Dream Big! Go Home!

Dream big or go home…

some might say,

its awful sneaky to

base a poem on

a cheap cliche.

But sometimes, there are good reasons

why sayings become cliches,

each bears a grain of sand or truth

each came out screaming out from earth

Dream big or go home…?

What’s that even mean?

It seems to me the greatest dreams,

happen often when I am resting

at my home in deep reflection.

But sometimes, there are good reasons

why sayings become cliches,

each bears a grain of sand or truth

each came out screaming out from earth

Words are the stickiest form of clay,

they fall off of lips,

they tremble, they sway, sometimes

too many words get in the way.

But a good cliche, is never ending,

is born anew with each generation,

a good cliche will leave you

guessing…

Go big or go home?…

For me being at home is the same

thing as living large.

Most cozy, comfortable, reading

writing, day-dreaming & thinking.

I love to write. To not write it all down,

it would be awful, its with the love of language

I feel most at ease.

How will I spend a New Year ?

How will this year be different then all the rest?

It’s all in your attitude.The truth lies deep down in

the corners of your eyes-

not in resolutions, or words of surprise!

It is to take it all in with one full breath

and live in the moment-

do not dwell in regret

or visit imaginary future plans

take the NOW you are given,

and shape it with your fingers and hands.

Make each moment count-each memory last,

treat time as precious

like a gift spun of glass.

Go Big!! Go Home!!

Dream Big, fill your home and fill your heart,

full of love, compassionate,

and even art.

Make a dream, then feed it each day, to keep it safe

to keep your dream alive,

whisper to it stories, secrets and songs

bundle your dream

to your minds eye

surround it with fuzzy clouds,

and walk lightly

carrying a big stick

not to protect against any enemy

but to thump onto the ground

in drumbeats of certainty

encourage your inner clown.

Spend 2015 with Happy thoughts, countless blessings,

poetry, passion, happiness and attention.

Enjoy each and every moment anew,

because technical it will be.

Decide in your mind

Dream Big, Go Big or go home!

Dream big or go home…

some might say,

its awful sneaky to

base a poem on

a cheap cliche.

But sometimes, there are good reasons

why sayings become cliches,

each bears a grain of sand or truth

each came out screaming out from earth

Dream big or go home…?

 

Not enough

Not enough-

Dec 26th, 2014

Friday Afternoon 2:49 EST

Not enough

Never enough

Not enough

sleep.

Not enough,

to eat.

Not enough,

to touch the sky & kidnap the Sun.

Not enough, to learn how to fly,

just enough to become

untied

undone.

Not enough to reach outwards and find it.

Not enough to reach out, and grab the happy

right off someone else’s face,

because my happy

its become erased

misplaced

lost confusion.

It’s just not enough,

to fix up this place.

It’s not enough to straighten

this room, to clean between the cracks, to sweep

a broom across this dusty room

deep inside my minds eye.

Not enough,

to touch the sky & kidnap the Sun.

Not enough, to learn how to fly,

just enough to become

untied

undone.

It’s not enough to

try to run, to sprint, to finish

the race.

I’m fresh out of lungs

the air is too sharp, cold and dry-

It’s not enough,

to just sit here

waiting for you

to get home.

It’s not enough, to be a failure as a housewife,

to be a successful lunatic

with a Masters Degree

and no job prospects.

It’s not enough

to be a crazy person,

living on SSDI, it’s not enough, to always

live in someone else’s shadow

it’s not enough

to be the ghost

you can come home

and answer too.

Don’t you understand?

My wings may have melted, because I flew

too closely to the Sun

but I have dreams too.

I do not long to be

someone else’s

no one.

Here between my easel and I:

What does lie,

here between

my Easel & I?

apathy

empty

blank white titanium

flat canvas

and I

am ever the Greatest-

procrastinator, it seems

of all time.

What does lie between,

my Easel and I?

a heightened sense of imperfection.

tears of frustration

of hesitation

they run down my face

almost invisible,

as if I am only crying on the inside

for my cheeks lie

both bare & dry.

But the true color of my tears,

are those of unspent, built up:

cadmium yellow hue,

alizarin crimson streaks,

dabs of cobalt blue

puddles of pink & purple

and shades of

burnt sienna.

Acrylic shiny colorful tears

that refuse to budge or give in,

tears that refuse to splatter

shatter the ground

and fall

like broken ideas at my feet.

What stands between my easel & I?

Pented up emotions.

Broken Daydreams.

Unspoken fantasy.

Un-Spilled milk running,

like unspoken poetry

and unpainted starbursts

of foggy, hazy, unspent

lately-

the ghost of my

own creativity.

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