Return

I thought there were angels!
Every polished tile floor, numbered,
Held more, patient there, watching
Over me, who had been far gone,
Someone, I think I knew, called me,
“Come back; there’s no time to leave,
Yet,” I was sent unwilling, not of my
Volition. Pain, it was all too much,
Nothing was left I wanted – touch.
Reality was a terror-filled dream,
Oh, so, awful – rigid deadly thing.

Waking, on pristine white sheets,
Hooked-up, white walls even in
The reflection of a light slice bounced,
Through the half-open windowed door,
Pulling loose, crumply legs – shaken,
Securing myself, balanced over feet.
Thousands, whispers, voices
In the air, surrounding everywhere,
Steps slow to the door, an angel
There waiting, noticing me, “Do you
Hear something?” Tones, soft, deep.
My eyes searching, not seeing as I turn,
This, that way, some trick, the sound,
“Yes, I hear speaking, yelling, but they
Are not here, present, anywhere.”
The angel with a half-smile, “It’s okay,
You’ve come back. You’ll be safe.
Settle, stay.” I thought, ‘Not an angel
After all, cause my life, more often,
Disaster loves than ordinary days.’

I tried to write about waking up in the hospital after days; they say I nearly died or could have stayed comatose. Instead, I got a chorus, and I have learned to live somehow in and out of time.

Cry It Over

Forgive me the moments
When I become lost beneath
Feelings which cut all
Reasoning off, I retrieve
Myself with tears, singing, prayer,
The revelations
That cast out paranoia, fear;
I hope you avoid
All those “cracks in the fabric,”
But you know my thoughts wander;
Happiness, standing
In the storms of desperation,
But crying to sing
Praises, although the brokeness
Will never leave, disappear.
I learn, learn again,
That life is overpowering –
Sometimes hearts bleed out,
I apply pressure, bandages,
Hoping God will fill the lack;
I do not own my
Faith, Jesus is love for everyone,
But He maybe loves me so,
Stops my hand when I come undone,
It is not a pretty story, fighting crazy –
Is hard luck, but there must be
Some purpose, for here I remain.

I cannot describe for you all there is in what troubles me at times. Once in awhile I attempt to put Schizoaffective Disorder into words. I am not good at it. Recently times are very trying, though there is the mania too. Maybe it does not matter to others. I do not know. I just write what I am given when I am given to know.

As a prompt, you might create something about a challenge you face. It could be a food allergy, a learning impairment, a thing you must conquer, anything really. The thing with this is to open yourself to see the strength in your weakness, and possibly gain courage from sharing.

It seems to me, we all need to be real. If we want to come closer to peace we have to understand who we are. Weaknesses and faults are part of that, being transparent.

Specs

When we choose to create, whole universes rise to meet our inclination, which can, on occasion, be intimidating. What we know about process, creation, may not lend itself at the moment to production. Time may swirl its vaporous fogs around us. We may need to filter the nectar from the dew.

A useful tool for creative sessions we find in music. Often, we have many favorites and find it fortuitous to add artists to our listening consistently. There are numerous choices in ways to find and enjoy music these days. Every taste meets ample representation.

An exercise one might do, is to take a song well enjoyed, enter it, imbibe its mood, let the lyrics move the spirit; then write, paint, create something original from what one finds in the experience. Music is heart and soul; it is a gift always filling lives.

Equally, photos can be a catalyst for inspiration. Looking through photos offers a bevy of ideas. Personal and family photos, magazines, Instagram, and other online services should serve well enough. Create as whim and wish may direct.

Random words found in various places can be material to seed many works. Dictionaries, quotations, thesauri, signs will work, or pick some out of the air.

There is never a dearth of creativity; it infuses every portion of reality and imagination. The trick is to harness it and make with it some beauty to honor who we are in the world. At times like these, love is sorely needed and can be delivered expertly through our creations.

Excellent Zeal

The movement of stars
In the firmament of the sky,
Reminds me of how
Your eyes shine with radiance
When you express your passion.
What you are living,
What you love, every treasure,
That moves you to speak;
These things that inspire your heart
Stand with you against the dark.
Everyone has times
They shuffle away from where
Their miracles lie,
But I have seen you become
More than who you were before.
You have the lights turned
High on the goals you must seek,
There is no stopping
Until you find yourself complete
Your soul carries you everywhere.
Bathe in the fountain
Under the moon shining bright,
Know you provided
Encouragement needed to
Help others discover delight.
All who go this way
Live one with the beloved –
Those chosen and set
Apart, who exist in emotions
Deep, wild, free, called to create.
The movement of stars
In the firmament of the sky,
Reminds me of how
Your eyes shine with radiance
When you express your passion.

Where Will We

Be tomorrow when
We leave this present behind?
Is there much future
Left for us to find, explore?
We may not know anymore.
Creativity
Beckons with many prizes,
But will we survive
The breaking down of culture,
The wrestling for position?
Ah, superstition
Reckons itself mighty in
The material
Sphere, naming one this, one that,
Begging as it puts on hats.
We need must make peace
With what we experience
Now, somehow, someway,
Or it becomes our portion
Of unquiet yesterday,
Bleeding all over
Present, future being, leaves
Us constant struggle
With only hope to battle
For who we ready become.
We founded ourselves
Among the bold, the rebels,
Those who employ love
To conquer the multiverse
And so, we must continue.
Life swears us nothing
But serves us what we gather
In its give and take
Our dreams, plans, only matter –
If we choose to make them so.
Tomorrow awaits
With a bright, fresh countenance –
Likewise, we may go
Into the fair abundance
Free of angst, full of good cheer.
It is ours to choose
In our freedom, who we are,
Who we will become;
In doing, we can create
A refuge of lovely peace.