The Runners (Partner Poem)

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Co-written with hastywords

 

The phantom highways

Stretch before us

High speed, racing towards
A destination we can’t see yetOur feet are weightless,
each step covers miles
and yet we are going nowhere
endlessly running

Weariness threatens us
On our endless destination
Urging each other forward
Holding each other up

We are so real, so poignant
but only paint brushed on canvas
bursting with life and color
an endless moment captured

The earth under our feet
The sky our sunlit canopy
Never a more beautiful picture
Captured, a living symphony

She strokes our surface, lovingly
as she paints our moment, her dream
Her wheelchair creaking softly
as her brush dances
and a tear traces a path
to her smiling lips

 

Quest

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Have you ever just wanted to walk away?

Drop everything, grab a bag and fling yourself into the unknown

Each step carrying you into your future

Each footstep kicking up dust and uncovering your destiny

 

Have you ever stared at the moon 

hanging there like some mystical fruit

ripe and tender and just wanted to pluck it

to reach up into the galaxy and consumed worlds

swallowing entire civilizations

 

Have you ever sat down, closed your eyes and disappeared?

Your body fading as you sink into a different world

a world of fantasy where you understand why you were born

and you are special and your life means something

 

Have you itched to break free of this mold 

and uncover your true self?

Have you longed for freedom until your insides bleed

and you can barely breathe for longing?

Have you started to walk away and then

stopped?

 

The unknown too strong

the bonds too heavy

the burdens too tight

the people too broken

have you tried to fly 

but drowned in excuses?

 

Have you felt so alone in your desire

So broken in your failure

that you sat down and created

a poem

a story

a song

a painting

a dance

a memory

a joke

a moment

art

hoping that somehow by airing out your fears

you will grow wings and fly

when in reality it’s just a mirror

that tells you the fairest in the land is waiting

but you’re too afraid to leave.

Chapter One-The Nightmare

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The room was filled with balloons and the floor was carpeted with bubble wrap. The balloons looked like normal balloons but seemed to bob strangely in the air, as if filled with something. A small child is huddled in the corner of the room, fearfully facing the only exit to the room; a large red door. The door begins slowly begins to open, creaking loudly in the process but  no one but the small boy seems to notice. The door then shuts and the balloons and dancing guests part as an invisible force makes it’s way towards the young boy, the bubble wrap crackling with each step. The small boy whimpers and his lips can be seen mouthing “Stay strong my boy, Stay strong my boy”.

His lips quiver as he keeps muttering the mantra under his breath, eyes fastened fearfully on the advancing force. Then clenching his fist, he resolutely faces the creature as if determined to face whatever challenge comes his way. Suddenly the balloons start exploding violently, spewing puffs of color into the room. POP! POP! POP! Each pop shattering the silence like a shotgun blast. The colored fog that billows from the balloons eats up the air in the room and transforms it into a mystical shadow land, the chairs, tables and people acquiring almost ethereal qualities as they are consumed by the fog.

In the fog that is created, a silhouette can be seen. A blank area where the fog can con penetrate, and it is advancing on the young child who is now standing, fist clenched and face scrunched in concentration. The crowd, oblivious to the action bursts into song “Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Kevin…” The happy joyous song striking a sour chord, each burst of merriment underscoring the young child’s advancing death. The irony of a celebration of life on the eve of his death seemed to register on the young child’s mind. He glances fearfully at the incoming  menace and then with a shout charges into the mist hoping to get lost in the crowd and make his escape through the door. He moves faster than he has ever moved before, running as if he has gained wings, but before he can even reach the edge of the crowd the shadow is upon him. He can feel the cold clammy hands gripping his neck and drawing him back as if by sheer force of will. He struggles, his legs pistoning and arms flailing but it’s as if the very air is against him and he is drawn back inexorably to his doom.

His flailing starts to slow and his body begins to grow limp. There seems to be no escape. Then from the resounding silence that had come after the balloon explosion and songs, a voice booms out, filling the room with sound.

“Boy! The whistle, blow the whistle boy! Remember what your father said, when facing death, blow the whistle!!”

The boy, moving as if through thick jello reaches for his chest where the whistle hangs. His hand rests on his heart for a moment and he can feel his heart trying to rips it’s way out of his chest. Grabbing the whistle and struggling to bring it to his lips even as the invisible hand crushes is throat, he blows with all the air left in him. The whistle’s piercing scream fills the air and the room is consumed by it. Time stops and the room is silent it the midst of the sound, each person frozen as they were. Then the aura of death, darkness and confusion is shattered and so is the room and everything else in it.

Still screaming, the echo of the whistle still ringing in his head, Kevin lurches upright, hitting his head on the top bunk. Panicked he looks around, eyes darting from place to place, thoughts running rampart in his head like stampeding buffalo. Where am I? What’s going on? Who…?

The realization hits him as he look around and sees the walls of his room and the scrunched up sheets laying in disarray and his bed that looked as if it was the victim of an aggravated assault. Sweat drips from his face and he rolls over and wipes it on his pillow in disgust and whispers “Why does this keep happening?”

Life

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Life is but a journey to self,

A mission to conquer ego

And discover who we are

Our passion and our love

A quest for communion

We lust for acceptance

In bleak hopeless world

But we try again and again

Slamming against the brick wall

Often times it hurts

We cry

But failure is death

And death is not an option

So we claw our way to the top

For a brief moment we conquer

But our wax wings melt

And we shatter on the rock

We pick up the pieces

Duck tape heart leaking

And we search for ourselves

Try to tap into our power

But we are weak and drained

Our scarred heart beats still

We pick ourselves up and climb

Pushing our ego like Sisyphus

Paa Ya Paa Poem 1

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To understand this poem, I recommend you first take a look at this: https://patheticwithpotential.wordpress.com/2012/05/05/a-great-day-africas-soul-on-display/

 

The colors dance on canvas

each a moment gem frozen

shards of our shared soul history shattered

and smeared on paper in vibrant hues,

greens, reds, blues and yellows

the dark brown paint ochre 

of our bodies gleaming 

our life written in a millions of words

then imbued with life 

and made to dance in infinite silence

each moment a forgotten memory

an intimate scene undressed

as we peer at the mysteries and try,

striving, our hearts and minds struggling

to connect as we push against the veil of ignorance

to recapture our bound soul and by looking

free it,

setting the color alight to burn bright 

within us

A Great Day: Africa’s Soul on Display

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I went to a small rustic art museum in Kenya with a friend and I was simply delighted. It was a bit out of the way, just a small house with some really scenic vegetation surrounding it. The director is a delightful old man whose love of art and the African culture was very evident. It was called Paa Yaa Paa.

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I apologize for the really bad quality pics…but I am not a photographer and I was using a cell phone as my photo taking agent. But these are the pictures I took of some of the art work:

I intend to do a poem for a few of these pieces. If you are interested in me doing a poem on a particular piece or if you are inspired to do one yourself please post on the comment and I will post it so everyone can see. If you are ever in Kenya stop by and experience this Paa Yaa Paa first hand.

Art

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To destroy, perhaps to transform

creation, destruction

A soft collision of form and freedom

as shadows of images

pass, through one’s minds eye

because the change, the destruction

construction

 

The color pours from ardent fingers

a dream, a hope, a regret.

The creator of the work.

Through it all, a silence

a reverence of the work done 

as it goes

as it swallows us and holds 

us immersed in it’s embrace

Intricacy and simplicity

 

Life.