|I write in three languages. That which belongs to the pen, that which is inspired by the heart and that which the spirit manifested.|
Long after the first flowers began its transformation
Summer arrived with a fist in its back pocket
And a revolver tucked into its throat.
Its tongue languished on the vine,
Drawing a l i n e into the sand,
Like a f a m i l y tie, too frayed for existence.
The heart throbbed,
A dissident sigh mellifluously perched on the branch
Of a large oak tree
And still a simple prayer could be heard
Falling out of the hands of a woman
Who had not yet learned the meaning of faith.
Her heart b a l a n c e d ackwardly somewhere between love
And deep sense of self loathing.
Her eyes akin to the vestibule inside of h...
They are pouring your body into a vat of concrete.
Red wine purloins itself through the oscillating veins
In your forearm.
You are no longer yourself,
You are simply the leftover residue
Of a kiss placed on the back porch of your heart.
Your body the same beautiful asa vacant expression.
There are faces here, pressed up against your skull
And a pound of flesh that has peeled itself away from your bones
As if fear is the only thing holding you together.
Your joints symbiotically caressed by eyes that seem to bare into you.
Your hands curving their way through the long grass
Growing out your head.
You remember the past,
With every braid that is brought into fruiti...
Grandmother takes my heart
Into both of her hands.
Placing kisses in the center
Where the tremor is most powerful.
As if to say
“This is where you will be most beautiful”
And I believe her.
But words turn into butterflies
Falling deep into the consummate desire
Of a summer gone too soon.
Leaving my heart with little to stand on
Save the memory of a woman
Who not only chose to see me
But loved me in spite of myself.
The day Grandma died,
The earth choked its final symphony.
Gaia cradling the body of a woman
Whose life had lit my universe
for as long as I could remember.
Only when the stars came home that night
Did I realize how much of her life
Had been poured i...
You say that you long to know me.
Yet you spend more time gazing over my flesh
Than looking into my eyes.
Your hands taking in my body illegally, when it should be grasping my hand in a firm shake.
You ask me what my name is?
And the only word that comes to mind is disrespect.
The most beautiful parts of you
Will always call you home.
Long after you forget your name
And your voice,
Long after you made a mess out of your existence
You will still find the ability to pick yourself up out of the dirt.
The most beautiful parts of you
Are not elegance painted
Not splashes of colour.
They are flame and sinewed bone,
Fear and impatience.
Petulance and a smile carved out of all of your broken bones
They are scars loved deep into your flesh by a heart that says I will never let you go.
The most beautiful parts of you are stars, after its last light has suddenly supernova"d into endless obscurity of your past
It is where your heart became consumed with the nee...
I've known Hunger like I've known love. Scarce fleeting scathing fragments of desire, hanging eloquently from the back of my knees.
I've known Hunger like I've known friendship and hope and passion.
The deep permeable ache in the pit of my belly, clamour's for just a touch of yesterday's meal.
I've known poverty too. The maddening dance of an empty pocket, screaming out fill me with something more than your broken dreams.
I've held the Hand of a comprised future, devoid of its hope and sought to leave kisses down its spine.
I've walked into rooms, wearing my last good dress and a pair of black shoes eulogized by holes in the backs of heels. A left over piece of a promise tha...
An Unpublished Manuscript of J.D. Salinger
by Rider Strong
It is possible to assassinate my heroes
with the scope of my individualism
However, by their own persistence to themselves
I believe that they have chosen me to pursue a self
What is literature
but the illumination of that which I would write?
Salinger speaks through me, to me
whispers, ‘Where to, little boy?’
My answer is the dogged pen to page
which lights consistently the pathway home
It is on that road
that I alone can trip my way back to myself.
This poem was written by one of the actors in the TV show boy meets world. I love it
Your eyes meet mines.
Dark twisted pupils coming out to play on the back of my flesh. Digging hatred into my flesh. So even though you won't say a word to me, I can still feel the harsh reality of you.
You with the blood soaked menstrual coloured dress, that reminds me of the devil Wears Prada. You being the devil, Prada being far too beautiful for the emptiness that seems to claw it's way through your face. Your lips turned into a perpetual scowl.
You walk past me, look through me, pretending not to see me. Showering me with all the bitterness that has hardened your heart and I must wonder how it felt to hear your eulogy read aloud for the first time. Why your body is such a pie...
The temporal pariah sets off towards the horizon. Laundering her heart with a bevy of imminent thoughts. A sweltering bevy of passion and pain, courses it's way through the ambivalent veins.
Her smile hanging by the thread of tomorrow.
A soulful reprise squanders itself.
It is the onslaught of the day.
A mere frivolous play thing
Hands wreak of hatreds rancor.
Stimulating the tremor of a life barely begun.
She is the last kiss of summer
A breathe of the eternal
Construed of the most temperate melody in creation.
Magnificent and brazen, her hips two jutting landscapes amongst a barren waste land.
She screams of nudity and flesh.
Broken bone and jagged tounge..
Power and a iride...
A little jamaican humour , (written in patois so you'll have to read carefully to get the joke but if you do it's pretty hilarious 😂)
" One night a man was was relaxing watching TVJ (local TV station) when out of the kitchen came his wife with a pan --BOOF!-- "a who name Holly?" asked the wife.
"Mi jus see a paper eena yuh pocket wid di name 'Holly' pon it, WHO IS SHE?".
The man rubbing, rubbbing the back of his head, said "me and Richie did dung ah di racetrack tiddeh an dat is di name of di horse weh we bet pan, a wah duh yuh?!!".
So the wife apologized, kissed his head, and went back to her chores.
15 minutes later the wife storms out of the kitchen again --BOOF!! BAM!!
"A WHA DUH...
A shift in mindset towards consciously embracing who you are and standing in your truth is the ultimate revolutionary act. If others ' get your journey, it wasn't meant for them. Leave them behind. People often want to police the thoughts of others. Those who do the "policing" are usually in bondage and don't even realize it. How can a prisoner free someone from their chains, when they are in captivity themselves. If they haven't undergone the work it takes to fully transform themselves, why would they ever believe that they can or should "fix" someone else. This isn't just ignorance, it screams ego. If someone has stolen your pen, in an attempt to write your story. Take it back and confide...
I am exhausted.
My desire to write, cannot sustain the lack of energy I feel.
With every tragedy in this world,
I feel it heavily on my spirit.
How many more lives must be taken, before we finally say enough is enough.
How many hearts must be broken,
Children stolen in the prime of their youth?
How many more mothers frantically searching for their sons
And fathers who will never get to hold their little girls?
How many more poems and letters must we write before we run out of the room on the page.
I wish I could say that love is enough, that faith is enough, that kindness is enough, that friendship is enough?
But is it really?
Music and are meant to be sanctuari...
it hurts me still.
much like lucid drips from
the gold plated bathroom pipes
or the rushing water in the sink
But is it all?
what is it, that panders my heart
that cries beneath the burning ember
of this fall sky.
Why do I search
and heave my feet
through the piles of antiquated leaves
Below me on the street
the corpses rush too and fro
from work, to school
and home again
I would join them
only I am inclined to remain
on the other side
of the glass.
I would hold their hands
and guide their weary souls
to pit stops
and bus stops
and tire tracks in the snow
But there is little that these tired hands
do not know.
and this pen it thrills and e...
An temporal pattern of sobriety, brings this man to his knees.
Eyes baring into the deep reccesses of his mind. He is a reticent reminder
of everything father couldn't teach him, preacher couldn't preach to him,
mother couldn't breach from his back pocket.
His arms fell to his side, like large willow branches and he loved like it was the last beat his heart would ever have. A soldier with his hands twisted into the gutwrenching shape of a two edged knife. A jagged edge for his tounge and teeth that seemed to bite down into the copper mine field of words that seemed to roll of his brain.
He was angry. His body filled with the sort of fury that was like the back engine of train, as it ...
God do you love me?
I Have loved you before eternity.
Before you took your first breathe
and opened your lungs to the sky,
I have marvelled in you.
Before you opened your lips
and made your first sound.
I have loved you.
Before the fabric of your body
was ever woven into existence
I have exalted my heart in you.
I have loved you before eternity.
Before your heart was first broken
and your body trembled at the weakness
of your frame.
succumbing to the extremity of pain.
I have loved you.
Before you had your first fall
and made your first mistake.
I have loved you.
I have seen the beauty inside of you
before anyone else even could.
My first notebook was given to me by my grandmother. She is no longer alive but I remember it came to me at a time when I really needed somewhere to place my thoughts.
It got me into the habit of writing every day. At some point a family member stole my notebook. I remember I was so upset about it. What made it worse is that they lied about it. Perhaps they had read the 20 angry pages I had written about them 😂.
I never saw that notebook again but it did set me on the path of writing things down.
Somewhere at the feet of those pearly gates, you will finally find your smile.
Receive recompense for an eternity of love thrown at the feet of your beautiful.
The gentrified flourish of a earthen flower, withers it's final sigh into soil, hands stretching into the steady palms of a young heartbeat,
Savoring the last bit of freedom.
You have single handedly descended into a life of sacrifice,
Turning your back towards the face of your future, in an attempt to find a new one.
No one will ever know how long the nights have been, the sweat mulling down your brow, turning saumersaults through all of the prayers you often exude from your lips.
You have loved twice as much as...
The earth is a barren womb,
Seeking the impregnation of it's soil.
And Eagle must travel many miles
In search of something
That will fill her belly
Hunger protrudes through Eagle
For something deeper than a meal.
Bones creak under her flesh
Like rusted hinges against a trap door
" ... Keep working.
Never give up.
Fall down seven times,
get up eight.
you'll never start.
But more importantly,
without consistency, you'll never finish.
Ease is a greater threat to progress than hardship.
Ease is a greater threat to progress than hardship.
So, keep moving, keep growing, keep learning.
- Denzel Washington speech remixed.
And yet so far.
I have grown up through
The cracks in your arms
Seeking you like a steady stream of
Light on my wilted leaves.
You were the sort of hunger
That my heart knew too well.
A flesh wound that never seemed
To go away.
The gentle ache still rocks my heart
Like a grand wave on the open sea.
The grand crowd erupting into praise
Could not replace your presence.
How much longer must the years erode
Before you finally tell me
That you love me.
I watched you hide too many of your tears growing up, placing a smile over a heart that had to endure more than your words could ever say. Im sorry life was not kinder to you. Your silence, your ability to laugh in the midst of pain, taught me so much about what it meant to survive.
Thank you for loving me, when I didn't know how. Thank you for being the most beautiful shelter I have ever known. For turning your heart into the kind of sanctuary, I could always feel at home within.
For showing me how to find the music in every single moment. For holding my hand the first time that boy broke my heart. For helping me pick up the pieces when I thought my life had fallen apart.
"If they hurt you, I will rip them apart piece by piece. Stand up for yourself always. You are a smart young woman with a good head on her shoulders. Don't let anyone assault your mind."
Yesterday my adopted grandmother said these words to me and I had to thank her. She meant it in the best way possible. Her eyes have always looked out for me.
I thought about her words carefully and what they really meant. Don't let anyone assault your mind, that is probably the most powerful thing anyone has said to. Me in a long time.
As a woman too often you can find yourself shrinking your intellect down for the benefit of other people. Silencing your voice when you know you should speak up. Expe...
In case no one told you this today,
You are beautiful
In the all the ways that matter.
Don't ever forget.
One love ❤
This letter was found on Lilian's fridge and I think is so important. Please reshare if you can.
This is a copy & share request:
THIS IS MY VOICE AGAINST PLAGIARISM!
For a writer, its not just his/her work,
When we write we put in our feelings, our emotions, our stories, a part of us.
We spend nights thinking,
Research on topics,
Read a line many times to get that one feeling perfect.
We scratch our wounds, let them bleed on paper to create a masterpiece.
I m not putting my naked soul out there for anyone to just grab it and claim it as his or her.
We all read things, get inspired and try to write our own version of it. There is nothing w...
35 QUESTIONS - WRITING PROMPT
1. Name: C. :) I am named after two flowers. That is all I will say about that :p
2. How old are you? 26 years old
3. Where are you from? The great north aka Canada, I actually live pretty close to Celine Dion's home town.
4. How tall are you? 5 ft 6
5. Are you a student? What do you do for a living? at the moment full time Mom to a 2 month old and a 2 year old.
6. What's your comfort food? Oh too many. I like Roti, timbits, poutine
7. What's your favorite sport? Tennis
8. Who is your celebrity crush? Matt Corby, Passion, Luke James and probably more LOL
9. Are you religious? no. spiritual? absolutely.
10. How did you learn about lettrs? I saw ...
Emotional intelligence is a far greater factor in how successful someone is. Knowledge is often times used as a superficial merit for how brilliant someone is. A genius is someone who not only knows how to ask the right questions but if the answer is not found, they will actively find a way to create the solutions. Emotional intelligence will take you alot further in life than anything else. Who cares how much you know, if you lack basic compassion for other people?