Why write?

Why write? 7/12/19

I’ve been
writing poetry
since I was
8 years old.

It’s not always
good,
but sometimes it’s
bold.

Poetry and Artwork
are Summaries
of these things
I share with you.

small snippets
of creativity
like a cavity

pulled out of
thin air,
like lyrics
without
music

not singing verses,
my mind rehearses
words without Song.

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Dirty hands

Dirty Hands- March 1st 2019

Spirals of songs

ringing into my mp3 ears

songstruck grabbing at bits and pieces

lyrics licking the palms

of dirty hands.

the gift of singular melody

ringing into my mp3 ears

grabbing at puzzles reaching for words

hearing everything like the first time

lyrics licking the palms

of dirty hands.

sooner than later

dancing will lead to poetry

then it will lead to twisting

and bending into art supplies

lingering music towards motion

sketchbooks opening without pause

these lyrics licking the palms

will lead to drawing

oil pastels or pencils or charcoal

covering these dirty hands.

Sadness among song lyrics

Sadness among song lyrics

as a song trapped in half

like a fluttering moth,

mumbles lyrics in my head-

just random snatches of song

now that i found you,

your the one who can

pull me through

deliver me,

deliver me…”

( a song by Sarah Brightman called Deliver Me.”

then I cannot recall the rest of the song

except for “deliver me, out of the? sadness? madness?”

The butterfly lies trapped and broken

in my head. It stops singing to me,

because it does not know the rest of the words.

so the butterfly twists turns and hums

stumbling backwards onto the chorus,

all over again, hmmm hmmm hmmm

Deliver me.” hmm hmm

the butterfly snaps shut its wings and mouth.

I sit here vaguely wondering,

what the hell

am I thinking about?

 

Black coffee, The Blues and I:

Black coffee, The Blues & I:

An essay by Emily H. Sturgill

So my husband and I were driving in our car the other day. We were listening to a mix of music I had burned off my computer onto a CD-R. At some point one of my various “favorite” blues songs came on. I wish I could tell you which one but I cannot, there’s way too many. Anyways, my husband looked at me and asked me with a semi-serious voice,”Did I marry an old black man?” I had to laugh and admit “yes.” I tried to explain my love of the Blues.

It’s kinda like why some people love Country music, except for me its The Blues. They may tell sad songs or tales of hardship or woe, but the music itself-it just makes me feel happy. It makes me feel like jumping and dancing. I don’t really know why. Most people who love The Blues like the very famous or classic singer-songwriters. But I’m different for some reason, my favorite is John Lee Hooker.

I really cannot explain it. My favorite song by far is,”Boom Boom Boom.”

Here is a you tube link:

To find out more about him check out these two links HERE:

http://www.johnleehooker.com/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Lee_Hooker

He is definitely a acquired taste. And I might have written about him before on here. This morning as I was drinking my black coffee and checking my email-I got a link from http://www.amazon.com on $5 blues albulms. Sure enough, they had one from him.

http://www.amazon.com/Urban-Blues-John-Lee-Hooker/dp/B000W198M8/ref=sr_1_2?s=dmusic&ie=UTF8&qid=1412524026&sr=1-2

I had heard and actually had downloaded some of these songs before.But surprisingly, when I clicked to listen to the tracks, they sounded like different versions of the songs I already have. I might just buy this. I know my husband will let me because he knows I gotta a serious thing for Johnny lee hooker. It is interesting to me too, that he briefly lived in Detroit Mi and even sung some songs about it. Like “The motor city is burning.” is about the famous riots here back in the 1960s-well before I was born-but still, I feel some sort of strange kinship.

I don’t know. The Blues is not for everybody. But I thought I would share my love of the blues with you, as I finish my black coffee because my inner black guy, told me too!

The sounds of Sleep

He is sleeping

with him he is carrying

the sounds of Sleep.

 

There is a song to his

sonorous sonnet of snoring.

It is calming to listen to it.

 

He is sleeping

deep and wide,

I imagine he is dreaming

but he rarely shares these to me.

 

Like most my dreamer usually

does not recall his dreams.

I like to hear his snoring

years ago it once bothered me.

 

But now I find it precious,

that the man I love so much

is peacefully getting his

much needed rest.

 

It is relaxing to hear,

his breathing reminds me

of oceans breaking upon the shore.

It is a soothing sound, calming and gentle.

 

The sounds of him sleeping

remind me how lucky I am

to have this man I love

with me still here.

New Facebook page for Sex in the kitchen Sink

https://www.facebook.com/sexinthekitchensink13?ref=hl

Follow me on facebook please!Picture 149 Warming up with color abstract 2 Fall 2013 Spirals of Song and other poems book cover1 Picture 161 Warming up with color abstract 1 Fall 2013 Abstract oil pastel drawing 99 cover design for words whirl 2013 copy Falling to pieces by EHCato 1999 IMAG0893 IMAG0898 IMAG0897 Art before words new front cover copy back cover art before words3 copy self portrait 05012013 Picture 94 Acrylic mixed media pumice gel painting 1996 canvasboard Spirituality, acrylic and sand on canvasboard 1996 possible coverart1 copy Athena wiccan11 IMG_20130330_093258

Play me

Play me very carefully.

Play me like,

the broken fiddle I’ve become.

Use both hands to strum,

broken strings, into uneven chords.

A malady of a melody

that I have become.

Play me very carefully

like the hollowed drum.

Pound on my back,

until I thump and boom.

Be careful whatever way you play.

Play me like the electric guitar

smashed on a sound-stage in front

of screaming fans.

Play me like a broken fiddle,

tighten my strings

take me in for repairs,

I’ll be yours to play tomorrow,

I’ll be there good as new,

for forever and a day,

and a dream to come true.

Like a malady of a melody

that I have become.

Play me very carefully,

so I do not,

become undone.

Chill-laxing

Just chilling, with a favorite CD.

I have not decided,

if  I will be productive Today.

 

It’s a choice, like flipping a switch in my brain.

Do I really want to do something,

or just sit around here doing nothing,

feeling insane?

 

Music saves me…from some of,

this Madness.

I have been listening to various artists lately.

 

some of my favorites CDs right now:

ZZ Ward, “Till the casket drops.”

Ray Lamontagne, “Trouble”

Ray Lamontagne and the Pariah dogs,” God Willing & the creek don’t raise.”

Pink,”Funhouse.”

Muse, their newest one…

M.Ward, “transfiguration of Vincent.”

Florence and The Machine. Imagine Dragons. FUN. Goyte.

Mumford and Sons. The Black keys.

 

I just love music.

A good song creeps in under your bones.

It stays with you.

The lyrics randomly pop into head, at weird times.

 

Music is a powerful Drug.

It’s side effects are pretty harmless.

I know when I stop listening,

that’s when I start thinking.

About stuff I do not want to think about.

 

Music saves what is left of my sanity.

Music saves my soul.

Music takes me to far away places,

I long to go.

 

So go ahead,

pop in a favorite CD with me,

Let’s run away for the Day.

Let the Chill-laxing begin.

It’s a win-win.

Music Lifts me up

Music Lifts me up,

when I am crashing downwards,

just hearing a favorite song or favorite singer-song-writer,

puts a smile on my heart,

and on  my face as well.

 

Music Lifts me up,

when times are tough.

Just the joy of listening

to a familiar and favorite tune-

is enough to help me-chase those blues away.

 

Music Lifts me up,

it is poetry for the soul.

It is something so sublime, shifting my

subconscious, into a nicer, softer place.

 

Sometimes, I like to sing along,

especially while i’m driving in my car,

or sitting in the car as my husband Deano Drives…

He likes the way I sing,

it is always a surprise that he approves of my singing.

He likes to sing along too.

 

Music Lifts me Up.

taking me places, i have never been before.

Carving out new memories,

like a long lost friend.

Music takes me everywhere,

 

I want to go, because

Music Lifts me up.

waiting on a healing groove

waiting on

the bus to come by, on time.

waiting for a short stop-

the moment to yank the string.

the destination which develops me,

like an old black and white photograph,

of who i used to be.

 

Waiting on a healing groove.

waiting on an Angel’s song.

waiting for the Buddhist monk, to finish chanting.

watching the Muslim praying at Sundown.

Searching for God or My Goddess,

beneath the olive tree.

 

Religion divides too many of us.

Ripped apart to pieces and yet,

the soul stills knows where to go.

 

waiting on a healing groove.

waiting for illness to depart,

willing for it to leave my lingering heart.

 

Wanting to be more whole,

then being torn apart.

watching the world from a safe distance,

as it argues among itself,

as war breaks out,

as poverty reigns- sometimes there is so

much sorrow….

so much pain,

I begin to feel hollow-

 

 

as a slender reed

like an empty Egyptian

hieroglyphic,

my words themselves begin to bleed.

 

Like an outpouring of

random graffiti, i make the Tag-yet

even I do not know-what the Hell I am saying.

Just waiting…

on the healing groove.