~~♡~~♥~~♡~~


"Hush little baby, don't you cry,
mama's here for you only
and tomorrow she will buy
all the pretty little ponies

black and brown
tan and roan
all the pretty little ponies"

lullaby sung by my mother
when I was a child


there I lay
at end of the day
safe in my mother's arms
she had a voice
so soft and low
I succumbed to its charms

I don't remember
her grey eyes
so full of care and pain
I recall her dear soft breast
and those sweet refrains

later on in life I found
she was very ill
mood swings plagued her
all her days
and then they had no pill.

she was not a
stable mom
she was always up or down
but she tried the best she could
when she was around

I won't forget her lilting voice
though she was in despair
she made those ponies
twirl and dance
to show her child

she cared.


soulsurvivor
2/7/2015

In silence a black motorcade
the sad and soft parade
heavy hearts the last charade
the last song is finally played
one last curtain call is made
rest in peace shadow and shade


The music is over forever delayed
Turn out the light
turn out
the light
finish
and
fade*



R.I.P.
Lizard King

I just want so badly to find someone who will actually love me instead of lying to my face. I just want to find someone who won't slip up on what my name is because some other cat's got their tongue. I've never felt so unimportant to anyone but you, and I regret every second I spent loving you and spoiling you with every fiber in my being that I could muster. But I don't regret leaving you because my value has shot up since I left, and my standards have risen beyond expectations that will never be met and carnal cheat codes. The toxicity you made me shoot up is no longer in my veins and I can finally say I'm clean of you.

Another adventure begins
On a day to remember
On the 11th hour of the 11th day
Of the 11th month in 1918
WWI ended
But the war continues
Between the material and spiritual
The Grand Inquisitor in all of us
(Dostoevsky)
Tries to encapsulate the formless

We're all searching for the magic pill
Red or blue
What would you choose?
Fortunately, there is no choice
You become who you are eventually
It just depends how many lives
It takes for a full realization
Of this reality

A spiritual warrior is always in transition
I'm spending the next few weeks traveling from
Portland to Los Angeles
Maybe on to Peru from there
I plan on writing in realtime
In spacetime, I'll be riffing
Suggestions of where to explore are appreciated
That would put a big smile on my face

I told my Cree friend of this journey
She laughed and called me Thotin
Thotin is wind; wind in all forms
I told her I identified with water
She nixed that:
'water is too predictable, wind is just ****** nuts'
We lol'd

I guess the wind is blowing west
:)

ashes fell like snow
drifting down aimlessly
silently one landed in her hair
but her eyes were fixed on the fire
a great rushing crackling tortured sound
as the building burned
we could only stand and watch
can still feel its heat on my face

years pass
with the seasons laying a great drift
of leaves and tangle of vines on the ruins
sticking up out of the rough sea of dead debris
the twisted remains of a child's school desk
the frame of it jutting out of the snow
melting in the spring breeze
a muted shout of metal

the jungle gym overtaken by weeds
and the swings just a rusted frame
i clamber up the top to see the vista
but only gain another perplexing view of ashen earth

we walk down the broken path
to the small house
its broken window a haven for a thrush
and nestled in its brick doorway
a rusty clowns head
battered and leaning over
the grin lost in reddish decay

we sit in the room we love
in the small broken house
really no more than a child's playhouse
while the summer air gathers in close to us
thick and filled with heavy summer scents
the sun piercing the room like a hot razorblade

she wont look at me
only sits mumbling a song unrecognized
till the words slip clear of old nursery rhyme
i fear for her fragile sanity's
she unbuttons her shirt
sweat pours from her like spring rain
she finally looks at me
and with a vacant diabolical tone
tells me she wants to hurt me in ways
no-one else can
unhinged

as dusk litters the field
we come to stand where we stood that night
come to relive once more our thoughts
and words
as we watched it burn
symbolically i place a small grey paper in her hair
for the ashes that fell like tears
symbolically she raises a single forlorn cry
asking that i save someone
but there is no one to be saved
we are a lifetime too late
symbolically we weep

the twisted iron
in the rubble rebuffs our desire for comfort
the leaden sky
denies our desire to close this terrible thing
leave it behind

as nights restless hand pushes us
back to the small house
she takes my hand
silently forgiving us both
for having only been children
when our world burned to the ground