Tuesday, December 25, 2012

SF possibilities

watch the better man get away with the dames.....
all instant and material... I think, I wish I knew
Dont want to hear the small talk....
enough with it
Forget them, him, her, and her.... The most beautiful dam is there,
now, yes
no more for the beep of ovens set.
All encountering an starving reality... no better city to be fresh.
his story, any hero story is full of self love.
I want that
I need that
Forgiveness first, trials ahead. blind the unknowing massive
With developing insecurity and insight in my head

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

I hear the bay.

Where rain goes away, in that clearing the gentle flush
Lighted dirty streets still seem better behaved,
This tea this lullaby indie vocal soothes the mystery of a day.
Locals are fine, here I am and here I am
No more worries, a day to hustle, to grind, to get it done.
What it is it? It is effort, to get effort done.
Write, smile, connect and love.
What might become of this if It falls loosely through shivering hands?
What would my mom say?
Turns out I have never done anything like this, and that is grand
Going for it.
Going in for the kill
The submission
A dialect
A poem, poems, words, all for you, all for me.
Why not?
I suppose More people have my back then I realize.
Game on, Let's roll, tides pulling,
Water is calling.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Dreaming on a San Francisco floor.

A dance thirst
Burning man themed grassy bubble
Spinning with head twisting
Sulking in the fireflies flickering in an early evening
The rotation of angles I did now could be spun.
That it was, and I became immersed in the movement.
And then I moved, so much it was as to float
The way I have been drifting in and out of micro climate, micro neighborhoods
There I landed, next to large creature with its tongue laying out of the side of its mouth.
"May I pet your dog?" A term often muttered in my waking life.
"She is a bit timid" a dream character spoke, but then there were the big dumb eyes of the beast.
I awoke before I could react.
And without any notion of waking, I spoke aloud what had just happened.
Noting, if was truly beautiful.

I fell to closed eyes again, watching a country festival come to place.
There was a competition I was partaking in.
Syntonic.
Recognizable was the depleted amusemnet park I had never visited.
My new friends, and dream lover I had never met.
We opted for a horse carriage ride of the thin mountain.
It was steep, so daringly steep I experienced a dream anxiety.
Curious and consious I held tight, wondering if this horse could hold the tight land.
We scuttled up towards the peak..... and that is when it happened.
I was on a horseback, a horseback mountain.
And without any understanding, the road down unfolded
A trail of a horses tailed laid a valley of beautiful swirling dark hair for us to cruise down.
I had ridden on a horse, up a mountain, which was actually the back of giant horse
And the road down was paved with the beautiful gently conditioned hair of dark brown...
Guiding us to a back entrance of a carnival of activity where I would again fall for a dream.


Monday, December 3, 2012

Omen of a heavy heart.

search, journal, reflect time and time again. 
Like soft piano keys, at ease.... I beg to be at ease
Then the realm of warm tea, a soothing matter of comprehension
All in the while, the stories of uncommon reaccuring reflection
Left with the dust that blinds me with the motion of now. 

For My Joy of Lilly

This one is for the one who saved my soul
The one who saw it, hiding deep in a burning spiritual volcano
She saw me, eyed me and loved me.
Believed in me and turned my head back around, so to face forward the way she asked me to walk.
She held my hand in a way that I realized I had hands that could again create a magic.
She fed me honor, love, humility out of her own heart
And those are today, the warmest dishes I have ever indulged.
I held her tight, warm, soft, safe, embracing the Yes that suggest we are together.
She saw the demons, I was scared. The demons show up when tested
We hurt sometimes, but it was, it is worth it.
She held me beautiful and bounty full of caring and warm minded alike-ness
We dreamed, we dreamed well.
We danced.... oh how we danced,
We giggled, and exploded with laughter.
She has a furry friend
I fell in love twice as a result of this heavenly bond.
And it scared me, commitment, earth shattering love, and admiration
We both never knew how else to be.
We had it all, except we did not know ourselves enough
And still, nothing remains the same
Except how we are, how we always are when the sun is right, and our song plays.
No one is going to love you more then I do.
No will ever know how I feel except me
No words, No touch, No dreams
Can ever replace or suggest the feeling you unfold on this man.
And Thank you for that,
It is in such a feeling of emotion, that I can believe in something greater then myself.



Monday, November 26, 2012

Family Soup

Taken from: http://wc.rootsweb.ancestry.com/cgi-bin/igm.cgi?op=GET&db=kylongley&id=I01428


As I move forward to running head on into parts of my past that have seem to have some underlining control on my present state, I am lucky enough to have friends who take some steps to helping me. My best friend Jessica found this for me, she wanted to read it, but I declined noting I needed to read it myself. I want to share this with you, as it does a good job of putting some of the basic struggles I experienced, and the confusion I am left with in writing for others to see what I am working with. Sigh..... So many unanswered questions, most that I will never know, but I will not ever be okay with my path until I take some initiative in researching what was of my family, where it started to go wrong, who my mother was, who my father was, their relationship, their families influence on their relationship and so on...... and the journey seems to currently have a purpose.

"Where do I begin"?

My eyes are opening, my heart is fluctuating, I am scared, but I am brave.
_________________________________________________________________________________



Angie Acebal Knowles was killed 20 Mar 1996 at Christiansburg, Montgomery Co., Virginia by her estranged husband Michael Knowles

FRIENDS REMEMBER A TROUBLED MARRIAGE
March 21, 1996. Page: A1
A few years ago when a friend described herself as a single mother, Angie Knowles responded, ``I'm a single mother who's married.''A cadre of Knowles' female friends gathered at the hospital Wednesday morning to offer support to her four children, her mother and each other. They stood in a small semi-circle sharing glimpses of Knowles' character, life and the signals of her impending death. Tears streamed from some of the women's eyes with each recollection, others stood frozen by the morning's shock. Lenore Jackson of Christiansburg reached under her glasses to wipe her eyes and said, ``She just wanted some peace, that's all she said to me.'' Knowles' search for peace sprung from a troubled 22-year marriage to a man she described to her friends as abusive - both physically and mentally. As recently as Saturday, Jackson said, Michael Knowles showed up at his estranged wife's home to deliver child-support money. He requested an electric screwdriver. Angie Knowles asked him to remain outside while she got the screwdriver, but he entered and left with their computer. Jackson said Michael Knowles had two more computers at home and only took his wife's to hurt her again. Friends said Angie Knowles' domestic troubles were not reflected in her personality. ``She was the most fun, delightful and cheerful person,'' said Kathy Habeeb of Christiansburg. Habeeb, however, said only one word describes Michael Knowles - ``monster.'' Angie Knowles, who was 43, was an active member of four PTAs and helped coach her sons' soccer and baseball teams as well as her daughter's softball and basketball teams. She helped begin the high school's post-prom party in 1990 and continued to work on the alcohol-free event. Friends recalled images of her in a station wagon with a load of children headed to a sporting event. Her father, who died last month, attended many of the games with her. He offered support to his daughter, grandchildren and other children in his native Spanish. Angie Acebal-Knowles arrived in New York City with her family from Spain when she was a child. ``She was always willing to help us in any way," said Art Price, director of the Christiansburg Department of Parks and Recreation. "She was one of those types of parents who lived to make life enjoyable for her kids.'' Knowles' children - John Michael, a James Madison University student; Vanessa, a high school senior; Dylan, a ninth-grader; and Ryan, a seventh-grader - have no one to turn to now, Jackson and Habeeb said. ``They are all alone except for friends,'' Habeeb said. Betty Ashbrook, one of Angie Knowles' closest friends, has opened her home to the children for now, friends said. Before she moved a month ago, Knowles took care of others' children at her home. Debby Barbour, whose son Aaron used to be in her day care, said Knowles did wonders. She said when Aaron sees anyone misbehaving, he says, "That would make Angie very sad if you did that." Connie Lowe, the Christiansburg High School PTA president, said Knowles kept people laughing no matter what the problem. "A lot of us fell back on Angie's humor and her smile," she said. "I don't have that now, [Michael Knowles has] robbed me of that. For whatever reason, he's taken that from me." Michael Knowles, being held without bond in the county jail Wednesday night, was born and raised in Christiansburg. After attending Virginia Western Community College for two years, he joined the Navy and met his future bride in New York City. They moved to Christiansburg when Angie Knowles became pregnant with her first child because "he didn't want to raise children in Brooklyn," said Pat Horne, Michael Knowles' sister. Horne said her brother worked two or three jobs to support not only his wife and children, but Angie Knowles' brother and parents, who lived with them for many years. "I know Angie is well thought of and she achieved a great deal, but she couldn't have done it without him working so hard to support them," Horne said. Eventually, Knowles dropped his other jobs and worked full time for the post office, delivering mail on the rural roads of Craig Mountain. Christiansburg Postmaster Arthur Duarte said the 19-year veteran was quiet, but dedicated. "He cares a lot about his customers," he said. "I wish all my employees were as conscientious as Michael." Horne, who is part owner in the Richardson-Horne Funeral Home in Christiansburg, said she and her brother have never been close. Still, she knew there were a lot of problems in his marriage. She said his family had been in an upheaval and he left for his trip to Israel to try to "find himself and try to get things back to an even keel." When he returned, on Valentine's Day, Angie Knowles had moved out. Horne said the family "expected him to kill himself because he was so distraught, but never did we dream he would take someone else's life." She said she thought her brother had accepted the separation; he had an appointment Wednesday with a lawyer and had put his house up for sale. She said he wanted to be a part of his children's lives, but would never try to take the children away from Angie Knowles. "I think he just snapped," she said, closing her eyes. "What he did was wrong and it's devastating to everyone. ... He'll suffer his entire life for this and then by the hand of God." Michael Knowles wrote stories as a hobby, and sent several letters to the editor of The Roanoke Times. Letters published in the newspaper encouraged the government to take a larger role in childrens' health care coverage, praised the movie "Schindler's List" for its educational value for children and suggested, possibly tongue-in-cheek, that the more effective way to beat Iraq during the Gulf War was to hypnotize the Iraqis with American soap operas. "All I really know is this:" he wrote in another letter, "once you judge another you invariably have to judge yourself, and nobody is perfect." "Try to remember that the next time you get upset. And for those lucky few who can forgive, Peace."
Staff writer Ray Cox contributed to this story.

March 21, 1996. Page: C2
ACEBAL-KNOWLES, Angelina, 43, of Christiansburg, died Wednesday, March 20, 1996. Arrangements by McCoy Funeral Home, Blacksburg.

SUPER MOM WILL BE MISSED
March 22, 1996. Page: NRV-1
Christiansburg folks knew Angie Knowles as that "little bitty woman driving the station wagon full of kids."She was only 4 feet 11, but everyone looked up to her.Mostly, we admired Angie for her commitment to her work. She had the most important job in the world and she excelled at it.She was a mom.Actually, a super mom.Many times I picked up a ringing phone to hear Angie's distinctive voice on the other end. She spoke with rapid enthusiasm and with a hint of...

AFTERMATH: DESTRUCTION, RESTORATION
March 30, 1996. Page: NRV-1
LISA K. GARCIA STAFF WRITER
The four children of Angie Knowles have faced many adult choices since a shotgun blast took her life 10 days ago. ``We just have to start having some family meetings and make some decisions," said John-Michael Knowles, the eldest and a 21-year-old junior at James Madison University. "Our goal is to stay together.'' The siblings - Vanessa, a Christiansburg High School senior; Dylan, a ninth-grader; and Ryan, a seventh-grader at Christiansburg Middle School - know John-Michael must finish college, he said. ``That's my role in this,'' he said. Their father, Michael Knowles, has been charged with murder, malicious wounding and two charges of attempted malicious wounding of a police officer. He was also charged with breaking and entering to commit malicious wounding and two firearms violations. He is being held in the Montgomery County Jail. He and Angie Knowles were estranged at the time of the attack. ``That one act destroyed and restored my faith in humanity,'' John-Michael Knowles said Wednesday. John-Michael said the restoration came when people banded together to raise money, offer advice and open their homes to his family. The financial outpouring started with an escrow account at First National Bank opened only hours after Angie Knowles' death by Fred Newhouse, a longtime family friend and senior vice president and branch administrator of the Christiansburg office. ``I saw an immediate need for the family; basically they lost their mother and father simultaneously,'' Newhouse said. He said the account is meant to address immediate expenses the children face like college bills and Vanessa Knowles' cap and gown for graduation. ``I'm extremely pleased with the response,'' Newhouse said. ``I would hope that interest would continue.'' John-Michael Knowles said he hopes the community support continues, too. ``I am so thankful for this community,'' he said. ``They've just gone above and beyond. I just can't imagine a family going through this without it.'' Knowles sat in the living room of a close family friend Wednesday and talked about his family and the days after his mother's death. His baggy jeans, loose flannel shirt and baseball cap are those of any typical college student. His words expose his maturity. It is a maturity he credits mostly to his mother's guidance and, in part, to the recent tragedy. ``My sister and I were talking about it and it's hard to swallow your pride and ask for help; my mother raised us to be independent,'' he said. He tugged at his baseball cap and looked out the window. The day's fading light hugged his face. ``It's hard to grow up overnight,'' Knowles said. Ever since their mother's death, the Knowles children have had to make many decisions. Knowles said they are fortunate that their mother had so many close friends who have been able to offer advice, emotional support and a place to stay. The children arranged the funeral and both John-Michael and Vanessa shared their feelings during eulogies they wrote and presented. Now they are meeting with people who can tell them what their options are for the future. They've contacted social services, a lawyer and others who can tell them what resources are available. They are gathering information to empower themselves, John-Michael Knowles said. ``I keep a notebook with all the things I need to know ... the different options,'' he said of the enormous amount of information he and his siblings have had to absorb. ``You take everything stable in your life and then it's gone,'' he said. ``We have no place to call home.'' Knowles said members of what he calls his second home - James Madison University - where he is majoring in public relations with a minor in business, have been completely supportive. The president of the college is working to explore options for finishing the semester through the mail and his fraternity brothers are raising money as well as offering emotional support. ``I know frats have a bad reputation and people say they never do anything, but when I looked out and saw 70 of my brothers at the funeral, that was great," he said. Knowles said he used to plan everything in advance. He liked to look to the future and map things out. Now he says he is coping by not looking too far ahead. To say it is overwhelming is an awesome understatement, he said. ``I make little goals and little lists and when I accomplish something I can feel good. I can only take it one day at a time,'' he said. Knowles, his sister and two younger brothers are coping. He said the reality of what has happened has not entirely hit them yet. ``We're getting through it together.''

A SON'S EULOGY FOR HIS MOTHER
March 30, 1996. Page: NRV1
This is an excerpt of John-Michael Knowles' eulogy for his mother, titled "Where do I Begin?" He read it before hundreds of people at her funeral a week ago.It's hard to say everything you want to tell a person in this lifetime, in only a few minutes. I want to begin by telling you what my mom meant to me and my brothers and sister.Never have I, nor will I ever, meet someone as special as my mom ... I have never known a woman to be everything to so many people. I have never known a woman to face so many trials and tribulations and continue on with a smile. I have never known a woman to always see the good in people, and always put the thoughts and needs of others in front of her own, on a daily basis. My mom believes in us when no one else would. She tells us to never settle for mediocrity. She opens our eyes to worlds that we have never dreamed of. She shows us things that we never knew existed. She loves us more than we ever thought possible. She gives us the drive, ambition and emotion to not to be scared to try! She gives us the backbone, support and caring to not to be scared to fail! She instills in us her values, dreams, understanding of the way life was, is and most importantly, should be. She is our confidant, motivation, role model and best friend. She truly is our everything. However, the intrinsic strength that our mom possessed lives on within each of us. And we will make it ... because that is what she would want. We all are suffering, grieving and hurting ... Everyone including myself is looking for answers, however, there are none to be found. We constantly ask ourselves: Why now? Why her? And most importantly - why did this have to happen? I don't really know what to say, believe, think or even feel; to make the pain subside. I look around the room and everyone is hurting because my mom is gone. She has touched so many lives, in so many different ways, that it makes us want to stop the world and fix the injustice that has just occurred. However, we must realize that what my mom gave is everlasting. It cannot be taken away by anyone or any horrible act. When the dust settles and the phones stop ringing, that is when our true battle begins, and when the onset of pain is intensified, but it is only then that we as a family and community must come together because that is where our strength lies. I want to share with you what my mom would say if she had a chance. Realize that you only have one chance in life and you never know how long that time may last. Give that hug, mend that relationship and tell that person you care, and make the most out of every day because tomorrow is not that far away, and no one knows what tomorrow holds. That would be my mom's advice because that is the way she lived life! Any of you that know me can look in my eyes and see that I am hurting badly inside and I miss her so, so much. All I want is to talk to her once more and for her to give me a hug, and tell me that everything is going to all right. I wish that she could shield me from the darkness as she always did in my youth. But regretfully she can't do these things any more. But she will always live on through the hopes, dreams, accomplishments of myself and my family and because of that: She will always live on in my eyes.


KNOWLES FAMILY EXPRESSES GRATITUDE
June 16, 1996. Page: NRV-2
Since the tragic loss of our mother, Angie Acebal-Knowles, there has been overwhelming kindness and support for us from this community. The simple gestures of kindness are too numerable to list. Our family is greatly appreciative of every thought, prayer and deed that has been offered to help us through this trying time. We have not had the opportunity to express our gratitude to each individual who has been there for us. We hope you will accept this letter as a token of our appreciation. We wanted to let you each know that there were no acts of kindness that went unnoticed, no matter how great or small. We are each trying to continue on in our daily lives to the best of our ability. The support you have each given us on a continuing basis has helped us tremendously to begin the healing process. We have come to need each of you to rebuild our faith and our future. We hope you will stay by us in the days and years to come. We cannot imagine traveling the new road our lives have taken without your support. We would like to thank each of you who have contributed to our trust fund established at First National Bank of Christiansburg. The consistent monthly pledges have helped us tremendously to make it through this time. We offer our heartfelt thanks for your generosity and commitment to our future through your donations. We, as a family, hope that you will look at your own family and realize how precious life is. Please use our loss to strengthen the bonds between yourself and those you love. As you have demonstrated these past few months, the positive impact of a united, loving community is truly a treasure. We are so fortunate to live in a town of people who exemplify the very best qualities of caring human beings. We are forever grateful to each and every one of you for caring enough to make such a difference in our lives.

John-Michael, Vanessa, Dylan and Ryan Knowles
Christiansburg


Saturday, November 24, 2012

Shivers Down The Grey Day

Can't keep running away
The harmonics of horns wander through cold ears
Oh how it shivers down
Truth is sound, that are the chills creeping on a cloudy day.
Surely this is beauty

Dull days frighten the thought that light is faded.
Behind ever grey cloud cluster
Lays the source of earths energy
Smoke in mirrors, moderate dawns, slow mornings
Can't keep running away.

Climate masked, the smiles strangers pose.
Delighted that my outfit is fitting for a lost poet,
And stares glaze the glass
Of red beet juiced with the fruits of a healthy labor
In this nourishment, I hope to replenish and regain.

On and On.
The forward progress, the pull from a nervous nature
Telling my ears,
Telling my song
Can't keep running away,
When shadows remain.

Chained Voice, Desperate Scribe

chained to a dessert pallet like the night we followed the northern star
I shined not for.
Alone and against the grains of time,
There were endless amount of crystals that stubbed my spread toes
An adventure for nothing more then the mystery, of chasing shining objects.
Those twinkles were saturating enough
In despair I could not agree more with their blinks
Or down the rabbit hole,
The portal of suns and moons dancing in line
Standing next to heartbreak, finding a slow breath
The ramble became a chase
No more do I nourish with fantasy of you
Gone with midnight bliss with frozen clouds
Only to repair as nothing more then a mis-esembled you
Reflecting your lack of empathy, that shield now broken.
Goodbye no more, but please be gone.
Now I know it is all a constant struggle
A lament of your waging war on self certainty
The misunderstood child you seem to lock away
Never to be seen,
always being heard in a scribe I will stop trying to decode.

Fading Dreams


I wake up wishing I could shimmy away the groggy cobwebs left on me from a nights sleep where I am stricken with anxiety, and the intensity of a imagination that runs wild. I constantly awake wildly wanting to run back to figure out how it should end. Dreams never end, bad or good. I only wish I could wake to a waking dream, where my body would stretch itself into the universe and I could feel light on my grace. These days, my pulsing uncertainty seems to give way to gravities pull, as I find myself a bit stuck. And so I write on boards where my cries can be heard, hoping for nothing other then a faint thought that someone will feel me, and I can expand my heart even more. This gives way to become a child of expression, a child of open hearts, a child of the universe.
I get down to the funk, for I got the funk.
Sometimes the funk is not what it seems.
I find myself in a funk, one where I struggle to find the rhythm of my souls path.

Monday, November 5, 2012

"A Quiver for Falling Elfs"


I stretch my caffeinated shivers to convey a message where words fall short.
It is upon you and shivery of the daunting stylistic love 
that floats like bay fog, gently exposing your cover
I know not how a legend can reappear 
like pink moons and crystal castles
So I string together a bundle of intention
 to let my grace fall into your story ridden hands
In hopes that you will scan my mystic
 with the dark sword that braces your side.

A poem for a dark prince named Johnny

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Losing Protective Skin



Draw me near for my search is deep.
My time will release itself upon my reality check
Hide my eyes, I do not know if I want to see what is there.
Shatter me into nothing more then the child I wish I could see.
Hear me cry, take my hand, and let me cry
I do not want to be afraid.
I have escaped for so long
Yet this shadow still tracks me
Often it flirts with me
And I enjoy its company when the time is right.

Who will love me when I have nothing left but a blank space
I must have no choice.
I must configure my way into new skin.
Shaking off dust like a window seal in an attic rarely visited
Beauty and Sadness are my cousins.
One is nothing without the other.
There is no where left for me to go.

Ashes of a Tragic Volcano of my Heart Set Free

My brother Dylan had to explain to his 9 and 6 year old sons as lightly as possible what was about to go down.

We looked for a sign, no sign was given except that we were loosing the sun.

A lady stopped and told us a better place to spread our ashes...... weird! Rude?

Kristen, my new sister joined us..... that meant a lot to me..... probably all of us.

We were going to light lanterns and send let them set sail, but the wind was blowing inland. Oh well.

Then it became very real as my sister pulled out what looked to be like 3 huge bags of some illegal substance..... she said she had some explaining to do to TSA, as the bags did not contain illegal drugs, they merely contained the remaining of our loved ones who we had lost. Mom, Emma (grandma), and Papa (Grandpa).

The sun was fading over a volcano.....

A summary of spreading burnt love:


I saw my first ever sunset over the ocean as my family and I spread the remaining ashes of my mother, my grandmother, and my grandfather. I held ash of what used to be the shell that held the souls of those who where most close in creating this man who writes these words, who holds this passion, and who wed those tears that fell into the North Pacific as my ashes flew into infinity filling the ocean, just as my tears did. The island in the distant sheltered the embrace of a sun that was setting on years and years of sorrow and sadness from the tragic deaths of the adults I loved most. The wind whispered as my family embraced. We were doing exactly what my mother always wanted us to do with her remains. I thought hard about my relationships with each, I felt most moved by my grandmother whose ashes we spread first. I have yet to let myself start to heal from her tragic death that I witnessed when I was 18. We had a very hard, love hate relationship. It is too complicated to get into at this moment, but as I let her burnt remains seep through my fingers I felt her, I saw her, I loved her again. It was sad. My grandfathers remains were blessed like the man he was, the jokester, the man addicted to sweets, the chef, the footballer, the goofball.... all of it, gone with the wind.
Then my mother, my sweet mom. This was her time. I walked 20 feet out into the water soaking my pants up to my thighs, my other brothers and sister took their own space...... I did now want to let her go, I cried as she caught the undertow. I held on to a peace of her bone thinking I should keep it as my secret. I stared at it as if it was a piece of gold that I could hold onto forever, but I told myself this was the time, or rather "now is the time, ryan" and with a single deep breath and one more glance at the sun saying goodbye, I said aloha mi mere. Goodbye my mother, swim well..... and that will be the last time I ever hold her body again. How sad, how beautiful.

My family and I joined together for one more embrace as we took the rest of the bag of ashes and let them go.... we let her go. Everyone was teary eyed, but my dear sister and I were shivering in our voices and hearts. We are the sensitive ones, we are the feminine ones, the softest of the 4. I dug my head into her shoulder because she knew I knew, I knew she knew...... how beautiful, how sad.




Monday, October 22, 2012

Eye See You

Don't threat from the eye of the otherwise shadow.
Say hello.
Ask how there day is.
Watch shadow form too colors
Watch as life expands
One kind gesture
Simple acknowledgement
I see you
I recognize you exist
I come from love.
let me reach out.
lets spark something
watch it dissipate into the universe
all of it, I will hold your hand
I will caress your heart.
with one look
So to say.
Shift your perspective.
Know eye is rooting for you
eye believes in you
Be the best, you.
eye will always be there
eye is always here.
eternal support.

A Poisoned Portrait

The most ugly, beautiful women ever.
Striking into souls with deep blue eyes.
Swearing nothing, confusing everything
She destroys bonds like a child takes to a bubble
She could be loved, she is loved, she does not know how to be loved
All of it she takes
To the misery of some sad story she creates.
Soft delicate skin
Protecting venom that somehow found its way into her heart.
A sad story indeed.
Mostly for her,
But let us not forget all those who tried and failed.
I am one of them.
My efforts are leaving me blinded and heated.
An uncomfortable postion that I wish to drop
To breath her out
To not wish her anymore sadness
Instead hold a strong heart,
even though....
She hates the story she created about me.
That is the hardest part.
I can not make her see me for me
She insist on painting pictures that suit her protection
I am a casualty of her separation within a dark imagination
Her poor heart.
Her poor child.
I will have to continue to love her from a distance.
Always wishing she would see me
Not her portrait of me.
Tortured soul.
Give your fire a chance to breath.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

A brief testimony of a break.

** A quick testimony of my return **


What I am left with still remains unsure.
The wind blows in the mile high so soft on colored trees.
My old friends seem softer then before.
My eyes are not sure what has happened.
Time has lost all of it's meaning
Stories of my travels fall short
It is just so hard to convey my journey in words.
Magic.
All I can tell them is that it was Magic.
I am holding on to nothing
A memory of memories, of moments.
The revolving door.
A home cooked meal
A friend in need
Clueless as to what my next move is.
The game of chess
The idea of dreaming big
Of manifestation
Of new beginnings
The journey will continue on.
How it will all fall into place.
The hard questions that need to be asked
The rambling of an unsure soul who just landed
I need some time.
I will be back with more,
I already have so much more
I just need time
I do not know what time is anymore
I snapped my finger, and I no longer was bound by train.
Love is everything.
Even in sadness, even in pain.
A love story of lost love
A love story of dreamers
A break.
A breath.



** I am taking a decompression from the blog, from my travels, from my head that is not sure where it has landed. Please stay with me, I will be back shortly..


Thursday, October 11, 2012

Broken Spider Webs


Tell me when it hurts. Tell me when you think you can take no more.
We should shatter mirrors
To create a spiderweb reflection
That will finally tell you
That I love you to pieces.

Maybe in another life when standards are not as important as feelings
I will be able to share something with you
Until that day comes,
I will share something different with you.
I will share whatever you will let me give.

We could give ourselves back to ourselves
And then get turned around at the shadows
That are chasing the shadows
That are lost in the night
When it becomes clear
That it was always a dance


Wednesday, October 10, 2012

I should think less about myself, wait what?


So many people come into your life. Hundreds of thousands. You have to keep the door open to let them in, but that also means you have to let them go. It is a revolving door. I wish so many people have stayed in my life, but I know there is no ownership of anybody but yourself. 

I just arrived in San Francisco after a marvelous coastal train ride. Bitter sweet this train ride was, as it is my last train to a destination that is not Denver. I will shrug that one off so I do not mourn that the trip is almost over and have that interfere with my experience here. This is the city I first fell in love with 8 years ago. I blew it last time, I really did. This time should be something else, but who cares. It will be what it will be. I look forward to catching up with my dear friend Johnny. One of the craziest, intelligent, pretty, clustered, friend I have ever had. I admire the guy. He has some sick determination yet somehow carries a soft heart. He is a writer at heart, but I do not think he writes enough. I plan on writing at the parks, an artwalk, and maybe the classic Haight district. I will meet up with the originator of the custom poems on a spot idea, his name is Zack Houston. I am excited about that. Apparently I have tickets to see my favorite House DJ Claude Von Stroke, and dates to stay in Oakland and San Francisco. Surely I will be too busy to put it all together, but I am trying to approach these situations these days with less judgement, and lighter, softer, and bigger eyes. I want to be gentle in my love and admiration for this travel. For this life, and for those that flock in and out of faded vision of a dream. I cry often these days. Well not often, but more often. Still I am hesitant to let myself be vulnerable enough to allow every other person I cross paths with to see this. When this happens I am afraid I might be failing at being as RAW as I can. I should just be less hard on myself and enjoy the moment. 
A sigh of relief comes over me.
I think it is scary to know how much work I have to do let myself heal. It turns out this trip is about that. Learning to let myself heal. I think of days when I can put a photo of my mother in the Temple at Burning Man and watch it go up in flames. This is to symbolize letting go, or saying goodbye to something. I love the concept and it is probably my main reason for wanting to go to the Burn. 
Is it relative to try and capture all of these epic moments that have come over me on this trip? Am I so caught up in thinking I need to understand what is surrpounding me when it is that I am actually forgetting to let the moment happen? 
Stop it Ryan. 
Something good about this moment.
I think I will just go and face myself for the day. 
Give myself a chance to shut the fuck up.
Maybe even laugh at the idea that everything is ok.
And breath out the anxiety that strikes me a little to hard at times of uncertainty. 


Monday, October 8, 2012

An Ageless Rant

I sit still now needing this break. Concerns are upon me in this time. I am sure to be alright, I am sure to overcome this drowning debt. All for creation and imagination, a childhood lost. A memory to recreate, or a memory of what it was that I am now missing. Somewhere along the line they suggest I should settle. But for what, and on what? I know nothing. I care to live for the freedom of travel, of adventure, for words, for romantics, for lust, and passion, and the other things that boil blood to lava. I can not make excuses, I have done so for too long. My life is passing by while I look for more.
I want to make it big. I want money, I want attention.
I want to share, to open my heart so my story can reveal itself.
So I can heal, and so then many others may heal with my reflection.
It saddens me, it intimidates me. My story should not set me apart from the rest.
Though it is so heavy, it is what it is. A shocking ripple, a large boulder in a seemingly still pond. It ripples and causes wakes that crash on dry lands.
I want to share this, I am not sure how else I will heal.
I do not want it to be the whole story, I need to get it all out so it becomes part of the story.

My dad is in prison.
I was once told he is still part of me despite not ever knowing him
I do not know about this.
What traits do I hold of his?
What was he like when my mother loved him?
Am I that guy, somehow, someway.... in blood, in character?
Or am I the killer,
The insane
The insecure
The asshole
The loser
The dying dreamer.
Am I this.

Am I the character of another being from a deeper land that has no way of being described? Something ancient, something more then we as humans know. I am my mothers love, and her love was great. Love is universal. I miss my mother. I do not know to not miss her. I do not know if I should stop missing her.
Am I lying, am I still trying to hold on to..... something involving her?
This is scary, this is intense and sad.
I want everyone to know about these struggles.
It is important
It feels right.
God help me.
I need to keep pushing strong.
When will it end.
How will it end.
Full of love and confusion
This story seems overwhelming.

what will I say when I write my father in prison. What do you say to a man who helped create you, but had nothing to do with creating you? What a dizzy situation.

Where do I go now?
One word to share at a time
Who loves me?
Do I love me?
Could I be better..... of course I could. I should. I am trying, I need to try harder.
Someone tell me it is okay.
It is okay young man.
You will shine like the star you are.
Believe, work hard.

I need more strength.
I need your love.
I need my love
I need to not need so much.

An ageless rant, for a man out of time. A man of will and destruction. Will it be too late. Can expression save my soul. Please allow me to express myself.

Please allow me to share.

Wave Format

Waves roll in and out
thirsty sand picks up saline
So to be dry,
So to be wet.
All for the appetite
A little distorted and flavored
Moonrise motions are lifted
The vail of the unknowing
Waves take breaks
Still rolling in
Still rolling out.
Crashing for thunder
Ripping away the departed land
A elegance of motion


Saturday, October 6, 2012

Lost some written love.

Her memory exist.
And I had written the experience down. Now it is gone, I lost it. I lost her. Though her memory is still there. I will come back to this space. But I am sad. I lost my testimony on love, it took a lot of effort and now it is gone. Wow..... lost words. Lost expression. My heart spilled, and no one got the time to admire the puddle. I am sad. I will save this space for another time. When I attempt to conquer words for love. Still, she was on a train, she came to me. I knew she would. I worried she would not. But she did. My testimony of women, gone. sigh.

Friday, October 5, 2012

On guard.


Start shooting
No prisoners to take.
Aim wild
Live wild. Live free.
Point your lazers at your dreams
Ask them to surrender
Tell them you already have imagination hostage
There is no escape.
Only creations.
If you miss your target
You are not close enough
Now Bless your enemy
Bless them for the sake of rain
That we either get wet
Or feel the drops...
It is easy to know.
We share
No choice, no other way.
One life, I say.
Multiple dreams
Multiple realities
One universe.
One.   

Chasing the Sun Pt. 2



On this long train ride I have found myself in poetic conversation with some nice midwestern folk. They have been a ray of hope for my perception of what the midwest is. For me I see sad farms, large sad farms. Communities based around these farms. I think of Monsanto, I think of the past. I think of how once upon a time the hard work was validated, it was organic product they were making. I think about how the evil of all evils came down and stole there hard work away, making more struggle for them and also tying them into a web of corruption they never intended on being part of. However, you have to eat, you have to survive. Rusting cars, broken land, tires and other mechanical equipment lay to rest like a cementer of broken machines, and broken dreams.
These midwesterners know of Monsanto, they know of poetry, they know of the faded American dream and I stand tall and tell them I do not want to fall victim to a faded dream. I want my own reality to manifest itself as I continue my search for some truth, and all encompassing beauty. They are beautiful, strong, simple, but wise in their own right. Kind folk are beautiful folk. Simple, or deep, cities slickers or country boy. If you know how to listen and ask questions with an open heart you are beautiful in my eyes. For Willie, and KC my train seat neighbors are two American souls that are aware of our fading dreams, and I know they want more, they know they want more, but like so many before them and surely after they feel trapped and know not how to let it all go and create a new way of existing. Sadly their stories give me a validation for not wanting to settle at this point in my life. To keep adventuring until I find something that sticks, or till I fall in love so hard that I can never turn back. This trip has been a constant flow of falling in love and then having to leave it all behind. My friend T suggested that all of the love I have found that I have to let go may be closely tied to my yearning to let go of the existing hold my mothers death and overall abandonment has left on me. So it goes. I will never trade falling in love, being overwhelmed with passion and having to leave it all be hind for complacency.....never. Until my heart stops, I will seek for my soul. 

Chasing the sun pt 1.


Wed. October 3rd.

Trailing the Wisconsin rails, I finally see Autumn in full effect. Racing yellows, reds, orange, fading greens and blue sky highlight my eyes as music has never sounded so sweet. I watch softly as I dream, as I read, as I imagine I create. What a world. This is beautiful. The sun is fading and the lighting is so perfect. Black birds swim in the air to make the scenery that much more perfect. I am ok with this, I am perfectly fine. Something very right at the moment. Could it be my exist from the overwhelming east coast experience, the rough and buff cities. An exit, a chance to start a new? Only a two weeks left and I am off. I am off to see another land, distant from the east. Same language of course, but I predict a different energy, a new vibe.
God I can not get over these colors, like a matador coming straight for my heart. It has be falling flat on the floor and wishing I could share it with someone. Fuck that, I know this is my moment to be with god. To know beauty, to get high and to be still and excited with travel. Surely someone knows what I mean, and if not it is all the more reason to spill my overflowing guts with as many folks as I can. This passion is so special, I just know it. I wonder how I would exist without it? If everything else stayed the same but my passion died....... numb, I would be numb. Sometime I am numb with passion. I am working on disecting this issue so I can come unravelled and fall in love with myself over and over and over again without needing someone to share it with.
The silhouette of an abandoned amusement park. Like a time of dreams and silly life rides fading into darkness as memories of a place are now an illusion to those who have moved on. A ghost of a the past, a place you can no longer visit. And now another brief memory for me to stick into words that I may or may not ever read again. Still, it is for you, it has always been for you. Without you for me to share, I am as lost as a golden turtle in a rainless desert.....
Oh my, these dark strawberry colored trees are melting me. Simply outstanding. This is the closest to nature I have been in some time, and I can tell I need it. Hopefully I will get to spend some time outside of Portland frolicking with the fairies and dry leaves. Hopefully I will not get caught up in writing on my typewriter and falling in love with strangers, and instead go fall in love with nature. Again and again.

The train is chasing the sun. Speeding west, trying to hold onto daylight for as long as we can. This extended sunset gives lights to small communities and rather large farms. I wonder if they have grown accustomed to such beautiful evenings where falling suns give way to harvest rainbows. I hope not. I will choose to think that they continue to live this way for these impeccable evenings, rather then doing it because it is all they know. I do not ever want to find myself doing something because it is all that I know to do. However, I suppose my decade in the restaurant industry would suggest that is what I know.... career wise anyways. Something more is heading to my door. Bigger, I dream bigger. I know it to be true, it has to be. It feel right. I worry sometimes that if I think about it so much that I will dissolve the possibility of it happening. As if my manifestation curses me. Weird, I know. Still I just believe that rarely do dreams come true exactly how you see them coming true in your head. No reason to be discouraged, but more reason to just work hard and fantasize less.
It is starting to get dark now, I think I will drink some water and make an almond butter jelly sandwich. I attribute my favorite traveling meal to a certain untouchable women whom came into my life, and stayed in my life, and my heart. Ms. Joy, if you are reading this, I hope you know my dreams have gotten bigger ever sense you took the time to love me and believe in me. Thank you, now time for ABJ ;)

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

When all else fails, keep going, and wait.

When all else fails.
Just wait.
Be patient.
Wait...... you will see.
You will overcome.
I overcame it today.
I was bruised.
I was torn.
I wanted to give up.
I hated myself.
I hated my situation.
I hated the thought that I will be coming back to Colorado with nothing.
I was uncomfortable.
I was annoyed at other people.
I did not like life.

I kept going.
I got off the train.
I strolled my office a mile down a busy Chicago street
I stopped and ate a sandwich
I drank water.
I felt a little better.
I found a spot
I set up shop
I wrote a poem for a lesbian
I felt better
I breathed.
I got smiles.
I felt a little better
Time went by
I wrote love poems
I felt a little better
I wrote more poems
I met more people
I watched pretty girls
I smiled pretty girls go by.
I felt better
I met visionaries
I was given art work
I felt better
I smoked
I felt better.... but guilty.
I saw the sun shine
I felt better
I felt better
I felt good
I was okay
I was happy
I made some money
I felt better
I talked about death
I felt better
I surprised myself
I felt better

I do not like doubting myself.
I do not know if it is the act of doubting myself that I dislike, or the fact that I know I am doubting myself.

Sigh.
I always end up feeling better.
I am only down for a small period of time
Knowing this
I feel better.

Monday, October 1, 2012

Eyes West. Eyes closing.

It never gets old when you constantly are on the move.
Sure stability has its place, but I am embarking on a serious quest.
I can not take any prisoners when I am on the move.
Still have never given my heart so much in such a small period of time.
This is exhausting. This is spreading me thin. And this is making me strong.
How dare I compare myself to anyone ever again.
Was it once a ego based survival technique?
Looking down on someone
Looking up to someone
For the things they do not get
For the things I do not have
It serves no good purpose. I have to remember, I need to never forget..... Everyone has a story. Even if it lays softly compared to earth shattering lives, it is still a story.
Too think anyone walks through this life without at one point or another having a heavy heart is beyond me. How sad of a life that must be, to never carry weight, to never know what it means to survive, to hold on, and then to finally let go. Those poor souls.....

You have to be strong to be sensitive.
I am strong.
I am soft
I love, I do... I am in love, I am scared
I still disapprove with some of my choices, they are however my choices and my mistakes to make.

I am tired, this trip takes a lot out of me. I miss nature, I can feel meditation coming into my life again. I know how to ground myself a little better.... and I am tired.


Leaving New York today. Heading to Chicago to see my badass friend T, take a night to rest in a bed, to write, and to gather myself for a 46 hour train ride to Portland. This second stent here in New York has rocked my world. I have so much to reflect on, but I must first rest and gather myself before I can put it out there. Simple notes were that I walked a ton, I wrote over 400 original poems in 6 days giving most of them away. I made connections with Huffington Post. I partied a few nights with old friends. I ate mushrooms and watched the moon rise and change colors from a rooftop in Brooklyn. I talked about my mother. I made a believer out of a lost dreamer, I cried to myself about how intense abandonment is. I must rest now. I will be back for more later.




Saturday, September 29, 2012

round 2 part 1

Finally I left Montreal, it was a solid run. I kissed my sweet angelic French Canadian Burner one last time and we watched each others eyes water up.... A sweet goodbye.
I sleep on trains, and I slept the first 5 hours of this 11 hour trip, waking often to adjust, tell stern custom agents that my box had a typewriter, and to piss. My body is a mess right now from awkward sleep, and carrying all my gear around city after city..... meh, boo hoo.

The train ride was fine. I had a bunch of new music that my French gal gave to me so I enjoyed slightly meditating on that. The scenery was gloomy as it was raining the whole way..... another sleep aid.
Finally we got to Albany and I ran into an Aussie who was having a smoke break as well. We were instant buds, or I should say mate. Rad ass dude. Tim his name is. Train hopper, philosopher, DJ, dreamer, lover, poet, badass..... dude had stories. He was finally on his way back to New York to catch a flight back to Melbourne the next day so we set a date to go hang out at Union Square. I would type, he would read, we would switch rolls every once in awhile. We smoked, we drank, we shared, we criticized the zombies for wishing they were more dead. I loved him, he was my first brother on this trip. A soul rebel, traveling purist.... my friend, my boy. I wrote him a poem, he said he would cherish it forever, we will stay in touch, and I will see him again. My homie Tim, respect.

Time came to some kinda end, I had made a few bucks hustling poetry like I do, making friends and sharing shadows. Good experience, but I was ready to meet my Couch Surfing host at Columbia university, at a dorm..... yeah, I am currently in an Ivy League dorm.... it really is not a big deal, but I thought it might be.

Her name is Maria, the second name of my dear mother. She is literally the sweetest girl I think I have ever met. 20 years young, tri-lingual, film major, artist, darling..... how did I get so lucky. She immediatly was curious about me and my project and I was caught off guard by the immediate questions, but soon became flattered with the admiration she was showing. So up we go to the fourth floor where we walk to her room, say hi to some of her hall mates who probably can not help but wonder who this gypsy is crashing there dorm, but Maria had told them all..... she is so well prepared. She opens the door to her room, and I did not know what to expect.... but it is as basic of a single dorm room as you can get, and on the floor is a blow up bed with purple sheets, and fuzzy purple pillows.... ahhh.... purple. I felt very lucky..... she truly is inspired by me. I would lay my head to rest ready to conquer the big city in the morning.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

French Connection.

Another missed train.
Hipster corners in Montreal. They call it a cafe....  I call it appropriate.
Stars in her eyes, yes I have spent the last 3 days with a French Canadian beauty. Yes, it was amazing.
This could be a dream. She cries when she hears a violin, she has since she was a young child.

I still stress what is next, knowing that I should realize by now I will be okay.... still I stress.
Fame is not the goal, though it is a minor dream. Fame comes with wanting to share your story and soul with the whole world. I want my soul to be famous.
I will write love songs, and sad songs and you will never know the difference..... You can not control love, love happens, love is happening.
I have been in Montreal now for 5 days, I will not miss my third train tomorrow.
I spent last night celebrating my french beauties birthday. We ended up on the 8th floor rooftop loft of her friend who is a straight burning man G. Sound engineer, film director, 8mm, badass. I got to catch a glimpse of the city scape and watched myself fall in love again with travel, and the possibility of always venturing to new experiences... it is the way, it is my way. Love.

I took a 3 hour nap in a park, the ants were vicious but I did not mind. I listened as a fountain played white noise and called on the wind to fit my poetic mood. I napped for 3 hours as lingering conversations passed though my state of half asleep naps.

I saw an ex lover the other night, we danced. She is more beautiful then ever, I wanted to tell her but she has a boyfriend. Her eyes however suggested she was also happy to see me, and that she remembered how special it was. She was my first kinda girlfriend, and the best dancer I have ever dated. What a fairy.

The only thing I am addicted to is fairy blood.

I stayed two nights in a hotel with my French Beauty, paid for by her. She had just ended a long relationship and was couch crashing at friends.... we opted for hotels and privacy.... she took such good care of me. She even bought me a new pair of suspenders. Ahhh.... do I deserve such treatment? She certainly thought so.

I ran through the downtown of Montreal, it was a downtown. Some great architecture, still a downtown.

Montreal is first city I have been to out of the Untied States. It is absolutely French dominated, and they intend to keep it that way and push more so. I often was intimidated by my American status, however after a few social events where I got to show my dancefloor charm, I felt confident that any mild judgement on me would be lost in how freaking cool I am when I dance..... yes arrogant, but I needed that to push towards confidence of myself.

Life is swell, I can not wait to take on New York again. Time is running short and I am still struggling with waking to a new day with a grabbing how exciting life is right of the back. My body hurts from all my walking and awkward train sleeping. I need to pace myself early, stretch, breath, drink water and move slow. I know my pace will pick up, but I am groggy first thing.... it has been like this since I lost my mother 16 years ago. I am still stuck believing my frantic dream state is easier then what my waking life will hold for me that day.

And so it goes....
Overly passionate is not the right term, but I am almost insanely passionate... it makes me tired. I am overwhelmed always with all of this beauty and my desire to share it with everyone I can. One day at a time Ryan, one foot in front of the other. Work hard, please work hard. Say your blessings, you are blessed... we are blessed. Continue to share, inspire, believe, and know you are doing well. Head up, heart strong..... so it is, the life of a dreamers. I dream big.

Montreal, my dear.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Evening stroll

It rains. It pours. It stops raining.
The evening stroll.
The wet city of a foreign nature
The trees leak
The puddles gather in gaps
Wandering on.
A new street.
A newer perspective.
Pink scarfs
Flamboyant struts.
Poutine slobber
A lover from the past.
A smell ignited
This place I was, some time ago.
Jaguar games
Childhood remains
Stained liver
Cupids quiver

Friday, September 21, 2012

Pre Montreal Adventure Blues

A rainy day is all it takes.
Today is a day I feel set back.
I feel lost and uninspired
This all coming after getting the most social media attention I have received.
Maybe it is the partying and not getting laid thing. Maybe it is the weather. Maybe..... maybe I am lost in translation in this city. Maybe....

Perhaps I am unsure of myself at times.
Likely, I take things too personal.
Moreover, I want to nap, shower, and get the fuck to exploring.
Rain.
I feel lazy, and unsure... still.
I miss female companionship
I miss cuddling, and puppy dog eyes.
I need less nightlife and more sensual touches.
Less Dance floors, more cuddling please.
Montreal.
I knew I was just checking you out, and it was not suppose to be serious.
But honestly, I need a nap.
Then I will brace the wetness
And risk Jolene's and my safety
In order to share such words
And hopefully meet
Many a muse.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Lucid-Step and Lovers Quest

This post contains sexual content.

"That is, I do not want to lay it all out for everyone to see in some confusing light that may be too intense for the mild hearted (normal folk?)."

Music : Phaeleh "Lament"





I suggest you listen first.
You should surely watch, later
** please read this poem softly while music plays to get near where I was when I wrote it**

When I listen:

I think sex, deep sensual, mystic sex.....

I also think and feel
Romantic Ninja Saves goddess from forces of mystery
Ninja reviles himself to be lost lover
She thought no longer existed
They embrace
Magic moonlight dream
Ecstasy in eyes
Neck kissing
Toes curling
Moans of sweet, sweet harmony
Beat rolls on.
Clothes fall off.
Like stars in a wishing well
This a dream come true
Wind blows perfectly
Kisses are in sync
Chills, Chills, and more.... chills
Moonlight on her skin
Ninja has been waiting for this moment all his life.

When Bass drops he enters
Her Back bends
Moonlight dreaming
Magic breaths say it all.
Everything is perfect.
The dream of dreamers,
The dream of sexual romantics

Their motions are a dance
prince and princess
doing alien tribal motions
hitting kick drums
in euphoric harmony
stars are now shining brighter
when the time comes
she lays on his chest
stars twinkle to say thank you
for such an amazing show.


A quote I like, and why.

Quotes:


"Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good, it is about endurance. Like patience, passion comes from the same Latin root: pati. It does not mean to flow with exuberance, it means to suffer."
— Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves
** I have been looking for a way to some up the pressure passion causes. This made me happy, to know that the word itself is rooted in a struggle. I not to long ago announced to a bunch of people and a particular girl who was insanely beautiful and insanely hard on me that I wish to disperse my passion internally and with more patience. That is, I do now want to lay it all out for everyone to see in some confusing light that may be too intense for the mild hearted (normal folk?). Rather I wish to be still with it, let it swim and leak out in gentle flows that do not drown those surrounding me. This trip is proving to be an excellent exercise is patience and taking it slow, because truthfully there have been moments where I was so overcome with passion and emotion I thought I was going to burst into a mess of confetti and potentially poisoness candy like some mexican pinnate. And it is life and all of it's beauty, all of it.... so much of it!!! Oh no... it is happening now!  CABOOOM!!!
Come get a piece of me. It will either be delicious or poisoness..... maybe both.  **




Tuesday, September 18, 2012

The Writing Season

This is a write up from a dear friend.  Please visit her blog. She is as wonderful as her writing suggest.

www.thewritingseason.com





Feature Write #3: Ryan Ashley + Untouched Poetry
A few weeks ago at the Pearl Street Farmer’s Market, I grabbed my intended veggies and an unintended poem.
Just after filling my bag with spinach, red onions, garlic and honey, and just before entering Sexy Pizza, I noticed a line of people standing in front of a guy with an open suitcase, an old-timey typewriter and a sign that said, “Poems for Sale.”
Poems for sale?
I froze.
And zeroed in on this guy with suspenders and a hat, white t-shirt, rolled jeans and flip flops, who click-clacked words onto a little square piece of paper, pulled it out of his typewriter, and read his lines to perfect strangers who had given him their special order. There was a name or a subject on their mind, and he resourced the formless to give words to those things on, below and above the surface.
There was this couple going on and on about him TO him, and then there was this lady who, upon reading his poem, fell into tears.  I loved this moment.  She needed to be moved, and he moved her. After a sweet hug between the two of them, she walked away hunched into the supporting embrace of her friend, poem in hand.
Image
I’d never seen anything like it.
On the spot words.
Combined.
Just like that.
Ready to go, to be given away.
Just like that.
I could never do anything like that.  I think and re-think, and feel and cry and re-read and cry and try again, and walk around and go through tragedies before I can whip out a poem.  So, once I actually finish something, I usually harbor it for myself. I hold on tight.
But he put his words together in seconds, and then just…gave them away.
Just like that.
Well. I had to have one.
But I had no cash left, so I headed to the free-standing ATM which is located right next to the fresh squeezed lemonade stand and the live folk music. It was broken. How could it be broken?
And I remembered about the other ATM which is all the way down the street past the all-night coffee shop and right in front of the old house that has been converted into an attorney’s office.  This attorney got a bright idea and stuck an ATM outside his front door so he could make a few weekend bucks off the farmer’s market goers.  I guess his suitcase was open too. His sign should read, “Cash for sale.” I was thankful for his bright idea.
After waiting FOREVER for the two guys and then the young mom to get their intended cash, I finally got mine and rushed back to the spot where poems happen.
But he was gone.  All gone.
A farmer’s market tragedy.
So, I plopped onto the steps in front of the blue house on Pearl Street aimless, wondering what I had missed.  Maybe the gods and the angels had some words for me that day, and if only I would have passed on the raw honey this week, I would have had the cash to fill his suitcase and a raw poem to guide my path.
But then he re-appeared.
“Are you done?” I snagged his attention.
“Yes. It’s so hot.”
“Well. I need a poem.” I didn’t give him a choice.
“Um, well, let’s..let me..I’ll bring my typewriter over to you in the shade. It’s so hot.”
And he wrote me a poem.
And we talked.
Turns out there was a lot of emotional energy in the air that day. He woke up feeling it, and sure enough, the woman who had read his poem, the one who left in tears, had come to a point in her journey.  She was 20 minutes away from having that conversation with her mother.  The conversation where boundaries need to take place. The conversation you shouldn’t have to have with your mother. For her own reasons, she had come to that decision, and the hour was upon her.  She would leave the Pearl Street Farmer’s Market, supported by a poem, and head to her mother’s house to tell her that she could no longer be in her life.
Heavy.
Turns out the poet was embarking on a journey of his own.  A 45-day trip across the United States via bus or train, to as many cities and as many farmer’s markets that would take him, his typewriter, “Jolene,” and their combination of words, magic, delight and energy flow. A 45-day trip to his unknown.
I don’t know why, but I mentioned that I teach journal writing.
“I need that.”
Turns out I didn’t need that cash after all.  We would trade.  The poem, in exchange for a few journal writing techniques.
This is my kind of life.  I dig this. I dig being with people just on the verge of their journey. Taking a risk.  Doing what they know they need to do.   Stepping into faith whether they know it or not.  Testing what they are made of.  Opening themselves to what may be real about them.  What may be true.  Finding things out about themselves that they never would have known if they wouldn’t have embarked on the journey. I’ve been on this road.  Still am, and it’s always worth it.  These journeys are the ones that, in the end, expand you, make you fuller, make you whole, tell you the truth, break you and then heal you.
We met on Thursday.  Green tea to keep us warm from the cooling Denver night.
Journals on the table ready to absorb all that there was in that moment.
Turns out he has some things to face.  Turns out his beautiful, loving, Spanish mother was murdered (in front of him and his siblings) by his father.  He was in junior high at the time.
Heavy.
After I named a few of the journal techniques, he felt drawn to the “Cluster” technique.  Says he’ll use it on his journey.  Says it expanded his mind.  Says it gave him information that was good for him to know. I think that’s what he said.  Maybe it’s just what I heard.
But.  He liked it enough to come back for more.  We met again at Mici in Cherry Creek North where we both enjoyed an adventuresome “List of 100.”
He left the next day for his travels, wanting to devour the universe, typewriter in hand, blank paper in his pocket, ready to be filled with words to be given to farmer’s market goers, who will show up on a Saturday for their intended veggies and leave with an unintended poem.
Just like that.
A POEM FOR A MENTOR:
“TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY
ONE THAT WILL NEVER COME.
WE WILL SURELY CHASE THE DREAMS
AS IF THEY’D HURT US.
WHEN WE WAKE UP
FROM THIS MADNESS OF TRYING.
OUR WORDS WILL FEATHER OUT
INTO A FOREST OF PERSPECTIVE.
GIVING US THE FREEDOM WE SEEK
TO BECOME ONE WITH THE GOD I CONSUME.”
~Ryan Ashley, Untouched Poetry