What Ever

I have no use for you.
For you nor your indecisions,
someone who can't make up his mind.
I have no patience for weak excuses
and even weaker words.
You can't even decide to smile or frown.
I'm tired of what evers
and I have no preferences.
Lack of confidence is unappealing.
Be on your way and leave me alone.
I have moved on.

Just Listen

Be quiet and still and know that I am.

Softly the sun retreats from the sky as earth turns into night.
Dark sapphire jeweled setting sprinkled with diamonds,
opal moon emerges bright.

Be quiet and still and know that I am.

In repose the soul is silently waiting for hope's sure whisper to brush the ear.
Stopped now the thoughts, once skipping over mind matter
as a stone on water creating waves on the brain.

Be quiet and still and know that I am.

To hearts strong or broken, hope sings the same song.
Life after life, our souls listen on.

The Night is Safe

Evening shadows creep in
banishing the furies of the day.
Soothing darkness my cloak,
a domicile of refuge.
Calming quiet descends
as does the blackness.
Warm soft drops of night
washing over me.

Jagged nerves relax
my brow unfurrows.
Pulse no longer racing,
tranquility within reach.
Moonlit hours hold me safe
from the cold harsh light.
Safe from that which seeks me out
delivering harm.

Secrets have sequestered me
and nighttime is my keeper.
Solitude a friend
offering me rest.

I Don't Love You Anymore

What made you think I'd love you again?
Certainly not your tongue on my lips,
pushing open to taste whats inside.
Nor the heat from your body
against my thighs,
or the weight of your hand on my breast.

No exchange of sexual energy can erase
the queasiness of betrayal,
excuses, empty promises and nights alone.
Nothing you can say can persuade me to stay.
No words spoken you have not already said.

Just in Time

Am I there yet?
Am I all out of wants and fantasies of love?
Visions of fame and riches galore?
Do I now tire of trying to be one I'm not?
Finished following footsteps of others,
all looking for something and not knowing what.

Yes, I am there!
Finally connected beyond myself,
no longer perplexed with visions splintered.
Its clear who I am and where I am going.
Leaving all behind, a new path I've taken.
My heart now soars as I travel above.

I'm now at peace, in balance, complete.
It was all just a matter of time.

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Undulating waves of heat
bending air, rippling vision.
Hovering over, never touching.

Stream meandering dry and parched.
Bouldered edges holding tightly
grains of terra firma.

Tiny, shifting, inching.
Advancing slowly over bedrock, pebbles, bone
mimicking the wet.

Sand transforms to water in an instant.
Flooding, crashing, sweeping over edges
until gone.

Sun's intensity returns.
Sand again resumes the march.
Endless repetitious cycle.

Life is here.
Life is gone.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Untitiled

What made you think I'd love you again?
Certainly not your tongue on my lips,
pushing open to taste what awaits,
nor the heat from your body
against my thighs
or the weight of your hand
on my breast.

No exchange of sexual energy can erase
the queasiness of betrayal,
excuses, empty promises, nights alone.
Nothing you can say can persuade me to stay.
No words spoken,
you have not already said.

Jeems

My Father, the romantic penned many love poems to my Mother. My Mother, not so romantic tore many of them up. She claimed they were no one's business but hers. Daddy's pet name for Mother was Jeems. Unfortunatly, Mother has yet to explain the origin.

One little word, how sweet the sound.
Jeems. imbedded in my soul.
Catching in my heart, and so down
through the years to come.
More blissful days be spent, with one little girl, Jeems.

These years gone by, so glorious spent.
Love, so honored and true.
Soft, gentle, budding love, so heavenly sent
to you and I.
God's grace, love devine, I thank thee for this Jeems of mine.

Come In

Come to the door,
I am waiting for you.
A complicated soul
with simple wants.

By the door I am waiting,
just walk up the steps.
Take my hand,
I'll lead you in.

Our bodies we'll feed,
and awaken our minds.
Expand imaginations
beyond our thoughts.

We might sing or dance,
perhaps whisper fantasies.
Our bodies we will share
til we are both used up.

Come cross the threshold
into another life.
I am waiting for you,
just beyond the door.

Untitled

Sunrise to sunset, structured and planned.
Each day a copy of the one before.
No venturing beyond familiar routine,
even thoughts are sanitized and safe.

This man thinks himself witty and handsome,
but plain he is, no excitement to offer.
Takes no risks no sponteniety,
lest he uspet the false balance created.

So long he has been alone,
not even a pet to share his day.
He has forgotten how to communicate love.
How sad he hasn't lived.

Untitled

Her steady hand loosely caresses the neck,
cool to the touch, the wood of the guitar.
Calloused fingertips depress the strings,
firmly, gently against the frets.

Eyelids slowly close as her breathing relaxes.
Hands perform to compositions in her head.
Unbidden music arrives without thought,
oblivious to all except the sound of the strings.

Cascading, streaming through her body,
fantasies, dreams, realities and fears.
Transformed to sheets of musical notes,
flowing out her fingers for all to feel.

Lest We Forget

For all the ones who did not come back, for all the ones who came back and carried on and especially for all the ones who came back and could not carry on.


Now I lay me down to sleep...
eyes closed tight
squeezed shut,
trying not to see what he saw.
Screaming, blasting,
limbs exploding.
Macabre visions
hour by hour.

"Ok Officer, I'm moving"

Have Mercy


I pray the Lord my soul...
my soul
Can't remember.......oh yes,
he fought a battle for something.
Someone's freedom.
Can't recall whose.
Certainly not his.
He is not free.

"Hey Mister, can you spare a dollar?'
My soul to keep.

Have Mercy


If I should die before I wake........
How can you wake when you never sleep.
Truly sleep.
All day all night from bench to alley to underpass.
Soup Kitchen closes at 9.

"Dammit! Someone took my cardboard"

Have Mercy


I pray the Lord, something........
I pray the Lord to take something.
It's raining
Wheres my gun? Wheres my unit?

"Hey, get off that bench. Thats my bench".

Atten-hun!

"Sir, Yes Sir!"

Got to get to my underpass.
My soul to take.
Soup Kitchen closed today.

Have Mercy

First Bite

Oh Woman! only a bite did you take,
and on that bite the wrong of the world was placed.
Cursed with the burden created by both,
forever to heal and equal the field.

Woman, you have see too much,
yet tender of spirit have remained.
With capacity for love and mercy,
strength of resolve an inner gift.

Calling on wisdoms learned through ages
from the depths of depravity and despair
the power to lift each out is now yours.
The apple whole you both should have eaten.

Galactic Glue

Darkest matter bending light,
planets humbled by shear force.
Cosmic tentacles reaching out,
binding galaxies together.

The End of Time

Time is too restrictive,
this self imposed prison
between tick and tock.

Life spent wading through agendas.
Schedules fixed and unbending.
waiting for the heart to stop.

Is death the only key
to release us from this
bondage of time?

Feed Me

The eyes are haunting, hungry and begging.
Reflecting decades of terror and sadness.
Each generation repeating itself,
as they listen to the world
preaching to their souls.
When all they want is a bite to eat.

Beyond What I Know

Who is putting these thoughts in my head?
Questions with answers I can't comprehend.
Explainations unseen before the eyes.
Intuitions with the gift to change.

Alert and receptive for that inner voice
urging the quest for wisdoms forgotten,
for powers unused and potentials untapped.
Quelling fears of the misunderstood.

The mind now open to miraculous possibilities.
A world beyond the world we know
where human dimension intersects with celestial.
The consciousness shift has begun.

No More

The words on the page of the book blurred,
as the music broke through her concentration,
to the part of the mind where
recollections are shrouded in mist.

Closed now the book and also her eyes
as thoughts only that song could call forth.
Smells, sounds and sights spring from a night
not that long ago.

Fresh cut flowers in a vase by an empty wine bottle.
Perfume mingled with sweat on the pillow.
Steam off the water from a shower together.
A tug on her heart as he pulled her close.

"I'll see you soon", he would say with a kiss at the door.
"Please don't leave me, please stay with me", she always requested.
Yet his answer remained the same.
With resolve in her voice she finally replied
"Don't bother, I want you no more".

Set Free

Naked, disguised beneath the paint.
Dancing, swirling, parading
through streets,
down the now crowded alley ways.
Trinkets flying, revelers shouting,
wandering, weaving, laughing, pointing.
Libations freely flowing.
Bodies moving to different rhythms.
Sexual ambiguities abounding,
masked in whimsical array.
Nocturnal stillness is obscured.
The bacchanal now unrestrained.

Untitled

All your years upon this earth,
going through life
as those before you.
Looking back, moving forward
sharing what you had to give.

Keeping dreams inside yourself,
hiding thoughts, desires and cares.
Not letting us see
who you are,
only who you were taught to be.

Untitled

Match me if you dare.
Just don't think
that you will change me.
You can't rearrange
the way I am.
The pieces won't fit
any other way.

Untitled

We were not meant
to be lonely souls.
To be by ourselves
in our own company.
Without intimate growth
of another mind and body.
No one else
to share our life space.
Our hearts yearn to be claimed,
to be couples entwined.
In solitude we wither,
our purpose denied.

untitled

Please stop and stay,
don't pass on by.
Give me a change to be part of you.
I have so much I'd like to share,
I've been saving up.

All I am I offer you,
and hope that you allow.
That to me you'll do the same
and never break my trust.

untitled

The old woman watches
the boy acroos the street.
Sitting on the tailgate,
strumming his guitar.
Singing songs to a girl,
far too young to understand.
Love you, want you, need you,
we will always be.

She was also once desired
by young men just like him.
All professing to her their one true love.
All saying similar words,
love you, want you, need you,
we will always be.

She never embraced a lasting love.
Now withers away a lonely soul.
Who will miss her when she is gone.

So she sits in a rocker on the empty porch
in front of her house.
Watching the boy across the street,
sitting on the tailgate strumming his guitar.
Singing songs to a girl,
far too young to understand.

The Encounter

Another light poem. This is a true story by the way. It occurred in 1986 in Tennessee. When the bear decided to leave us be, we continued on the hike. We still don't take hints well.



Once we hiked Cades Cove Trail,
my dear Sister and I.
When up from the bank
sprang a lone brown bear,
we're clearly in his way.

Oh Shit! oh shit ! oh shit I say.
Grabbing her shirt as
backward we do hasten.

All the while she snaps her camera.
Not one picture comes out taken!

Rearview

Get over yourself and out of your way.
Allow yourself to live.
Don't cling to regrets, they belong in the past,
and as such you cannot change.

Make a note to remember,
contemplate a new path,
turn around and travel on.

Or over the present you might stumble
and completely miss whats ahead.

What May Come

Quiet whispers riding forth.
Gently knocking, knocking, knocking.
Unremitting, unrelenting,
in the arousing of the minds.

Thoughts awakening, rising up,
bursting dams, crashing through skulls
flowing out into the awaiting.
Rushing to join legions of others,
also rushing onward, forward.

Faster and faster, dissimilar yet similar.
No discord exists in this diversity,
only unity in the differences.
Stronger and stronger the many become,
until the many become the one.

The Gift

No need to look behind again.
Back to the entrapment,
the deepest, darkest abyss.

All before is clear and crisp.
Hungry to let all drop away,
ready once again to fly.
You gave wings to all within.

Words of my Father

My Father served in the infantry during WWII and fought in the European Theater. This is a poem he wrote after one difficult battle.

Prayer of Thanks

Father we send a prayer of thanks,
for thy protection through the attack,
and Father give us guidance in other battles,
protect the Divisions to which we are attached.

You've cared for us through the darkest hours
and lead us around traps and mines.
Where comrades died, you gave us life,
lead us forward through the lines.

In foxholes cold and sounds of war,
you gave us courage, you gave us light.
We want to thank Thee once again,
Father, for thy protection day and night.

E.V. Hudson 1945

I Have Evolved

Age has produced a serenity,
of which I had not in youth.
A growing, deep contentment,
with whom I have evolved.
A quiet determined
peace of mind, offering patience
to create what is in me.
Desire to share
the joy I have found.
Ability to calmly dismiss,
the trappings of a common world.

Moving On

Change has taken place in me over the past few months. Not a remarkable change nor an amazing change or even a visable change to anyone but me, but nonetheless a change. The will to create with words has become stronger than the desire to create on canvas. I am still painting, just not as frequently.
My Father instilled in me, at a very early age, the importance of words. My work as a graphic artist and advertising executive depended on words. But those words equated profit. Until now I have not been driven to write what is inside me. Be it words or paint on canvas, I create by compulsion not by choice.
It is said, sometimes you have to go home to go on. My home is not a physical place on a plot of dirt. The journey to my home took several years. The visit was fruitful, it enabled me to move on.

In Memory Of

The blindfold is off
the scales are broken.
Her sword is rusted dull.

Disallusioned and weary,
the corruption of power
has beaten Justice down.

The lobbyists now rule.
Void Judgement is out,
no where to be found.

Now meaningless are
Jefferson's libertarian words,
he never envisioned this.

The laws don't apply
to any of these;
Judges, Lawyers or Lobbyists

It's just a fucking free for all.
Since Justice no longer prevails

Dreams in Waiting

A ghost moon rises with twilights fall.
An evening vesper ritual begins,
beyond the dune grass covered shore,
sifting over wood planked paths.

The symphony of the pounding surf
calms the mind of it's whirling thoughts.
Warm sea spray dusts skin with salt,
as cool sand caresses weary feet.

A few minutes spent in self company
entertaining the beach with the day's events.
Making a wish on the first star out,
or casting a dream on the ocean waves.

Out past the moonset from the twinkling sky
into the universe that dream does join
the myriad of other dreams sent up
each to flicker in the galaxies.

There every dream awaits a chance
to become
a hoped and prayed for
reality.

Where Are You

So many tries,
most just because.
Few were kept,
as close as it got.
Now another passes.
The search begins again,
unsatisfied.
Will it ever find?

Forever Not Together

All of me cries out for you.
No distance of space,
nor lapse of time
has lessened the yearning.
To feel you.
To breathe you.
To touch you.
To be inside of you.
Totally consumed with joy.
We were suppose to be forever.
We still are,
just not together.

The Awakening

When the final breath on Earth is taken
and eyes are closed for good.
This way of being will fall away
and all will be set free.

For then at last life begins.
The soul will travel other planes,
to other worlds in other ages.
In time, in space and self
to be transformed

As quantum paradox reveals
the mysteries we once perceived.

There is no past.
There is no future.
All time is present now.

Betrayed

I push it away,
not strong enough.
Savage entered me,
abrating skin like coarse sandpaper.
Screaming, crying
but it is only in my mind.

Betrayal of all
it will never leave.
It is always there,
eager to re-enter,
ready to strike.

Stop!
Lock the door!
Cannot bleed again.
Must bury the key
it can never be found.

Frayed Wiring

My wires are frayed,
thoughts will not move
to my lips from my head.

My fingers can paint them.
My fingers can write them.
My fingers can even play
them on keys.

But with words insufficient
to convey such feelings,
the body speaks volumes
with the touch of my hand.

Holding Fast To Belief

Your presence on earth was all too short.
I blinked my eyes and you were gone.
Impelled now in memories to reside,
still fresh as if made yesterday.
The timeline in my mind obscurred,
cherished past becomes the now.
As patient life continues on,
the heart enduringly believes.
In flesh to me you cannot return,
someday I'll travel on to you.

A Moment in Kansas

Prismatic colors suspended from the clouds,
sailing across the wet wheat field.
Breathtakingly, clearly three dimensional,
vivid red, electric blue and emerald green,
together creating shades in between.

Silent was the air as it raced to me.
Mesmerized and transfixed
I am unable to move.
The transparent color spectrum
enveloped me.

My eyes saw bright, I forgot to breathe,
and then it was gone.
For one intoxicating moment I became,
every color of that rainbow and it became me.

Winter's Dream.

Cold,
the air is still and soft.
Snowflakes float weightlessly by
and dance atop yesterday's snowfall.
They tickle my face
like the whispered kiss of a lover.
Swirling around
and embracing me with
ephemeral arms,
pulling me down
to the soft bed of white.
Lifting my head I close my eyes,
and daydream of being with you.

The Handshake

You were sitting unawares
when I happened to come along.
You shook my hand,
you had no clue,
what that simple touch would do.

What Might Have Been

It is raining.
Droplets race each other
down the outside of the window pane.
The wine bottle empty sits on the ledge.
Saying goodbye,
you shut the door behind you.
Pressing palms against the glass,
I watch you walk away.
You stop
and begin to turn around.
I catch my breath
and start for the door.
Neither of us finish the motion.

The Grand Tour

A friend commented how all my writing is dark and gloomy. I don't view it as such. It is a human emotion that the artist in me is able to pull more creativity from than other emotions. But for everyone who prefers a lighter note, I have a little ditty from a few years ago.

I saw Paris, I saw France.
Oh yes they saw my underpants!

So did Rome, so did Venice.
They did leer when I lost my brassiere.

All through Europe I did diddle.
What a tour that was!

But it wasn't my heart I left overseas,
please forward my clothes to me!

The Garden of the Dead

In the garden of the dead.
Solemn angels, marble saints
broken crosses, silent lambs,
in shades of white and ghostly gray,
taken root in well trod soil.

Row by row in measured distance,
these sentinels of human history.
Their hardiness stands testament,
to origins of mountain quarries.

No sustenance is needed here,
warmth of sun, quenching rain
nor shelter from winter's icy winds.
They stand together yet alone.

Each one boasts a date of planting,
as well as each a different name.
Existing in perpetual bloom,
yet no one comes to pluck these petals.

Gazed upon by tear filled eyes,
reaching out across the chasm,
often crying in a whisper;
My time with you was not enough.
In the garden of the dead.

Those Words

Those words,
delivering a silent bullet
piercing my thoughts.

Those words,
burned into my mind
forever echoing inside.

Time has only diminished the shock,
of those words.
Time has not diminished the pain,
of those words.

The Apology

How carefully we choose our words,
our steps, our looks, our very thoughts,
all our collected accoutrements
as not to disturb the delicate balance
our life together has taken on.

How did such a relationship evolve?
From loving words and seductive glances,
holding hands and passionate kisses,
hurrying home to be with each other.

Do we have enough resolve?
To discuss what brought us to this point,
and plot a course to strengthen bonds,
in end to reclaim what was lost.

Or will we simply fade away,
too stubborn willed to compromise.
Too unconcerned in our contented lives
to dismantle self built walls.
Too proud to say, I'm sorry.

Untitled

My heart longs for places
that hold no memories.
Fresh town and cities,
abundant with streets
and roads untravelled.
Buildings with doors
I've never walked through.
Windows with views
I've never beheld.
Places without
the ghosts of ones who were.
No haunting memories
in places new.

Untitled

Why should I trust you.
Your words have no touch.
Your touch has no feel.
Your feel holds no truth for me.

We are just vessels of pleasure,
attention within.
Even love murmurs hollow
yet again.

You Are No Help To Me

I think, what happened, why?
it's all I ever seem to do.
Dwell on why.
So much so I don't recognize
this entity that is me.

A charge to implode
is always set.
Unsteady is my condition.
I need strength not sympathy.
Your pity does me no good.

Go away,
and don't come back,
until you can help answer why.
And help me find a way back,
from the hollowness inside.

Never Again

I tried to explain.
I feel,
but not why,
I know,
but not how.
Please comprehend,
please say
"I understand"

No, don't sneer, don't laugh,
but you do.
Why did I try to explain.

Goodbye.
I won't do that again.

Untitled

My body is the saboteur,
that lead me into you.
Unfortunately my heart did follow,
a willing co-conspirator.

Untitled

With first touch of skin
labored breathing begins.
Senses on fire,
eyes echo a plea.

Thoughts become one,
no spoken word needed.
Fevered pitch carries us
outside of ourselves.

The two of us watch
the two of us in movement.
Entwined bodies
far above and away.

Raw sensuous desire
blurs edges of body.
Ravenous waves of passion
crest and subside.

Too soon the bond breaks,
breathing slows down.
Minds become separate
as focus takes hold.

Eyes once again lock,
pulses now quicken.
Lips seek to caress,
the dance starts anew.

The Request

It matters not that my prayers
are answered,
only that they are heard.
For it is in the very reception of my supplications
the answers therein lay.

Three Strikes You're Out

So few got second chances,
they failed miserably on the first.
Of those that did,
only a handful managed
to entice me to stay for more.

Untitled

Confidence shattered,
trust is broken,
one too many times deceived.

Defenses are garnered
within to protect,
a fragile existence conceived.

Untitled

Is there but one soul
travelling the centuries,
recycling through bodies,
inhabiting new minds?

Does it take what is learned,
when it moves on?
Does it choose who to be,
or is it luck of the draw?

Perhaps all the answers
are within DNA.
We are just denied access,
the password forgotten.

Dive in, the waters fine

Genes, you curse them or praise them. They are the bits in us that create tendencies to be what we are. If you are fortunate to know your family history, you can speculate who you got what from. I am one of the lucky ones. I know my family genealogy. Music abilities came from a great grandfather, art from a grandmother and writing and cooking from my father. Daddy was a bi-vocational minister whose sermons reflected love and humor, but his life as a pastry chef paid the bills. Mother recently let me read a few of the many poems Daddy wrote. My gene pool runs very deep.

A Page Of Life

I turned a page of life gone by,
and found,
four blissful years of love by you and I,
spent.
Tender passions oh so great and still it was,
greater,
than any love I have ever known,
and,
I owe it all to thee my Dear,
Beloved.

E. V. Hudson - 1945

Where To Start

I was recently asked this question, "How do you start to write a poem?". Well Ron, in most instances it starts with one of hundreds of one liners. A few words or a line comes to mind and they are added to a journal I began keeping years ago. That journal is perused for inspiration. Words may jump out and scream "Use Me!", or in some instances have yet to evolve into a poem. Here are a few contenders;

consummed in joy
my heart soars as I leave myself far below
I stayed too long
lamentations reach no ear
sexual ambiguities
past and present meld into one
love has a ravenous appetite
pay heed to what is in the rear view mirror

I am Singing

I saw myself fall from the sky.
I watched as I soared swiftly by.
And as my music to no one played on,
I heard the silence of my song.

Untitled

You should be scared of me.
I'm driven by passion,
too intense for you.

I suck the breath from your body,
leaving you drenched,
too weak to move.
I lock my eyes onto your thoughts
and rip them from your mind.

Swollen lips brush your cheek,
whispering goodbye.
Departing you empty,
totally sated,
but not calling out for more.

My Heart No Longer Drips With Bitterness

The bitterness is finally gone,
it drips no more within.
The journey complete,
my essence repaired,
that battle I did win.

The Longing

I ache for you to feel,
lances of touch spearing the body.
Infusing all cells
with realization of mind.

I long that I could speak.
But language of words spoken
simply fail to define.

Esquisite sensations
levetating above
no ordinary skin,
sublime.

The Forgotten

Memories supressed,
much like puzzle pieces.
Easily lost, some tattered and torn.
Pictures no longer fitting together.
Boxes now pushed to the back of the shelf.

Untitled

The simplist explanation is often correct,
Occam's Razor states.
And entities must not be
multiplied beyond necessity.

So a list is made and tallied,
but it is equal on both sides.

Crazy or sane?
which is correct?
Neither seems simple to me.

The Dance

Do you feel like exploring more poetry? Go to www.poets.org or www.famouspoetsandpoems.com. These two sites often showcase modern American poets. Billy Collins and Rita Dove are on both these sites. Their words reveal a more contemporary world, more relevant than the works of Walt Whitman or Robert Frost. Most colleges post poetry by students, an excellent place to appreciate auditory paintings verses visual paintings.

The Dance

I drift,

the numbers don't stand still.

They move, they swirl

and dart about.

Formulations cease.

Minutes pass, movement stops

focus finds its mark.

I breathe to start,

the brush is poised, but the paint has dried.

The canvas is still blank.

Jeff

I push through
to touch the weakened beat,
filling my hand.
Transcending the body
beyond this space.
My eyes must close,
the sound too bright.
I reach to grasp,
to turn it off.

It was mine to start,
it is now mine to stop.
His heart is gone,
as is part of mine.

The Match

My mind refuses to let my body sleep.
I pull my pillow around my head,
as if that can hold back forming thoughts.
I toss and turn as they come fast and furious.
Bouncing back and forth across the skull,
like a tennis ball between players.
The body exhausted finally wins the match.
I drift to sleep,
but the peace is invaded by dreams.

Love is all there is

Emily Dickinson is considered one of America's greatest poets. Born in 1830, she lived a reclusive fifty-five years in her Father's house. Of the almost two thousand poems she penned, only seven were published in her lifetime. For one who never experienced the world, she possessed an unfathomable, intellectual understanding of humanity.
"Life is so startling", she wrote, "it leaves little room for other occupations". I could not be a recluse, I enjoy the company of others and the excitement of being out in the world. I do envy the time to be totally devoted to one's talent.

"That love is all there is, is all we know of love",
Emily Dickinson did compose.
Oh say can you see, and if you can then show me.
Is my take on that illustrious quote.

There Are Places the Mind Should Not Go

Now I lay me down to sleep,
and do not pray my soul to keep.
Instead I will my thoughts to cease,
deny subconscious dreams to start.
Not to seek forbidding places,
tortured memories too fresh to see.
Driving back the screaming visions,
back to where the mind should not go.
Hoping that the morning light,
finds my sanity intact.

There are places the mind should not go

Painting and drawing have not only been a source of income for me, but also of meditation, therapy and healing. Instead of consulting a trained professional to guide me to understand, accept or forgive any hurt or anger that has been thrown in to my life, I prefer to create. I have had to heal my heart and mind many times. The works produced during those periods tend to be void of sunshine and flowers. Raw emotions portrayed in slashes and stabs of dark color. Brush and pen creating a path back to balance.
It matters not how one arrives, but that you always travel toward wellness.

Redirections

Three years ago I finished an acrylic abstract that had hung in my thoughts for quite some time. I can spend years painting a picture in my mind before I finally put brush to canvas. I mentally perfect the colors, satisfying myself that what I see in my mind will be visible to others. You may not like it, but it will be what I envision.
The background color was red-orange and featured a predominantly blue line that undulated from the upper corner to the opposite bottom corner. I titled that piece, Redirection of the Soul.

There are feelings that have no words
a presence that cannot be spoken
Infusing our body
changing our essence
Redirecting our very souls

Life is a series of journeys, where one ends, another eventually begins. You can be on more than one journey at a time, and some of those journeys may be on hiatus. Each trip requires a set of luggage to pack our equipment in. My bag is this blog and the equipment is my keyboard.
My creativity seems to be most inspired during times of stress. Since I have made a living off my creativity, work deadlines are high among those times. Writing, composing, painting even sewing, I've been paid to do it all. But I was paid to create another's vision.
This is my vision. I need to see if I can disipline me to create daily. A healthy diet and exercise is keeping by body fit. It is time to push the artistic side of my brain to see just how far I can go. I am driven to pair my visual art with written art.