Before The Day Begins

photo from tumblr

Speak peace over me

Dear Poet

Before this day

Carries me away

To an uneven path

Where my feet

Will be tripped up

Until my knees are bloody

And my hands weep

Speak gentleness over me

Sweet poet

So that my heart

Will not break

In the presence of strife

Speak grace over me

Humble poet

That I may know

At least in this moment

That I am alright

To safely be

The Poet

The Mother

The Lover

All of me

Before this day

Threatens to take it away

©Entirety 2016

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Beauty

 

photo found on Pinterest


 Above all else seek beauty
Worship it in ink

Wake to its calling

Its leading

To everything good

It never misconstrues

As it circumvents the pain

Gives perspective

On what was never

A blank page

©Entirety 2016

My Last Breath

My last breath

Will contain ink

Of the indelible kind

Spilled from life

Down the length

Of a page

Lamenting

Of grass that withers

And flowers that fade

One that passes

In the light

And one

That will always remain

Both of beauty

Born of love

©Entirety 2016

photo by Mark Mawson

Off balance 

 


 

Off balance
Feeling your world shift left
Then right
Grabbing hold
As you slip
Like a fawn in spring
Unsure of its ability
To even take a step
As the world spins
And as you fall
You see the stars
Scrambling for a spot
To write your name
In this tumultuous sky
That can no longer
Carry you
On its own

©Entirety 2016

 

X Ambassadors

 

My Heart Remembers

Glencoe – 2014

Golden valleys tapered
With heather yet to bloom
Anxious to share
Her beauty
But waits
Creating a time lapse
For wanderers
To get lost in the Scottish hills
Spring calls
Sun peeks through
Evidence of what’s yet to come
Engrossed in magnificence
Here a stolen kiss or two
Knowing they were captive
Cradled by a force
And beckoned
By some ancient lovers tune
They held hands 
And watched it’s beauty
Then time stood still 

©Entirety 2015

Some Days

 

photo from tumblr

 
Some days

You feel like a phenomenon

Other days one of a trillion

Some days

You don’t feel anything at all

While others you feel

The weight of the world

Some days

Love and beauty

Have you blown away

While others it seems 

It’s disappeared completely

And some days

you’d give anything

To not be tossed and turned

By the waves

Of your heart

While others

You’d be happy

To just drift off

In its wild current

©Entirety 2015

Birthing Souls

When it was time
He led her
Along a path
Through the garden gate
Then summoned the wind
For her in flight
When she was ready
To carry hope
To spread light
But she turned
Afraid to leave
The safety
Of his arms
Until in awe
She witnessed the wind
Lift him off the ground
Saying

“It’s time to be free
My Beloved
But you
I will never leave
Together
We will go
And birth many souls”

©Entirety 2015

artwork found on Pinterest

Loves A Game

Maybe

If I knew

How to play

The game

I’d lose less of me

Win more self respect

And not just

A kick in the ass

For being a pawn

Unworthy

Of holding on to

©Entirety 2016

  

Go Forth

Let us go forth, the tellers of tales, and seize whatever prey the heart long for, and have no fear. Everything exists, everything is true, and the earth is only a little dust under our feet.

~Yeats

                       〰〰〰

I had an author tell me a few weeks ago that if you didn’t write exceptionally you were using up oxygen for better artists & debasing true art. He made me see red. Very little makes me this angry… I mean besides my kids. How does one become a writer except to write? How does one become a better writer, except to write more? How does one explore the beauty they feel, if cuffed and tethered? Do I have to have a Pulitzer Prize to be considered a true artist? Do I have to have the eloquence of Tolkien or the melancholia of Poe to be a true writer?  
Art is birthed, grown, and nurtured like every living thing. A baby is not born ready to eat a full course meal, first they must learn to master sucking, swallowing and breathing before they move on to steak.
One must learn how to hold a pen, before you can use a pen, and even Tolkien and Poe had to learn how to put immature thoughts to paper. And fuck by doing it often, look at the worlds they created with their minds and pens.  
So people. You and I may never create multi million dollar series that get made into movies about vampires and wolves. But God dammit we can tell our stories, and be free to do so, without fear of being not good enough. Because there is only one you, one mind like yours and one being maturing like yours. So don’t be afraid to try, just write.  Your heart is worthy to express and be heard, and your lungs are worthy to breathe the same air as the writers who have written epic stories.  Create and bask in the pleasure, of birthing your art.

©Entirety 2016