https://hypocritepoet.writeas.com/

Enjoy.

Art is not for commodity. It is for passion.

Someone set the sky on fire.
Just now—
in those grey-dark moments
before the day begins,
a match was struck,
a tiny ember glowing.

In minutes it flared
into a red-hot blaze,
burning through
the eastern clouds.

Pastels spread,
then yellow,
orange,
red,
indigo,
violet—
a spectrum spilling wide.

No gavel will ever fall
on this masterpiece.
The artist sketched it in a breath,
then cast it into being,
a gift to his
greater creation.

—

#essay #memoir #journal #100daystooffset #writing #poetry #

when in Rome 1988

“The Promise”

If you need a friend Don't look to a stranger You know in the end, I'll always be there But when you're in doubt And when you're in danger Take a look all around, and I'll be there

I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be But if you wait around a while, I'll make you fall for me I promise, I promise you I will

When your day is through And so is your temper You know what to do I'm gonna always be there Sometimes if I shout It's not what's intended These words just come out With no cross to bear

I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be But if you wait around a while, I'll make you fall for me I promise, I promise you I will

I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be And if I had to walk the world, I'd make you fall for me I promise you, I promise you I will

I gotta tell you Need to tell you Gotta tell you I've gotta tell you

I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be But if you wait around a while, I'll make you fall for me I promise, I promise you

I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be And if I had to walk the world, I'd make you fall for me I promise you, I promise you I will I will I will

Long day, food and flm

Your wolf is going to his fav genre: SciFi with tonights selection: Disclosure Day by Spielberg.

I've been looking forward to it coming to home theater for some time.

Sitting down with my first beer in a month and leftover tacos.

MMMMM. Good night!

I used to be much stronger.

Full of voids And dark places

Where should be The fiber of a white heart

Is just dry-rot of lies Untrustworthy sponginess.

Maelstrom not of peace Or the strength of honesty

Just a slow, quiet— Disintegration.

Invisible to the village, Seen is armored bark,

Majestic heights, Boughs over all the earth

Shading foliage And luscious fruit.

Visages of grandeur, This one.

But hollow shells don’t stand The storms of life

In time, the fruit and the shade Get the message: no real sustenance.

But can a good tree produce worthless fruit Or the rotten fine?

The tree is confused: Feels the rot, knows the hollow—

But sees the fine fruit and shade So someone says;

“a rotten tree produces fine Before becoming rotten.”

But this is human reasoning? The Great Teacher said:

the tree Is one or the other, Not both.

The tree has hope For the fruit is fine without question.

And maybe the tree just has a hollow Wherein Mister Owl may dwell.

The tree thinks this is fine, For who would not welcome

Wisdom on its boughs And in its bosom.

‘Then again,’ thinks the tree, ‘The owl didn’t help Solomon.’

I think I may never see A poem sadder nor more beautiful

Than this poor, but lovely Heartless tree.

How it will crackle And hiss

‘Pon the Fire.

Not my job to explain it

Not everyone will understand your journey— and that’s okay.

Some will only see the miles, not the wear and the weight. The wrong turns, the nights you slept on faith when surety fell away over a cliff.

You are not here to make your life acceptable to strangers. You are not required to explain every whim of your heart or submit your longing for peer review.

You’re here to live your life— to follow the pull when it makes no sense, to choose wonder over safety, to answer the call even when no one else hears it ringing.

Let them misunderstand. You were never meant to be explained. You were meant to be become.

Some days you eat the bear

I am consumed.

I am digested.

I am...

Restoring broken sculptures, is kind of fun.

MOst of the major shapes have found their home. Down to the hard stuff: the 20 or so little bits that will require actual brain-power to figure out.

But, it's a thing:

Better one than the other.

The lion had always believed he was untouchable.

Then came the old man, diabetic, blind in a sugar-induced comma, drifting across the solid yellow line.

Then came the crash.

Chemical baths and broken bones.

Steel folded, glass shattered, pride crumpled beside the road. A roaring king became silent metal, while a tiny green logo still clung to the door, alive.

People walked past and only saw a wreck. They couldn't see the decades to come. The infections. The amputations. The surgery after surgery. And the losses unintended and unexpected.

But they came nonetheless. The hurt and loss.

A lion may look mighty, but it's the one who keeps breathing that gets another sunrise.

This image was 20-ish years ago... teh lion lives, but walks with a limp and is more broken every day.

Made every day.