"So fleeting,

the feelings that need to be written,

so we try,

lest we forget,

because we can end the story

right here.

But the writer didn't quit,

there's more than just words

to be conveyed,

painted.

So coast,

let the feelings become a little older,

bolder, embolden the taste

and let your mind

slip into space

where much will be needed,

actual space,

for too much had happened today,

looking for a place to be.

Matter of fact,

every little thing

had it's own story,

poetry to be painted for,

but the encompassing tone

is the gratuity of it all,

the gravity of thanks,

given time and again,

and how that can make

heartfelt words

turn empty.

A day

full of so many happenings

can dilute

the flavor of each herb;

the finite details 

of a singular moment

crowded by 

too many spices.

The palate becomes overwhelmed,

tastes come all sides, 

pungent, 

assaulted with bitter flavors,

or salty experiences. 

Even the savory, slow

succumbing to sweet memories

can lead to sour smiles.

Too strong a concentration

on the subject of flavor,

and you lose the whole picture,

the entire day.

Exertion, 

parading down the street,

or a humble pawn in the presence

of greatness,

balance is best

to appreciate the meal, if you will.

To appreciate every moment,

and the entire day they build."

Many Burning Candles 

Many burning candles

side by side

become soon

one flame

-saiom shriver-

 

 

http://i.ytimg.com/vi/kIDxDoR7r_w/hqdefault.jpg

they call me pregnant patti,

cause i'm always having a baby,

i spend my life in pregnancy,

no ifs, ands, buts, or maybes,

maternity clothes are all i've worn,

for twenty seven years,

i still can dance and even at times,

i'll drink quite a few beers,

i gave birth as of yesterday, 

i'm waiting for a period

1:09 PM 6/22/2013 ©

We’ve been reading too many books

lately. Blatantly, not trying to create

recently. Evidently, we’ve been letting others

absurdly run the story of you and me

in trying to be, when we already are,

freely entrapped within our own systems,

circles, and propriety of competition amongst society.

You can blame society,
but it’s simply you and me
in relation.
You and me, and him and her and them and us.

We’re in this together, now.
Each infinitesimal drop of murky water,
forming, ostensibly, the flood. Not one splash feels
the responsibility,

consequently we blame, and

haughtily criticize, rationalizing it
in our minds.

Lazily, we evaluate others stories, finding frailties,
unaware of the intricately subtle reflection of our own
Imperfection.

-Ryan K. Fuller