Shapeless Emotion

The poison is running through my soul.

An evil, albeit minor in comparison

pumped through my body

by a magnificent instrument placed by God.

It moves freely throughout me 

with the rhythm of its beat.

A symbolic black strand of liquid holding no form,

floating helpless within my veins.

I am unable to control it

and sadly unable to release it.

It is a shapeless strand of life form

often hibernating for longs stretches of time.

giving me some pleasurable relief.

Even if only fleeting.

Then reborn as it re-enters the heart

giving me the spectrum of emotions which ultimately define me.

Pain.

Sorrow.

Hatred.

Ultimately it was gain form and block the passage

of the liquid where it now survives.

Then my heart will cease

and the evil will die.

Forever.

This was written for The Mag #170

Nothingness

A mirror

Simple in it’s contruction

yet complex in its dept.

Placed before us

it offers a glimpse of now.

A person or people

reflected in the moment.

A smile, a pretty face, a satisfied glimpse.

For some, the mirror is a curse.

A seemingly counterintuitive device

reflecting the soul not the flesh.

A faceless reflection 

illuminating pain and disfunction.

Or a blank mirror

reflecting nonthingness.

I don’t like mirrors.

Poetry written for VisDare 19: Mirror

 

The Unfinished

Gaze into nowhere

and look into eternity.

See the unfinished

in all its glory.

Its beauty is unique.

Your imagination grabs a vision

and expresses it in form.

Captured as only you can.

Shared with those who understand.

You see what is within and express it.

We only see what is before us and feel it.

You make us feel what you see

when you gaze into nowhere.

We are mere mortals needing your talent

so we can experience the within.

Show us beauty.  Show us pain.

Show us what is not yet there.

For you are an artist. 

For eternity.

This was written for The Mag #167

Let Blood Pour

 

I thought I would love.

At least once in my lifetime

with every ounce of my heart.

But it’s sealed within an iron wall

impenetrable to every emotion.

A wall built over time 

with the craftmanship of a skilled welder 

following the blueprint of a scarred soul.

Not a madman steered by ills

but a kind, gentle man protecting.

Protecting what… he never knows.

I yearn to love.

To torch an opening so blood can pour

and feel the emotion built up within me

all these years.

I thought I would love.

But I only protect.

My selfish self.

 

Written for:

WoENewButton

 

Pain and Beauty

Woman With a Towel, 1898, Edgar Degas

 

Off with the layers of sadness.

Painfully peeled one by one

with reflections of my storied past

and a future of hope and healing.

Time to bear my soul

to those few I hold close to me.

Re-open old wounds and ugly scars

that are physically present for public consumption.

View them and draw your own conclusions

yet look beneath the skin you see

and see the real hurt lying deep below.

View with open mind and open eyes

not with eyes closed protecting you

from these unsightly pains before you.

These wounds are mine.

Earned from alcohol and abuse

during the years of innocence we call youth.

Look deeper till you see my heart

injured and still bleeding yet

still pumping the very life that is me.

Search deep within me

and find the love and caring

that I know exist within me.

For you my dear friend

are the one that can help me heal

with your gentle ear and sensitive nurturing.

Only then will my bare skin become

soft and beautiful.

And I will find my peace

in the life that is before me  

and beyond.

 

This was written for The Mag #163

Madness in Blue

On the edge of humanity

overlooking the canyon.

I peer into the bluest of skies

while I wallow in my personal madness.

Hallucinations fill my vision.

Behold the boldness and simplicity.

The pain on the faces of the subjects

captured magnificently with simple colors.

Horrific beauty rendered in lines and curves

of an artist’s brush.

Subtleties expressed in paint

while felt from within.

This was written for The Mag #160

Their Souls Weep

The silence broken by breaking waves

moving sand inward then outward.

Into the vastness and endless blue water

that have taken many a soul over time.

Listen to the howl of the crashing waves

or the slight whistle of the waters breeze.

And hear those lost at sea

cry for help from the depths below.

They couldn’t escape the waters grasp

nor nature’s wrath.

Their last breath taken away by

the very beautiful waters before us.

Hear their cries in the waves.

Feel their tears in the mist.

We see beauty from the beach while

they saw a beast from below.

Now their souls weep.

May we honor them forever.

This was written for The Mag #159

Flip

Soaked in despair and desperation

that rainy spring evening.

Your dress clinging to your body

like hope did to your heart.

Ignoring the lightning

that turned night into day

for minute amounts of time.

Freezing the view before you

like a camera capturing a picture.

You sit next to him.

Your body exhausted.

Your mind twisting

between anguish and anger.

He laid before you

Breathless.

Never to sit in your lap again.

Never to welcome you home.

Tail wagging with endless love and enthusiasm.

As only he could.

Gone.

My dear Flip.

Forever.

This was written for The Mag #158

My Voice

hand at a computer

I have a voice.  

A voice not mouthed.

One expressed along an artistic highway

from my brain through my fingertips.

Exiting onto paper, instruments or canvas.

For everyone to hear 

My voice is loud and soft.

My voice is dark and colorful.

My voice is high and low.

Often left to ones interpretation

and with hopes of stirring emotions.

Yet, it is my voice.

Expressed through my brain.

Yet from my heart.

Listen.

For it sings and speaks

in music, words and color.

My voice I give to you.

From my fingertips

to your heart.

<a href="http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/category/picture-it-write/" target="_blank"><img src="https://i0.wp.com/i115.photobucket.com/albums/n320/LadySerendipity/pictureitandwrite2copy-1.png" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a>

This fiction was written for Picture it & Write.

Till we meet again.

Good Day.

Mind of Shoo

The Wheels no Longer Turn

Photo courtesy of ghostbikes.org

I see these around town here.  This morning I noticed a new one. So sad.  On the way home it’s all I thought about.  Here is my humble tribute.

You sit on street corners and along roads

across our great nation.

A symbol of those who pedal on two wheels.

The breeze in their face and clear skies above.

Their muscles burning,

breathing mightily.

Until tragically their breathing ceases.

Ended by carelessness.

Quickly and tragically.

You are passed daily

by commuters on foot, car and bicycle.

In large cities and small towns.

A memorial to the anonymous

who lost their life.

Who were you?

A sibling.

A spouse.

A parent.

A friend.

Were you young or old?

Male or female?

You were all of these.

Now you are a beautiful symbol

placed by people who know you.

By a community who cares.

A symbol never to be removed.

Sitting through wind and rain.

Under sunny or cloudy skies.

Your wheels once turned.

Now they are still.

A bike now doctored.

Colored in all white.

The Ghost Bike.

 

This was written for Trifectra; Week Sixty-Six

The rules:
  • Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
  • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
  • The word itself needs to be included in your response.
  • You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
  • Only one entry per writer.
  • Trifecta is open to everyone.  Please join us.

DOCTOR (noun)
1

a : an eminent theologian declared a sound expounder of doctrine by the Roman Catholic Church —called also doctor of the church

b : a learned or authoritative teacher

c : a person who has earned one of the highest academic degrees (as a PhD) conferred by a university

d : a person awarded an honorary doctorate (as an LLD or Litt D) by a college or university

2
a : a person skilled or specializing in healing arts; especially :one (as a physician, dentist, or veterinarian) who holds an advanced degree and is licensed to practice

b : medicine man