journey which provide the building materials to construct each of the offerings provided here, it is my Muse, who picks and chooses from the many options of my mind, who decides at what time each one should be constructed and the proper form it should take for it to have the desired impact on those who make the decision the end results of our efforts are pleasing therefore worthy of reading.

Together, my Muse and I, attempt to create a formation of words that emotionally resonate with readers. We desire people to conclude if they can still find me, despite being aware of the shameful flaws I have, worthy they should also feel worthy themselves. One of my most treasured things my Muse has ever reached into my mind and forced me to write is the bold statement “I am imperfectly perfect and that is perfectly fine” These words were always there… waiting for her to force me to reveal them. However, the Muse, who I sometimes really despise, showed her wisdom by waiting for when I decided to make an effort to write and allow others to read what I have written before she inspired me to pen them. I hate to admit it, but these moments of brilliance from her do happen from time to time.

Since I have given a functional introduction to my Muse by telling you how she and I operate in my artistic expression of writing, I now want to provide an introduction to her as an immortal being. I want to be straight from the start…my immortal Muse is not divine by any stretch of the imagination. A fact, made very clear, on the day we first began our relationship face to face when she refused to adhere to the common Muse position of the sideline of its artists charge’s mind. Apparently, my Muse was never informed of this.

Let me start my revelation of my Muse’s immortal personality by telling you how it transpired that we met face to face. Most of my life was spent blissfully thinking, like so many others, a Muse was nothing but a myth and my mind and skill alone should be accredited with the praise for my writing abilities sometimes garnered from others.

When I was in college and developed the passion for politics. Using my the core values and priorities I developed over the years with a formal education in politics I formed my own political views I went online and preached them on political forums and social networks along with others of the same inclination. Doing this, my words were seen by a person who desired to write a book of compiled essays who subscribed to the notion a particular person was the right man to become President of the United States. He was impressed with my writing when I expressed my thoughts so he sent me an email asking me to submit an essay so he could determine if it would be worthy adding to his book.

When I was just about to delete the email that he sent my Muse stormed into my house, without even knocking, and started shaking me while she screamed, “When are you fucking going to stop tuning me out you idiot!”  I was not only scared I was also in shock and pissed! I did not know what to do or what to say because this powerful cocktail of emotions her grandiose entrance served me without warning was paralyzing. In my state, she had time to tell me who she was and that she wanted me to write what I felt in an essay and send it to that man right at that moment. Scared and wanting this crazy lady who invaded my house to leave, I did as instructed. The essay was short and the words came from my heart. I did not care if I used words that made me sound educated and I made myself look even more like an idiot when I titled it “A Nobody’s Opinion.”  From start to end my task, that she bullied me into completing took me less than 15 minutes. When done she warned she would leave for now but promised, though it felt like a threat, to be back when I would finally be able to believe she was who she said.

While the moment of our meeting was shocking by itself…it was shocking even more when I was informed the essay I sent, under duress, had enough value to be added. I started to think…perhaps what I write does have some value if others, besides me, think it does.

I said out loud to nobody in the room, “How in the fuck could this be?”

There was a knock at the door. When I answered, it was that crazy lady who claimed she was my Muse…she stood there with a smirk. She knew… I was now a believer. Even though I hated doing it, I had to let her in the door and into my life.

From that day the Muse was part of my life. I have many stories to tell about our relationship. Each one will help you know more about her immortal personality. I will share them when she lets me.

By the way….her name is Deloris.

Friday, May 17, 2013

Torment To Content

I don’t know how to feel content.
Why does this ability escape me?
What if content, I was never meant?

I feel at ease with torment.
I fed on its teat as a baby.
I don’t know how to feel content.

Out of duty, I pay torment’s rent
I know holding on to feeling bad is crazy.
What if content, I was never meant?

To torment, I want to revoke my consent.
If I had something to feel instead I could act bravely.
I don’t know how to feel content.

I hate the bond between torment and me is cement!
With shame I admit, to something so vile, I am still clingy.
What if content, I was never meant?

Escape from torment I am hell-bent!
The risk of feeling nothing instead…I still agree.
I don’t know how to feel content.
What if content I was never meant?

Defection To Happy

I am visiting this new land called Happy
I don’t know how to act.
All my life I have lived in Despair.
I never liked living there, because it is very glum.
However, my feeling of this new land of Happy is fright.
But, I will travel on despite.

I never felt the joy that forms a smile I attempt one despite.
What makes all the people feel cheery in Happy?
Do they know what it feels like to feel fright?
Could all this bliss be an act?
Does the monotony of content make the natives glum?
I can’t help it I feel home sick for Despair.

Is it my emotional predisposition for misery, which destined me for Despair?
Could I learn to be a Happizite despite
my life long teachings of how to be glum?
I admit I have a fascination with this land of Happy.
Perhaps things would be alright if pleased I could act
and keep hidden, from those all around, my fright.

How does a person mask fright?
When they lived their whole life in Despair?
Is delighted still a wonderful feeling if it is an act?
Can the act ever become fact despite
being a foreigner to Happy?
Or am I forever doomed, no matter the effort, to be glum?

I don’t want to be glum.
I don’t want to feel fright.
I want to live forever in Happy.
I want to defect from Despair.
No matter I was born a Despairian, I want to be a Happizite despite.
I want to feel glee for real and not have it be only an act.

I have decided, I will drop my act and no longer feel glum.
I will do this despite my feelings of horrible fright.
I herby revoke my citizenship to Despair, and pledge my allegiance to Happy!

Please Don't Look Me In The Eye

As the volume of voices in my head swell
I pace, back and forth, with fist hitting thigh,
trying to get the voices to quell.
Please, don’t look me in the eye.

Hoping to find a way to dispel,
on others around, I am a spy.
I’m doomed to stay on life’s stairwell
Please, don’t look me in the eye.

Forgive me for being unwell.
It hurts to live life classified as a “standby”
and your home is an ugly shell.
        Please, don’t look me in the eye.

When my pain is great and I have to tell
The cruelest thing a person can say is, “Try.”
Don’t they think I would try and get out of hell?
        Please, don’t look me in the eye.

The horrors of my past my mind constantly dwells.
Are you sure the pain I’m in won’t make me die?
These evil things from my mind, I want to expel.
        Please, don’t look me in the eye.

The world we live in will not allow me to yell.
I have no choice, I must lie
The only time truth is permitted is when I use my inkwell.
        Please, don’t look me in the eye.

Before I act a fool and society norms I rebel,
I lift my hand and wave goodbye.
I feel tears about to swell.
Please, don’t look me in the eye.

A Mother's Dream

my dream finally came true
true tale i tell to you tonight
tonight my baby feared lost
lost to me forever was found
found my reason for living again
again there is hope
hope to start over
over the past
past the hurt
hurt that was caused by me
me, myself, and i
i can breathe easy
easy my breaths
breaths given to me anew by GOD
GOD, aware of my heart’s torment
torment of my own making
making me cry each night
night after night he listened
listened to my pain
pain he had mercy
mercy is what he gave
gave by a power held only by THE MOST HIGH
THE MOST HIGH made my dream finally come true
true tale i tell to you tonight
tonight my baby feared lost
lost to me forever was found
found my reason for living again
again there is hope

Thursday, May 16, 2013

A Writer's Letter Goodbye

Taking my dreams and putting them away.
Emotions plead; rest is what I need.
My mind has softened with all this wordplay.
The little workers inside my head are frenzied;
feeling need to spend time with families instead
Takes a lot effort not to have my intentions misread
My production has been done with a serious face.
The good I have achieve I don't want to debase.
However, a few lines in explanation won't hurt.
Don't want anybody to say I left without a trace.

I take pride that I send my words out doing a sashay
and command them, in the end, to be sure they curtsied.
On their lapel and backs, I check for cliches.
Despite demand, always required another proofread.
Even then, errors are found widespread.
therefore, my efforts to be candid were stymied.
Worse or all, I am seen as a braincase.
Now when I write, I can't stop using the backspace.
With this admission, further damage I hope to divert.
Don't want anybody to say I left without a trace.

My adult life has always been somewhat blase.
Out of fear, I faced each given day with much heed.
Otherwise, I felt like my next moment would be doomsday.
Those free from the shackles of feelings like these I envied.
Sadly, feeling like this is how I was bred.
yes, lacking in many areas but the fine art of fear I'm purebred.
My pedigree makes me encased in disgrace.
Don't remember when I was not looking for a crawlspace.
With words, I hoped my fears I could finally erase.
Sadly, I learned my fear was so grimy I can not culvert.
Don't want anybody to say I left without a trace.

Praise! For the Gift of Writing

I started a poem today
today I wanted to give you praise
praise for all you give
give to those in need of aid
aid you only are able to give

I started a poem today
today I was ashamed
ashamed the praise that was my intention
intention turned to questions about your aid
aid you only are able to give

I started a poem today
today I threw it away
away I wanted to run
run in shame from your aid
aid you only are able to give

I started a poem today
today I wrote what was in my heart
heart was full of pain
pain from being in need for your constant aid
aid you only are able to give

I started a poem today
today I am humbled
humbled by the gift you gave
gave as a way to give aid
aid you only are able to give