So, Here you are, and so am I sticky icon

Everyone should have a place to muse, to think, to share one's thoughts. This is mine......

 

 

 

 

musically entangled

.just me...free to be
where, I ought not-you see:
changing the you to thee,
and, ultimately, the my to I
 
the journey starts as a derivative
becomes contemplative
then assertive
until being sure
is pure
and the get-go
is ego
and whatever is mine is thine
 

Korean Boy

He sang,
the auditorium rang
with his voice
his solemn, precious choice...
then,
they changed him
took him from the rim
the eternity of his art
of which they had no part.
they stole his innocence
with pretense...
he might improve.
for this we all lose.
 
but at the moment that his song
rewrote for what had been so long
the agony of his life
they cut cut him, finally, as with a knife.
but at that moment
so reverent

Aging

I watch my body age
the singular war that I must wage.
The lonely painful task
that relentlessly unmasks
the weakness resting at my core
the pain that  soley must be borne
by each one of us in our time
and the courage to live that we all must find.
It's marvelous to behold
as limbs sag and fold:
that the old  bear with pride
even as we melt inside
and fail from without
leaving no doubt
the palpable, inevitable...

written

words jump from my pen
before paper is touched
what happens then
is what must
the soul searching for itself
will settle for nothing else.
it sucks itself out of the page
reflecting its own image
you see then, only what's moot
the simple truth
the words mean nothing
the thought is what rings

voice

i rejoice
in my voice
the tiny squeak
when i speak
from this page
(though no sage)
this is where i start
from the heart
what comes from others
is their druthers
but this is mine
my small place in time
i do as i must
others do, i trust

Big Words

You advise
no surprise:
"Don't use big words."
absurd!
I prolific, will pontificate
using as substrate
the substance of your mental inertia, innate
which straight
from the center of your barrren soul
exudes without control...
Listen, carefully to me and others
who will provide druthers
for those who with us among
dwell with  simple tongue.

grief

you bear your grief alone
in this no one has part
your heart  turned  to stone
your spirit's cry but a silent moan.
yet your despair is shared
by those who most care.
those whom you cherish
will not let you perish
unless you force  them free
crying, "let me be!"
then wreckless isolation
starts unwholesome incubation.
and we who love
witnessing from above.
in sadness acknowledge,
the driven wedge

Art

What use is art?
What part of one's heart does it play a part?
I believe
in my mind a sieve,
That it rises from the core
and more
the eternal essence
an undeniable presence
that echos, resonates
and fineally perpetuates
the meaning of the "I"
that part of us all, forever,, which can never die.