Posts Tagged Poetry

Another little mashup of words one might call poetry

It’s weird, yesterday, and a world away…

another’s fear story, promise of tomorrow

replaced, four seasons, Lacking influence

finding again, myself breathes

Love, renewed, burns brightly

inspiration, motivation, hope


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And that’s Australia.

On my final eve of what has been a great highlights tour, through a fair amount of places in about five weeks. The few little side-steps I have made will probably turn out to be the most memorable…

Sydney, Sydney in Brisbane.
and Melbourne, in different ways, you both stole my heart!
Great ocean road and the less than twelve apostles, stunning, didn’t see that coming.
Beautiful blonde Cairns, you will always be; bringing an old vision finally, to life!

Mardi Gras beginning, to the great reef finale. All that “Magic” packed throughout!
Knowing more magic is just ahead,
the nomadic ram roams on…






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departing tucson

Channel surfing. disgusts me.
The place dreams go to die
attempting to distract
dominating thoughts, failing
blessed by our experience;
I go because it was my
plan, also you asked. if only
you’d say, I would stay, forever
I could say, love, all that
is, yet doesn’t endure. missing
something unsure of what, it is.
not worth effort displayed, despite
what’s been declared. scream of
confusion nowhere, now here
declare your desire, be true to
you, doing you. can I not be there
for, all my desire, you.

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Sunshine this morning helps
blue sky mind clears, life breath
fly free, hawk-like even. raised
awareness, heightens senses
chills the bone from the passing
cold, erect nipples. Feelings, soul,
flow comes from good, embrace it.
strength unseen, unknown, renewed
light, dandelion seed like, I feel flow.
turn from, the negative, it fails to


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monotony of the mundane

going from, never felt like
I have less to hide, feeling undone
raw, stripped. colder weather
is better a reason, numb. finding unavailable, exhausting. takes
toll, expectations looming
arriving that, not, exciting moment
all fall. was easy, will be renewed.
All trying to prove a point, not even there.



Retrograde release

Beautiful lady abundantly radiant
full again, peace love and joy
welcome return, from recent
chaos overstayed it’s welcome
beyond initial understanding
acquired, move toward
the calm of tomorrow
A new creation, expression
even still as is present.

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why not?

having stumbled my way upon half three of

what turns up to be an escape, contemplate clouds

arousing thought like most currently eludes

fear, feeded from dark rock and awake beautiful

reality consumed. Love soul peace brightens-our

illusion show, ways to happiness of choice

desiring more to see truth, clearly before

it, appears a box from places no longer

valid, fearful history consumes, experience

if peering through a dream that clings tight

breeze through sporadic hiccups emerged

understanding of limitations uncovered

unfolding gratitude indeed, naturally.

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Even more ramblings (and a Poem)

How long will the illusion of democracy and equality in this country last?

The Eye-Opening Study Every American Needs To See.

Along the same theme of some recent posts; here is another poem, from a beautifully amazing soul. (Originally published, here.) I have shared it here with permission (and restoration) from the author.

Capitalism Calls Poetry Lazy
Overcast day long slack sleeves pale in February
walking through Feldman’s Neighborhood
Tucson small adobe houses terra-cotta that one’s prune-colored
the rough potholed smell of dog shit and barking of different
sized dogs stop. Traffic signal and cast a shadow in the bike lane.

Last night when we were high upstairs I said, “No one’s their understanding” and step
over broken trilobite shells scarlet

cement flecks brick wreckages the desert’s color alive.
Not easy to get the thoughts they don’t come out real, a poetic imperative
I’m asking whose voice I give my authority
to think inside me and make real my state of truth.

A belief is something akin to
a photograph taken over a forced open window.
Of course, everything in my mind isn’t from my instinct, “isn’t America”

that idea’s an imprecise blank of culture, think
when do I if I do will I know I’
m writing this from my disappointment, not yours.

The New York Times: Syria In Catastrophe, but I
’ve known, The First World’s selling
its immune system
to the
same customers
it tears to pieces
I’m eating an éclair.

In this café again, Café Passé, every poem
I’m interested in making I picture in Nazareth, The café
is abuzz with White people’s self-filled conversations,
their faces in pearly gypsum cell-phone lights, they speak
with the philosophy of a pop song

and their politics tenderless,
the ones capitalism calls a poet lazy with
Do any of their sentiments
have sovereignty? Do mine?

It’s my 5th Nazareth poem so I write “I want my mind an armed revolution,”
the self tells my thoughts a map of the room, my eyes riot and leak

a glacier
of burdened river light lengthening me
because I have always missed the world
like this:

a face leaning from off its architecture:

But it’s not that that stops me
stops myself: It’s the thought that
we believe what we tell ourselves, we
live stolen, who you would have been, taken
underground of your culture
and the thoughts
you have are not yours.

Tucson, 2013

by Brecht Welch

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a beautiful insight

…from a beautiful soul. Give this a read, may just help you to understand something about yourself.


Blessed Samhain.

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