I see what you did there...

I usually need a reason to have something to write because my mind is blank 89.3% of the time.
Besides, the poetry I post on here is never mine.
Today isn't any different.
Today I am but observing.
What makes someone want to put their thoughts into words for all to read?

Thoughts.

THOUGHTS are flying inspirations,

Fleeting as the summer's cloud;

Grasp them, hold them, they are precious;

Silent, yet they speak aloud.

For the inspirations lifting

From the soul's deep silvered strand,

Are the fresh and brilliant jewels,

Tokens of the inner man.

Thoughts, like rivers, run to oceans,

The great sea of human lore;

But it first must fall in showers,

On the mead and marsh and moor.

Then refresh the fevered meadows,

Let some dew fall in the night;

If you cannot send the showers,

You can lend your little mite!

Selfish natures cannot broaden,

From without their narrow self;

Wealth you hold within your bosom,

Narrows more and more yourself.

Breathe afar your thoughts of meaning,

Like the dew of Hermon's plain;

"Cast your bread upon the waters;

It will turn to you again!"

James A. DeMoss

Unexpected

Sometimes, in the search for nothing in particular, you find something that hits home. But then again I live under a rock.

Apparently James A. DeMoss was from Kansas and wrote poetry from the mid to late 1800's.

Some beings live from day to day

Without a thought;

Whose solemn moments pass away

And soon forgot.

Each day as but an idle dream

Of little worth;

And to the dormant mind 'twould seem

His life a curse.

It is a fruitless life indeed;

Ah, yes, 'tis worse

Than fruitless, and of little need

E'er to rehearse.

Not only do they bear no fruit

Of value great,

Nor deeds of any good repute

Would fain create,

But worse by far than fruitless toil,

They sink at last

Into despair, a worthless spoil,

Forgotten past.

Ah, sad to see a wasted form

All ghastly lay,

A victim to life's every storm,

A helpless prey.

All damned here by his worthless self,

Ignoble slave;

A victim of his hand bereft,

His trust did wave.

Worthlessness-James A. DeMoss

Sometimes here, but never there

He

...Was always there to lend a hand.

...Always had the words to make you laugh.

...Was surrounded by many and appreciated by few.

...Never fought it and let it win.

...Was taken one day.

.______.

I

...Will always remember the things you taught me.

...Will never forget your laugh.

...Will keep your memory alive.

...Miss you dearly, but mostly

...Wish I were there.

Las Golondrinas...

Traigo el alma sobre un mar de sentimientos

Todavia no cicatrizan mis heridas

Ese radio me toco en el peor momento

La cancion que amargan mas las despedidas

Rechazar a quien ame por tanto tiempo

Se que voy a lamentarlo mientras viva

-Escuche Las Golondrinas

I'm gonna need more wood.

I have to agree with the Pastrami Llama.
I'm not a Debbie downer, I believe what I see.
Why am I going to waste my life away searching for what is not there?

I don't read much......or read any at all.
I can't say I know anything about poetry or literature.
All I know is that the few things I've read, written by John Donne, have some truth to them.
He lived, loved and lost and was the kind of realist person I consider myself to be.
Just don't call me a pessimist, because the differences are great.

I will continue to restart and feed the fire because I realize that I cannot stop the winds or rainstorms.

When that elixir is found, then you have my attention.

 Love's Alchemy

 -John Donne
Some that have deeper digg'd love's mine than I,

Say, where his centric happiness doth lie;
I have lov'd, and got, and told,
But should I love, get, tell, till I were old,
I should not find that hidden mystery.
Oh, 'tis imposture all!
And as no chemic yet th'elixir got,
But glorifies his pregnant pot
If by the way to him befall
Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal,
So, lovers dream a rich and long delight,
But get a winter-seeming summer's night.



Our ease, our thrift, our honour, and our day,
Shall we for this vain bubble's shadow pay?
Ends love in this, that my man
Can be as happy'as I can, if he can
Endure the short scorn of a bridegroom's play?
That loving wretch that swears
'Tis not the bodies marry, but the minds,
Which he in her angelic finds,
Would swear as justly that he hears,
In that day's rude hoarse minstrelsy, the spheres.
Hope not for mind in women; at their best
Sweetness and wit, they'are but mummy, possess'd.

Dreams are made winding..

It's an odd feeling, waking up in a blank state.

Was I dead while I slept?
What goes on inside my head while I sleep? I can never remember my dreams.

Is that something to worry about? Even the most memorable dreams sort of slip away as I try to remember them, until they just disappear.

Are my thoughts and dreams that pointless that they're not worth remembering withing seconds of waking?
Would my life be any different if I lingered on a dream while being awake?

The Dream
-by John Donne

Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for phantasy:

Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yet
My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it.
Thou art so truth that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories.
Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best
Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.

As lightning or a taper's light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me;
Yet I thought thee
(For thou lov'st truth) an angel at first sight;
But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,
And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an angels art,
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,
I must confess it could not choose but be
Prophane to think thee anything but thee.

Comming and staying showed thee thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
Thou art not thou.
That Love is weak, where fear's as strong as he;
'Tis not all spirit pure and brave
If mixture it of Fear, Shame, Honour, have.
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me,
Thou cam'st to kindle, go'st to come; Then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

I held you...

I looked at you as soon as I woke up this morning, you blinked back with a glow on your face.
You are the reason I wake up every morning. You get me through the day.
Everytime I look at you, you respond the same way and it brings a smile to my face.
I cannot imagine my day without you. Just to feel you in my hands gives me comfort.

But there was something different today.
I held you. I look at you like I always do.
You did not blink back at me and the glow on your face had dissappeared.
A dreadful feeling filled my chest and made me feel queasy.
What had I done?

Then it hit me...

I forgot to charge my Blackberry last night.

Pondering...

What makes you happy?

How can a person be happy when the meaning of happiness changes from day to day?

Today, being healthy could make me happy. Tomorrow, I may be healthy but broke.
Will having money make me happy the following day?

If you change your mind about what makes you happy more than you change underpants, (and I hope you do at least once a week), what makes you think you will find happiness at all?

The search for excitement in life can only last so long, and is gone quicker than it took to find it.

I'm a bore, living a simple, dull, repetitive life.

Go look for your happiness in hopes of finding it in the near future.

I'll stick to my daily happy moments that pull me through the day.

You be the Brain, I'll be Pinky.

Bleh.

It's not funny Meow is it?

It is, in fact, true.

One picture speaks a thousand words, even if it is a LoLcat.

Are things going your way today,

Or is the whole world against you?

Rise and Shining!

I have nothing to post today. It's Monday.
Had a good weekend but, like every weekend, too short.
Mornings are the worst but I'm glad I'm not alone on this.
For those times when even Folgers will not get you out of bed, but you have to.
It's a mixture of sleepiness and hate.
Take it away my friend....

THE SUN RISING
by John Donne


BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices ;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.


Thy beams so reverend, and strong
Why shouldst thou think ?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and to-morrow late tell me,
Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."


She's all states, and all princes I ;
Nothing else is ;
Princes do but play us ; compared to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world's contracted thus ;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.

Its always sunny...

She purchased the ticket and waited for her train to arrive.
While sitting on the bench, she went through the brochure she had seen many times.  The pictures described it as a bright, sunny place with many things to do and see.  She teared up at the thought of finally taking her journey and arriving to the place she had dreamed about most of her life.  She pictured herself smelling the flowers every morning, going for a walk in the afternoon and watching the horizon disappear in the sunset.

Suddenly, her day dream was interrupted by a loud whistle. The train was here to take her away. She climbed in and found her seat by the window. As the train started its slow departure, she looked out one last time. She was saying her goodbyes to her home, her life and her memories.

She stared intensely out the window trying to get one last panoramic view of the place that gave birth to her and saw her grow up. The feeling of regret was starting to fill her mind before the train even passed the last house and she quickly dismissed it looking down at her brochure. She convinced herself she was going to a great place where she would make more beautiful memories. She dozed off and dreamt some more about the flowers and the sunset.

When she woke up she realized she had been sleeping for quite a while. She looked out the window again and noticed the terrain was very different from the last time she had looked out.  She looked around and saw the unfamiliar faces that filled the train. She had fallen asleep with the noise of her people and familiarity of her surroundings. It was now a quiet, bumpy ride. Each passenger looked out their own window as if they, too, looked for something familiar out there in the dry and rocky terrain.

It was the middle of the afternoon when she noticed the sky was turning dark blue. Clouds seemed to be forming all around her as far out as she could see. It was a sort of darkness, wrapping around her, that made her feel uncomfortable.  The ride seemed to be bumpier than usual eventhough the train had slowed to a very painfully slow speed. She could see the slopes slowly turning into hills, the hills into mountains. The higher the mountains, the slower she went, the darker it was.

There was a loud clanking noise from under the train as it slowed to a dead stop. It was completely dark as if the train had stopped in the middle of a tunnel. Her heart was suddenly overcome by a sad, uneasy feeling. The train grew quieter as the seconds passed. It was completely filled with people, yet they seemed to stay quiet while these events took place. She knew they were there, not even 3 feet away from her, but she felt like she was alone, far away from what she knew was home, stopped in the middle of a dark and cold cave.

She hated the dark, her heart was beating so fast she had to swallow to keep it from busting out of her neck. She heard someone climb into the train, take 3 steps and say, "Ladies and gents, there seems to be a malfunction. We have our crew working on it to get you to your destination as soon as possible. As soon as we're ready to move on, we will inform you. Please stay seated...". The voice went on giving them instructions and all she could do was think back and immediately regret leaving her home.

The time went on and although she could not stand the silence, the dark, the wait, she knew she had no choice but to wait for the voice to come back with good news. "How could everybody remain so calm when they sat there in complete darkness? But what about the flowers? Why can't I have my afternoon walk? Why did we go from sunlight to complete darkness without enjoying the sundown?" Her mind was full of questions that demanded answers quickly.

She sat there in complete silence, the brochure gripped tightly in her hand and pressed against her chest.

It was too late to turn back now.

"NO hay pura luz
ni sombra en los recuerdos:
éstos se hicieron cárdena ceniza
o pavimento sucio
de calle atravesada por los pies de las gentes
que sin cesar salía y entraba en el mercado.


Y hay otros: los recuerdos buscando aún qué morder
como dientes de fiera no saciada.
Buscan, roen el hueso último devoran
este largo silencio de lo que quedó atrás.


Y todo quedó atrás, noche y aurora,
el día suspendido como un puente entre sombras,
las ciudades, los puertos del amor y el rencor,
como si al almacén la guerra hubiera entrado
llevándose una a una todas las mercancías
hasta que a los vacíos anaqueles
llegue el viento a través de las puertas deshechas
y haga bailar los ojos del olvido.


Por eso a fuego lento surge la luz del día,
el amor, el aroma de una niebla lejana
y calle a calle vuelve la ciudad sin banderas
a palpitar tal vez y a vivir en el humo.


Horas de ayer cruzadas por el hilo
de una vida como por una aguja sangrienta
entre las decisiones sin cesar derribadas,
el infinito golpe del mar y de la duda
y la palpitación del cielo y sus jazmines.


Quién soy Aquél? Aquel que no sabía
sonreír, y de puro enlutado moría?
Aquel que el cascabel y el clavel de la fiesta
sostuvo derrocando la cátedra del frío?


Es tarde, tarde. Y sigo. Sigo con un ejemplo
tras otro, sin saber cuál es la moraleja,
porque de tantas vidas que tuve estoy ausente
y soy, a la vez soy aquel hombre que fui.


Tal vez es éste el fin, la verdad misteriosa.


La vida, la continua sucesión de un vacío
que de día y de sombra llenaban esta copa
y el fulgor fue enterrado como un antiguo príncipe
en su propia mortaja de mineral enfermo,
hasta que tan tardíos ya somos, que no somos:
ser y no ser resultan ser la vida.


De lo que fui no tengo sino estas marcas crueles,
porque aquellos dolores confirman mi existencia."
-Pablo Neruda

This describes My Blog

Don't worry little one, it'll come to you.

Mr. Happy

Don't be sad, I'm here to make your problems go away.
Look what I can do! Did that make you smile?

Good! Of course we're the bestest of friends. You know
I'm always here when you need me and I will work my magic
to make you smile.
We have the greatest of times when we're together. I'm glad I
can be of help to you.

You know, I was feeling glum before you called.
You see...
What? Oh, you have to go. I can change the subject if you want.
Is my clown make-up wearing off? If you wait here I can re...

Ok, yea we can hang out again sometime. I'll even do cartwheels
for you next time.

No? But everyone loves a clown! Heh....
Your friends are afraid of clowns?
Yea, you wouldn't want to be seen with a freak.

-------

Hey, long time!
Guess what? No clown make-up!
Yes, this is really me. No I have not changed.
What's the matteR?

What awkward silence?

Oh that's right, your friends. Good to see you again.

--------

What was I thinking taking off my clown mask?

The paint cleverly hides my frown with that oversized smile.

This is who I really am.
The freak that makes you laugh and cry with joy.
The clown that trips over the obstacle so you don't have to.

The circus is leaving town, time to please the next crowd.

Soy un triste payaso que oculta mi fracaso, con risas de alegria que me llenan de
espanto. Payaso, soy un triste payaso que en medio de la noche me pierdo en la
penumbra con risa y mi llanto. No puedo soportar mi careta, y ante el mundo estoy
riendo y dentro de mi pecho mi corazon sufriendo. --Payaso- Fernando Villalona

Friendz 4nevar!!!*

Hey! NO! Not on my watch!!
I have no life, therefore, your duty as my
buddy is to do as I say.

You will not have a life either.
I can't sleep, you don't need sleep either.
Really, don't you see how I function normally like everyone else? I have a stable
mind.

You have a what? A significant other? A pet? A family?

Well, its OK. I am an attention whore and need to put you through my constant drama.
I will get myself into online confrontations and you HAVE to be there for me to fix my online life/ego/self-esteem.

Failure to follow these requirements and to provide me with the attention I need every waking second because I can't get a life and can't get laid will bring serious consequences.

1)You run the risk of being taken off my Buddy List forevar!!1!1one!!
Try me!!!

2)You might be temporarily ignored while my childish fit goes away.
The length of this may vary on the level of Pussyfication. You will suffer as you
see me online and will not receive my messages.
I may be found in another chatroom, pretending to be having fun
and be like OMG LuLz OSM NOWAI!

3)Depending on the severity of the pain in my arsehole, I may or may not threaten to
make your online life miserable. Fear the wrath of my E-thugness!!!!

With that said, won't you be my friend?





























*For dramatic and narrative purposes this blog contains a fictional monologue, composite and representative dialogue, as well as time compression.
READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

Why?

Why what?
This is the best Blog on the interwebz........Tribute.
I have no writing skills, there's nothing deep about me
or about what I choose to write.

Will my blog make sense? In my head it will.
If something important happens in my life, I probably won't blog about it.
If no one cares about it and is pointless, I might.

Stay tuned to my blog, which will not be updated daily.
That concludes the intro to my blog.
Eat your fruits and especially your vegetables.