PaulSN

I have seen her--
a beautiful author of fine
heart-matters..  she catches
words out of thin air--  and
in reaching out her hand;

they,  with great zeal
slow down for her.

When she makes them  
 her own
they gladly  give up
their semantic-like  little
autonomies.

Like me, they
trust her heart with
everything--

  even their own  
 re-naming..

And like me also,
they feel safe
when they are
near her.

All these poems
We write
To save our lives.

To preserve like amber,
Only more futile.

To hope and pray our children
May live on and bless
What’s left of mankind.

May move them with their liveness,
Their boldness, their plain old truth.
Even if all they ever did was express
How they really felt to be alive.

BEST OF BAD

When life throws rocks  at you catch and make sure you hit and Smith the rocks perhaps you could turn it gold.

Make the best of bad circumstances. Only when you give up,
That's when your soul dies, circumstances don't break you,
It only make you, and also can break you if you allowed it to.
And vise versa...
When life give a **** about you, don't, Neva let up,
Don't halt when thou art tired.
Rest when yew  accomplished.

It's only one way up hold your head stand tall in all. Smile at life in time keep moving don't stop!

#C9FM

Creativity cannot be conjured,
Without a little madness.
It is in the crazy that we find,
the beauty beyond us.

Strokes of paint mean nothing,
without a story or emotion.
In our medium we find ourselves,
Creation and Destruction.

The world here calls me a lunatic,
An amateur, a monstrosity.
But today you label me 'crazy',
Tomorrow you label me 'visionary'.

Engineering change through creativity,
Is like giving a fragrance its own flower to go by,
A vessel for the intangible emotion.

Why is it that this ****** up
world labels all the creative people
crazy?
They do it all the time.
John Nash
Vincent Van Gogh
Poe
Sylvia Plath
Michelangelo
Edvard Munch
Fransisco Goya
Hemingway
Kerouac
H.P. Lovecraft
Virginia Woolf
This isn't an exhaustive list.
I think it is complete
*******.
I think Artists see the world
differently, so it's easier
to call them crazy, then to try
and understand why they
see the world differently.
As long as the world keeps
doing this...they can go
**** themselves with a
copy of On the Road,
and a tube of Cerulean blue
paint.

Little dog running hard
toward the parked cars
looking and sniffing
then rushes to the next one
panting
eyes filled with anxiety
seeking the owner who abandoned it
big round eyes all teary
it must be thinking sadly
"if i get to become a human in the next life
i will do anything to be kind
adopt a cute puppy
and stay with it
until the end of time."

At the time
we would copy all the lyrics
in our beautiful notebooks
delicate string could be wound into patterns
between the fingers
we would play hopscotch til we're red in the face
at the time
the lotus seeds were sweet
flowers were fragrant and fish were small
there were fruits we loved to eat all over the hillsides
we would run barefoot in the moonlight
we would look up stubbornly
to find the big dipper in the sky
at the time
clouds were white
scarecrow was cute
many mimosas on the road to school
dandelions would fly all over the world too
the best time
lost in the strong wind
I'm on the other side
the time is gone like
a torn kite.