Blue.

Trying to capture the blue bird with a camera in the spindly tree with one flowered bud proved to be futile.

It has made me think once or thrice in the last hours since, that my love life was sorta similar.

Me equals the bluebird.

Sorta trapped in voice, caught up in a web that covered my hearts eye.

Searching for something so outside myself, I denied myself.

It comes with quite a jolt realizing I carried this torture for so long.

Pretending to  be strong. I wasn’t. Did I give everything I have?

Not quite, says a piece of my soul. It has been given back again.

Always resting.

In Gods hands.

Ripples

When we met,
whether on the street, in the air,
on the dance floor,
through a friend or
somewhere on a shore,
did I cause a ripple somehow?

That changed our course?
Were feelings invoked
that shook?
Reality tugging at our fantasy.
Dieing leaves recieving moisture
from the
Sea
of
Love.

The only things I knew
were my heart pulls.
Good, bad or ugly,
I kept chasing
my dream.
Fulfilling all
and taking everything
yet nothing,
accidently.

Never knowing the impact,
the violent crashes that
tried to take me down.
I feel alive and grateful
for staying true.

It was a merciful grace
that led me through.
Day mares and
night terrors
have finally subsided.
Fear replaced with
a gentle
love.

Letting me breathe
in the freshness of this
new
day.

Joy

I’m not sure why or how
all these beautiful bird creatures
fly and hover
for me.

Matters not as they literally
fill me with a child-like
joy.

Looking out onto
this backyard takes me back
to my days in the
South.

Bluebirds, jasmine and
honeysuckle,
flowing freely.
Lifting me up
and away
to a safe place.

Where memories
are not haunted
but pretty.

As I think of eating
coconut
with a best friend.

Preserving me

Perhaps love is just a fairy tale.
Leave it to me, to wish to pull at it, like a horses tail,
just to see if feelings are left.

Emotions that ran incredibly, indelibly deep.
Chances I took with my heart working against
the logic of me.
The self-preserving me, were just given
away.
Like torn cushions on a curb.

I stake my own self,
claim all the pieces,
mine.
Once again.

Living on the edge

Edginess.  It is a very cool word.  Yet, to feel as if you are “edgy” is not so cool.

Tensions seem to climb in a house such as ours.  Our closeness stems from honesty, realness and a dose of Mary Poppins, on occasion.

My youngest younger turns 18 in a few.  My oldest made a wrong turn and began with the heavy shit at 18.  I started bringing life at  18.

Jordan has not been of this World since that very same age.

So, here I am. Thank God I made it.

Looks as if my C will make it too.  The struggles, challenges, suffers, beauties and booties have left scars slashed but my Soul in tact.

Still on the edge, I just know where I am falling this time.

Tide of Evil (1993 journal entry)

In bursting through my fear fences, I’ve been scrolling through journals past.  This to type up all my poetry/songs and such. Because this is something I don’t do often, it probably turned out to be the most perfect timing. 

Questions answered and light bulbs going off…emotionally gut-roiling at times, but its pretty dam awesome having this trail of my life.

Below is a song written by a long ago pal,and myself,  for a long ago band.  The dealio here was: Sam (and others in the bit of a hard-core rock band) thought I hid too much, even in my writing. So they had a little session for me to dig in and bring up some uglies.

This is what we came up with.  Even as I typed it just now, I cringed a few times.  It is so not me, well, I wrote it so it is a piece of me, what am I thinking?

***********************************************************************************************************************************************

BIRTH, CREATION. DEATH, ANIALATION.

SURVIVAL DENIED,

PLAYING FATES TWISTED GAME,

YOUR ONLY RELEASE IS TO KILL, CRIPPLE, AND MAIM.

INSANITY FROM WHENST I WAS SPAWNED.

TO FEEL THE TIDE OF EVIL RISING THROUGH MY VEINS.

SEEKING MY PREY FROM NIGHT TILL DAWN.

NOTHING BUT DESTRUCTION LEFT IN MY WAKE.

YOUR LIFE IS A FORFIET AND MINE TO TAKE.

WHAT LURKS BEHIND DARK SHADOWS? DEAD, FORGOTTEN GODS.

PAINTED IN BLACK ON THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE.

YOU LIE ON YOUR BACK, THE KNIFE SWINGS DOWN.

THE RITE IS COMPLETE. NO HOPE FOR A SAVIOUR.

SPIRITS CORRUPTED AND DYING BEGINS TO CREEP.

 

 

Written in Oct. 93 by Kristina and Sam Matthews (If you ever see this, contact me please.)