My Voice

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.

This fiction was written for Picture it & Write.

Till we meet again.

Good Day.

Mind of Shoo

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.

Paint.  

For you are an artist.

Express.

With your mind and your brrush.

Share.

With a world who shunned you.

You are not crazy.

It is those who labeled you 

that clearly were.

You, Vincent are beautiful.

Daily Prompt; Writing Room in a Caboose

This one is easy as I have written about it before HERE.  I’d love to have a caboose in my back yard as a study/studio to work on writing and painting.  I would redo the exterior as authentic as possible.  As for the inside, in the writing area I’d like to have a nice simple glass or plexiglass desk and a small closet to house writing supplies.  I would want a comfortable desk on wheels.  I’d have a nice stereo with Bose speakers to listen to music when I deem necessary.  I’d have bright colored walls with hardwood flooring.  The lights would be a curvy track lighting system across the ceiling.  I’d also have an odd-shaped lamp on the desk.  I’d have lots of different shaped angles in the room. The walls would have lots of different art and or sculptures. Of course it would include a computer.  I’d keep a refrigerator in the studio area for snacks and drinks.  I would have the caboose set kinda far from the house so I would not be bothered when I am there.  I think it would be wonderful to sit in there an relax, wondering where this caboose has been during its working days.  To think of the people who set foot in the caboose and wonder about what their life traveling was like.  

I believe it would make a wonderful work area.  Like I said in my first post about my work space, if you are driving the country side in rural America and see a caboose in someone’s back yard, it may be me working on my next movie script or novel.  Or just me blogging.

Till we meet again.  Good Day.

Mind of Shoo

This was written for the Daily Prompt; Writing Room

A genie has granted your wish to build your perfect space for reading and writing. What’s it like?

Daily Prompt: Writing Room

Sky Writing

My son and I sat on the park bench outside of town.  It’s a beautiful spot on the outskirts of the desert, especially at sundown.

“What do you think Josh?” I ask.

“About what daddy?” the ten-year old replies.

“Look at the sky,” I ask of him.  “Read to me what you see. “

“Daddy, there are no words in the sky, that’s silly.”

Oh Josh, there are plenty of words in that sky.  Look out there, its like a plane flew in the sky throwing out big letters that formed words.  Just for us.  Look at the beauty of the sky.  There is one word.  Beauty.  Look how peaceful it is.  Feel it?  There is another word, peaceful.  Painters paint beauty like this.  Its their inspiration.  There is another word.  Inspiration.  Don’t you see all this Josh?

“Daddy, how do you see all that?”

Josh, use your imagination and the words will come to you.  I use my imagination. There is another word in the sky. Imagination.  You have to feel what’s around you.  Close your eyes. Feel the breeze, imagine the view you just saw right before your eyes closed.  There is another word.  Feel.   Use your eyes, don’t you see hope in the sky Josh?  Hope, another word.  The words are endless son. 

“I suppose daddy.  But when I close my eyes and think of this sunset, all I see is mommy” he says to me with tears in his eyes.  “I feel her arms holding me.”

“Josh, you saw beauty.  You felt love.  From this view of the sky.  You didn’t need words.  It was all there for you.  From her.  She will never leave you.”

“Daddy, I wish I could write I love you mommie in the sky.”

“You just did Josh.  I am sure she just read it.”

This fiction was written for Inspiration Monday.  Click for the prompts and rules.

I Wish

I wish I could paint a picture.  On canvas with colorful brush strokes.  It would hang in a museum to share with the world, so bright and radiant.  To interpret as you wish.  For people to look at and wonder what was on my mind while I held that brush.  For it to have meaning to each visitor.  Whether it be happy or sad.  My own Van Gogh, painted with pain and anguish for the world.  For me.

I wish I could pick up a guitar then put a pencil to paper and write a song.  A song to share with the whole world.  A song to sing to people on the street as they toss their change into my guitar case or on a stage with the audience singing to me as if they wrote it.  I hear their happiness or is it sadness, so loud and clear.  A song that will last generations and is no longer mine but everyone’s.   Forever.

I wish I could write a story.  A story penned so eloquently with my pain and suffering.   A story I can share with the world.  So people could read and understand that they are not alone in their suffering.  Written for me but knowing there are others that can’t pen their feeling as I can.   With the hope that they may someday meet me and say thank you for writing what they feel.  They have healed.  My gift to them.

I can’t paint nor play a guitar.  I can’t pen my thoughts eloquently. 

But I can dream.

Till we meet again. Good Day.

Mind of Shoo