Tag: wordpress

A Year in Reflection

I’ve done a lot of thinking the week leading up to this day about yesterdays, childhood, adulthood, change, and progression. And as the sun drifted into sleep, I could hear the whispers of the wind as the storm walked around Shreveport last night. I stood on my porch and thought again about this past year and whether or not I’ve grown any. The night was a peaceful calm despite the loud conversations going on between thunder, waving trees, and rain drops. They had a message for me I knew, and had been sent as the first to give me a birthday shout.

Thank-You

As I continue to build and to network and socialize with all of you talented people out there, I would just like to give a special S / O to everyone in the blogosphere who has supported this blog, continues to support this blog, and contributed in any way to its growth. I really do appreciate each of you. I’m twenty-eight years old today and as I grow, I hope that you can grow with me and together increase in the productivity of our writing / blogging goals. If the number eight is symbolic of new beginnings, who know what this year has in store. Perhaps I’ll live long enough to tell you about it.We’ll see.

Give Me Life

Backgrounds_Windows_7_-_Source_of_life

Your words are beautiful
the way you paint them.
Tie descriptions around waterfall,
Walk us through frowning mirrors and smothered air,
And then auction them off to our fondest senses.
Touching us gently enough to resurrect imagination,
you have talent and you know it.

Cracking open heaven so that we may feel
what it’s like to sleep on top of clouds
or rightly discern what a teardrop taste like,
for we glide along in the melting pot of your splendor.

But your words do not live,
nor do they bring forth life.
I can hear the sirens of an acrylic woman
drowning in her own salt water…
Can you help her?
Will your words assist her in their beauty?
Your words suck the breath from our lungs with its daintiness
the Picasso of Poems,
A hanging Mona Lisa of walking glamour…
Except what I see
are lynched portraits
pretending to swing delicately
from the trees you attached them to.
A jump rope fantasy of tree houses and hopscotch.

I can smell the sizzling fragrance from miles away,
But beauty is just simply not enough for me.
I need to know that before time hugs my flesh,
before the gravediggers begin their song
Can I count on your words to CPR me into its arms?
Or perhaps,
I’ll just remember how beautiful
you are.

Henry Maybury (#Featured)

The re-blog fun continues! Check out Lauren Marie’s first ever interview, with Henry Maybury, a new up and coming artist with a twist. Henry set up a charity following the death of his brother, who lost his battle with alcohol addiction and all proceeds of his music goes to this charity! Check it out!

The Crick

Short, sweet, and to the point. Love the message Van. 🙂

vanbytheriver's avatarvanbytheriver

It was the forbidden place. A small creek at the end of our unpaved alley.

Filled with all sorts of dangers, it was our second home. The parents might have known about it, and looked the other way.

There was a primitive tree house, a rope swing, a log bridge over the water. tree-house-rope-swing

There were also small snakes, frogs, biting insects of all kinds, and as we learned a bit too late, poison ivy.

All that aside, it was paradise, our everyday summer destination.

The pictures shown here are very similar, but not the real thing. It did not exist, so how could there be actual photos?

It was not gender-specific, it could never be. There were too many alpha females in the hood.

There were no passwords, no secret handshakes, no rules. If you and your friends got there first, it was yours, at least for an hour or…

View original post 66 more words