A Positive Detour

Sometimes life can take detours for which you had not planned. Coming out of high school and entering college, I thought I would write poetry and fiction as my career.  That was a goal I was moving towards. In many ways I was wearing blinders, but the only thing I cared about was the written word. I spent hours jotting poetry in a spiral notebook that was not far away from my back pocket. I figured I was not going to be a bestselling writer, but I enjoyed the high that came from a single line that provided temporary inspiration. 

            Suddenly a slap to face knocked the blinders from my eyes. I received a diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder. How would this detour affect my writing?  In the beginning stages of recovery, I felt no inspiration to write. It was more than a mental block--I lost my inspiration. My inspiration took the form of delusions that I didn’t want to describe in writing.

            Over a longer period of time, I slowly began to write about my own personal struggles with my illness and other positive ways of dealing with my symptoms.  Somehow I started to write about everyday living with a mental illness. After that I began to realize that I wasn’t the only one. There was a whole community battling the same demons I was battling. With my permission one of my doctors began to share my writings with some of the other patients who had similar diagnoses as I. They told me that my writing was helpful to them, and that gave me more motivation to write for them. 

            Without my diagnosis of mental illness, I’m not sure where my writing would have taken me.  Before I never thought about writing as helping someone.  I don’t carry a notebook anymore, but I have found creativity and insight in the detour that life gave me.  Now, I can’t imagine a life without this detour.  

3/15/16

A carthatic silence
breaks into white noise
in the distance just before the sun set
grayish clouds in line like elephants
to darkness
spring is in our sights
yet head lights of cars
slowly the only light shown

2/3/26 Just am

Why I didn't do it
Because it isn't up to me
Because some times I feel
like the whispers are like
clean sheets in between my toes
some faces expect to see me
in between walls
grinning with answers
from my spoken word
I want to see the individual words
building up them
and channeling the rivers
 to other love one's
I am still here
to wonder what is next
like my anxious niece
I don't feel like always
explaining myself
I just am

Back in the Day

Every note has been played
every word has been spoken
the angles have all been viewed
the past is still profitable
because it was all better back in the day
cliques drinking
and smoking
Are we can hope is for
is space in the future
instead of long lines
waiting to see
what we've already seen
illegal will always be more fun
12 steps for your regrets
yet the weight is lifted
with a grin
I think I heard this all before

free verse

flames on the horizon and let we are rising. above heaven, empty headed full of fog, forgetting the worse crime of all. the voices in whispers for years now. check the evidence, no one is actually there. Still some shadows exhale smoke. medication leave your extremities feeling like there is no bone only a jelly like substance. lullaby voices of a congregation turn out to be monsters. eye lids want to shut, But I have to see what happens next.

Girl with jailhouse tattoos

dreamed of a girl with jailhouse tattoos
she questioned bearded hipsters
with name brand cigarettes

what holds them together
an artifical spine
there parents pay their rent
they sink together in the scene
I was alone with her until I woke up
without her

I couldn't explain her
or myself

the nights were shorter

some like seeing others fall

Stringed together

Looking through the screen
visions of the sky
a self absorbed orbit
and wet ass fault
memories of an old school boy crush
into sighs and easy breathing
scattered the cloud like thoughts
this world laying flat on the desert
scorpions and cacti
come back into the shadows
in this elite
desert winds are accompanied
with a kiss
from a different set of lips
either or
not transparent movement
ass fault dries by
the dependent sun
that needs us to rise
our eyelids which are stringed together
in a blanketed embrace

Friends who drop in

One day you'll forget
about your plans
and just live life
with my electric stove
and a slow dance partner
and if I splash out on to the floor
with my beer and prescribed pills
will you pick me back up again
and if my six string is still
out of tune
when you come over , don't break a string

departed memoir
shade the emerald pupil
maybe the only color tonight
a memory maybe fading
calling for icy rain
will melt
with dimples of your back
to my heart

I miss them now

I came back from the army and sold some records and cds because I thought they were childish. Plus I need the money. One the albums was the BAd Brains. I never understood what H.R. was saying but I enjoyed listening.
I was waiting an uninspired. I wanted my veterans check to come through. I was told it will be a long wait. Meanwhile the unreality of a corrupt mental health was taking hold. I won't go into that because it wasn't real occasionally I saw myself as on a heep of struggle.
Today I decided to sell my electric guitar. It had a wood finish. I thought it looked like Bruce Springsteen 's guitar. Delusion maybe. I saw a palm shop downtown so I decided to go there.
Walking through the doors I felt embarrassed. MY guitar was beaten up like I felt. I brought to the music section to the store and waited some more.
A man finally came. I guess he sized me up with this beaten guitar. I needed cigarettes, and couple beers would be nice.
"What do we have here?" He asked.
"It is a guitar. I would like to sell it."
He made a sound like a kitten in a freshly born litter. "EEEEEEEeee."
"It kind of looks like Bruce Sprinsteen's guitar." I said.
"Is it Bruce Springsteen's guitar?" He asked
I thought he was messing with me.
"No." I whispered feeling his interest fading away.
"Maybe if you restore..."
I took the guitar back from him in mid sentence. I need money now.
I walked across the street to where my purple pickup truck was. I noticed a dumpster in back so went there with my beatup soul.
I held my guitar like a baseball bat. It was on my shoulder. Then with one rageful angry distressing motion hit it against the asphalt. But it didn't break. I tried a few more times yet still it didn't break so I threw all of it in the dumpster along with the dreams and money that rock stars make.
I had a few cigarettes left but no money for beer, and the gas light was on in my truck.
My hands were slightly bruised from the beating again. I drove to my parents house where I was staying.
This was only a temporary stop in life. For some odd reason I felt ready for anything. I cut my losses and felt more like a man, of course we all can lose a little more.

character sketch poem (what's next) anything

The Cat Lady
spoke in languages no one could translate.

the four legged feline retreats to under the sofa
there was no where else for him to go to
it was cold and rainy outside
the music wasn't attracting anyone of  his friends

the cat lady changed her pajamas
into her plaid striped clothes that didn't match
 her mind was split into two hemispheres mad and crazy ever since she went off her meds 2 years ago.
she was the chosen one
she fed her kingdom store brand cat food.
when they listened

Her house was handed down generations in her family
Crazy she was the only one left now

Her mailbox, out front, was full of bills
children would throw rocks at the windows

People have come and gone trying to restrict the sound and stench of her cats

 the cat commune was owned by the cat lady, who did nothing but instigate it by adding more cats

She was the spoiler in a community. The community that wanted everything
under asphalt for the tourists. While the cat lady watered the weeds



 

The Voice- dream delusion

She doesn't wake me
but I wake in mid afternoon
she's at work
and we talk about having kids
we can't agree on the gender
a friend of her's listens in
a small tear falls in both their eyes
the future will never happen
because all this is in my mind
freaky for the real if I explain
it out loud
yet she doesn't talk like that with anyone
dream delusion
we both disagree
dreaming standing up

untitled

In the light I fall short
In the lights I feel warm
the cold pushed me further
I am wrapped in open space
weeping at the appraoching winter
as an arm reaches for me
from the depths of darkness
I choose the light while it last

PURPLE CONVERTIBLE

My firend drove it
he was the middle child
of his family
and each kid got to drive
there was always an oil filter in
the glove compartment
that he can change at a moments notice
there was a hole in the floor on the driver's
side so you could see the street
shared the same color with the high school
we both attended
So
During the Homecoming parade
my firend had spirit

We would both stand up in it
while it was being driven
one hand would be in the air
and I would feel like royalty

I heard it survived the youngest kid
but then died when it was not longer needed

BUt that car was my first
convertible

Let me explain
it was the first convertible
I could ride in it anytime
I wanted to

Who To Trust

Early afternoon raining bullets
spotlight shined on all of us
We must be guilty
from confessing
our slip is hanging
dreams aren't bullet proof
the baby blues are a
cinical being
tired of shaking too many hands
networking for shade
four legged feline our only friend
to say goodbye
as the firing squad blows away with the clouds
the slight touch of another
redeemable human breathes
life between these lungs
that once debated getting out of bed
who to trust
who to trust
who trust 

The church without walls, but a sheltor from the rain

the people sing and cry out to be touched
God answers and touches the willing
The willing?
the outcasts and margin walkers
they feel the presence of Jesus
and the hair on the back of their neck stand up
they shiver as if they are cold
but inside feel warm like an embraceable new born
no walls but still a shield from evil
people outside question but cannot shut their ears
they inquire
how can the members be satisfied without fiances
"We feel humbled"
songs create an atomic boom
washing the surrounding communities
feeling only two words
"God's Love"
the invitations are infinite
and the services don't have
a beginning or ending
sin evaporates and disappears
sin falls beneath their feet as they all stand to rejoice
never growing tired
the spirit is nutrients
the spirit has no boundaries
and the church grows up and out

My Friend the Painter

I would ask my friend how would your capture thunder and lightening
the sky has sploches of battleship grey and white
mixing and covering the sun
thunder explodes halting your thoughts
like a surprise tap to the shoulder
rain descend splattering the page
shelter can only cover so much
so I go inside where the ink doesn't smear
the storm is filtered on a page of lines and on the canvas
I don't have the mind to capture thunder
the thunder like roaring ships
on a sea of storms
lightening like shots from the massive guns
rain falling like water from fountains in the sky
while the scuptures are the clouds
as the ship goes away at sea
 

Misfires from a Lyrical Mind

You can buy my new book for your kindle. JUst go to amazon and search for Misfires from a Lyrical Mind. It will only cost you .99 cents

Pretty Girl-dedicated to my niece

Pretty girls with celestial eyes
stop crying
because your tears are liquid gold
dance around unbalanced
giggles are addicting
smiles balance our steps
pretty girl
the sun will come out tomorrow
I know it is early spring
sometimes nature throws a curve
pretty girl
don't have to try to be cute
you are already so photogenic
your momma and daddy loves you
and the rest of us think
you are a missing piece of a fallen star
free spirited little girl
you are making firends
firends that will dance with you
pretty girl you are a piece of the stars
you've fallen in your mother's arms

area10blog- Living with Freedom (freewrite)

When I was alot younger then I am now, I bought a t-shirt that had an anarchy symbol on the front. ON the back it said PUnk is not dead. I got it from a store similar to Hot Topic. I was a poser.
I was still living underneath my parents roof, and I thought punk or even myself would eventaully over throw the governemnt and we would have anarchy. Only problem was how do you start something like that. I didn't know.
With Freedom, too much of anything can be a bad thing. Too much alcohol, drugs and mayhem is  a bad thing just ask Sid Vicious. If you can find him.
As adults we are free but they are some contraints, such as the laws. With anarchy someone can still your car and nothing would be done about that.
The sermon even discussed that most people's outside view of Christians is that they don't have fun. Growing up in a church I had the same view but now I see Fun as something that runs out. I am 32 now and beer gut doesn't look sexy. Not to mention, alcohol's influence can promote bad diecision making. My pastor says the bible says don't get drunk it doesn't say not to drink. HOwever, for me 1 beer can turn into three, can turn into five and so on. For me I try not to drink.
As far christians not having any fun, it are depends on the christian. Right now I am listening to the ventures, and before that it was the jazz giants Dizzy and Charlie Parker. I always have to have music going on in my apartment.
In todays society it seems that the world wants you to drink. This goes way beyond beer comercials. I guess we all need some kind of vice.
In the words of HUnter S. Thompson, you can turn your back on a firend but you can't turn your back on a drug. With alcohol you never know how a person is going to react. In bar scene was wrong glance was wrong motion can mean alot.  Having smarts about drugs or bars doesn't put money in your back account it takes money away.
I am rambling now so I better stop.