Ancestral Blood

Often do we embark on sojourns within,
dwelling thoughts upon those ne'er met,
where the blood refrain is identical to
what floe's haunt the veins in you.

Thoughtful essays prayed internal, traverse
history's tapestried veils, forging connections
you never new existed there…

Here we remember what we never could, dream in
memories never owned, hearing sounds-the whispers,
the elations and the moans-resonating as if was your drums
these initials melodies made aware

Staring intently upon a solitary object, perhaps a cracked tile or
a chipping of the ceiling's paint, comatose in nature you invoke the
hopes and dreams to which you and your ancestors shared…forging
a connection that no skeptic could dare understand, yet, freely you do beg your sires past, how the sacrifices they bestowed, today honor your purveyance, to each these relatives a kinship is born, to each, a thankful melody is hummed both calm and free, but it is the passion of remembrance that is owed, and in such gravities, your true inheritance here is shown….

Here, before the trance returns, you welcome the future, to eat upon your misery, to learn from each mistake you've made, to profit from your wisdom, a wisdom you let waste in grave, and pray, it is your smile they hold dearest through their most detrimental of days….


Stop on over to New World Creative Union, where, on this Halloween, they ask us to look back upon our ancestry and to pay credence to what their lives to you, this day, mean.

A Hectic Day in The Squall

Pastel Afterglow

The pastel afterglow
momentarily
inhibits recognition;
distorting memory
of which caste of
town your flesh
currently walks
within.

Shades of Identity

This piece I had done the other day.  I was going to use as a companion image to the poem I had composed for Poetics, which I hosted tonight over at D'Verse.  But forgot to include it with that poem, and thought it still should be shown, so I'm putting it up here, where it'll get along just fine with the rest of my paintings.

Submersion

Neuroimaging of Nightmares

Outlets for Angst

“I’m a gangster,” Vito claims

just to douse that extra hope

away from his parents dream

“I set fires,” Dory does, watching

the flames build to voluminous peaks,

as the waters rage their violent breath,

to comfort the bystanders seek, yet never

move, not here, not now, loving the warmth

when the air’s far too cool

“I pick fights with strangers,” an unknown teen

says, “usually their much bigger than me, but it

makes no difference, as I don’t fight back, I won’t push back, it’s never been about none of that….instead, I want

to see, how bad they’ll beat me down, before they realize who

they are, in that moment, when kickback stands still.”

“I cut myself,” Oliver reveals, if only to regain the sense to feel.

Crows muster above the heads, like vultures do, but not as patient, hovering the carrion as it still walks, entrails and all…for it’s in their eyes…the future knows.

"Why so bleak, why so down, why so embarrassed, what's with that frown…how'd you expect to…do you even care…are you aware," YES.

Stop on over to the NewWorldCreativeUnion for their Weekly Wednesday Wake Up Call.  It's always a fun prompt and almost always exhilarates the creative sense.  This week Leslie Moon has offered a really atmospheric video, accompanied with the Haunting Violin of Max Ablitzer for our consumption.  She then goes on to tease us with thoughts of Poe.  Wasn't sure what direction this piece would manifest itself, but I simply let it go where the melody and scenery took me.  And then since I put this up on this blog, I accompanied it with a darker painting I'd yet to post.  Definitely check out all the NWCU does for the artistic community, not just poetry and Art, but all of it, literally.  And hey, join in, your more than welcome.