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.




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.


This was written for The Mag #170

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

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


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


Never to sit in your lap again.

Never to welcome you home.

Tail wagging with endless love and enthusiasm.

As only he could.


My dear Flip.


This was written for The Mag #158

I am Me

I am me.

A complex being wrapped in skin

with a functioning mind of my own.

Some see me as stiff and cold.

While others see me warm and caring.

Get to know me for what I am

not for what you believe you see.

My flesh is not me.

My spirit is me.

My body a dresser

My mind its drawers.

Open them and you will find

The beautiful being I am.

Search those drawers

and you will find

the variations that make up me.

Close those drawers, then look and see

that I am simply me.

This was written for The Mag #157

They Never Open the Gate

They Never Open the Gate

I feel all alone

in a world of millions.

I stand in clear view

yet no one sees me.

I would cry 

but no one would feel.

I would laugh 

but no one would hear.

I would touch

but no one is near.

I yearn for attention

but everyone walks past me.

Their tracks lead to beauty

that lies beyond me.

They never open the gate

to view the beauty within me.

This was written for THE MAG 156.

Magpie Tales

My Ode to Van Gogh

artwork by Joseph Lorusso

I know this is not Van Gogh, but as I started writing his work came to mind.

This was written for THE MAG #155

Write a poem or short vignette using the picture featured in this post as your inspiration. Feel free to take the image to use for your post.

Paint the world with all its vibrant colors

So it can be seen as it truly is.

As expression of beauty and love

shown so vividly in your painting.

Help us feel the emotion

your subjects are feeling.

Do it with the stroke of your brush,

dabbed in oil and placed so elegantly.

Show us our world through your eyes

and expressed through your work.

For you, the artist, see it in a peculiar way.

You see our world differently yet so real.

You paint the brightness in the dark

and the dark in the light.

You paint the simple in the complex

and the complex ever so simple.


For you are an artist.


With your mind and your brrush.


With a world who shunned you.

You are not crazy.

It is those who labeled you 

that clearly were.

You, Vincent are beautiful.

Magpie Tales

A Short Distance

Standing on the building 

seeking a facelift from time.

Scaffolding on the roof

unable able to hold

those who don’t want to be held.

So high above

So far below.

The distance between the two

separated by only seconds.

Feeling the air, hearing the thud.

Now motionless, breathless below.

In pain no more.

This was written for THE MAG 154

Write a poem or short vignette using the picture featured in this post as your inspiration. Feel free to take the image to use for your post.