Tag: #writing

Just Write

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I’m sitting here in a coffee shop, slamming back caffeine, trying to get my creative juices flowing, it’s not going so well.  I mean there’s Jazz playing in the background, I’m sitting in a cozy chair and it’s just me and my keyboard, what more do I need? My only motivation came from reading another blog earlier that mentioned “a blank page won’t write itself”, it was only then I started hitting keys.  Thing is, I overthink my writing a lot which is my achilles heel, it sometimes holds me back from just making an entry.  I mean I started this blog to share my thoughts, feelings, and reactions, to the world around me so why not just do that? I have it built up in my head that it has to be this refined, polished, and well thought out post which holds me back. I know, I know, foolish to think that way but it’s honestly the way I am.

We all draw upon our own inspiration and as a blogger, my next post is always my main focus just as soon as I hit publish on the one before it, anyone out there relate? Thought I’d, mention that the blogs that I follow are one way I like to stay motivated, their creativity, their output, and the fact that they all have their own niche is what drives me to keep going, thanks for that.

I’m glad there’s a community of writers that choose to share their talent, it’s awesome in general that people continue to do what they love and are also brave enough to release it to the world, it’s not easy. Don’t let anything get in the way of sharing the real you, life as you see it, it’s a shame to deny everybody that.

I’m going to continue to do my thing and write, no matter what about, no matter why, I’m going to “just write”.

P.s. You matter…

 

The Inside Chair

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The inside chair was always where,
I felt the most at home.

I’d rush to dinner, always the winner,
to sit on my dining room throne.

Argue your matter, try with the flatter,
this spot was mine alone.

If you sat in my place, or stole my space,
Grandmother would make it known.

I sit no more, like i did before,
time has only shown.

That the inside chair is always where,
i’ll miss about my home.

Not Even a Whisper

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It’s still no matter that desire exists, I keep lying to myself.
Surely something must distract your sound sleep as it does for me.
That unlocked door has remained ajar for so long now,
a little light still glimmers against the ingress of doubt.
I remain indignant, stuck in this emotional vacuum devoid of what matters, screaming, bawling, through the hubbub, alone in quietude with not even a whisper to keep me content.

 

Three’s Company

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It’s been awhile now since I have posted anything other than a poem as of late, but I just had to share this. So, I’ve been watching Three’s Company for the last few days (OK, that just dated me) and it’s been quite the unexpected nostalgic experience, and soooo funny. I found this YouTube channel that has all the episodes, I have been binge watching each one of them before they get taken down. Jack, Janette, Chrissy and the Ropers were on a lot at my house when I was growing up and it’s been bringing up a lot of fond memories the more invested I’ve become.

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If I remember correctly, the show was usually on just after suppertime, my Pop was always planted firmly in his chair, he loved him some Jack Tripper. My Nan just finishing the last of the dishes, the same time each evening, everyday, we were all waiting to see what Jack and the gang were up to. What misunderstanding will be misunderstood on tonight’s episode? I remember vividly, my aunt and uncle who had just gotten off of work from the fish plant and them both still having a distinct perfume of fish that would usually whisk pass my nose. My aunt always did say how brutal it was trying to get rid of the constant tinge of the fish, after a twelve hour shift. I will never forget that. Yes, we would all consume the living room, trying to score a spot on the tiniest of couches, some resorting to the arm of a love seat, maybe the coffee table or lastly, the floor. All this didn’t matter, shhhhhh……the theme song has started,”Come and knock on our door”….

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It’s true, the fondest memories can be drawn from the simplest of things, for me it was this TV show. It brought the nostalgia completely out of me, made me think about people I haven’t thought of in awhile, it was nice. The same is hard to do these days in the same context with the accessibility of digital content, and how sitting around the TV the same time each week is not a thing anymore for most people. Direct, custom content although convenient, can also cause a disconnect where everyone usually retreats to their own devices, unfortunately it’s a thing. I think it’s important to make time for each other, create memories that will forever channel happiness. I know this is am example of screen time but it can be anything you want it to be. How nice it is when something puts a smile on your face? We can all use a little of that.

“Three’s Company: A Man About the House (#1.1)” (1977)

  • Stanley Roper: Look at that crack in the ceiling. …
  • Helen Roper: The party didn’t cause that.
  • Stanley Roper: Oh yah. …
  • Helen Roper: It was the earthquake last year. …
  • Stanley Roper: Exciting?
  • Helen Roper: Yah, it was the first time our bed moved in years.

Yeah, it’s that kinda comedy, but you know what? I’ve been having a good laugh these past few days watching the pure genius in physical comedy that was the comedy of John Ritter, who we all know died way too early. My cousin Amanda, says that when she sees him on TV, he reminds her of me, lol.  All the cast were great, it was a perfect ensemble, a timeless comedy. Watching Three’s Company has been stirring up some pleasant memories for me, memories that will forever make me recall a simpler time in my life that I will hold dear in my heart for the rest of my life.

This blog was taped before a live studio audience.

Father’s Storm

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I wish this day away just like the many before it.
No matter how high the sun, that cloud will forever rain on me.
As I try to move on, the shadows creep alongside teasing a dark void.
My unhealed scars, they fester each time I’m reminded,
adding one more to an already weathered heart.

Someday Again

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Fist held against your chin staring beyond, adrift in recollection.
A ponder of well-being was the focus of those faraway eyes.
Rock…rock until contentment, unbroken ritual.
You miss, you worry, because you loved.
The tittle-tattle of your kindred always spawned a glow in your half-cocked smiles, your infectious being.
Dear grand, by and by with a simper,
someday again.

Those Shades Looked Better on You

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Your smile that day was the last,
when those shades looked better on you.
This the chance?
Sun high, mid-afternoon,
like yesterday,
memorial to me.

Continue reading “Those Shades Looked Better on You” →

The Static

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Suddenly the static…then nothing.
An alter-ego, unhinged.
Your split was misconceived,
as most would rather bathe in ignorance,
and wade in shallows of the misunderstood.

Dandelions to Babes

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Out the door, I pick up the pace.
Time to play…no time to waste.

Down the yard, tightrope the curb,
As I zipped up the road, not a “hello” was heard.

Along the path such a pretty site,
Dandelions, Dandelions like a sea of white.

Where did I go you must be starting to ask,
to my childhood friends where my youth was passed.

T’was her mother who greeted me each time at the door,
a humble sweet lady who I will always adore.

I will miss your dear smile for the rest of my days,
miss my best friend’s mother, miss the Dandelions to Babes…RIP

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Mildred Organ

Defeated

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Just when the sun peeks the brightest,
an eclipse takes aim right for it.
A smile protecting what’s left,
I take a knee.