Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Trisha Dunn’

Image

©2014TrishaDunn

What do we do when our cameras break?
The words we create no longer take a visual stake.

Unfortunate inability to capture what’s seen, it is sad
We take up out roots-our calling is calling “pencil” and “pad.”

With broken hearts and broken camera parts
We discover something long ago lost- our true hearts.

There on the reprocessed tree slow-quick lines appear to thee
Peer, pear, appear, erase, smudge, disappear-push that pencil, just “be.”

The art-ache illness in our hearts started that famished lead to dusty paper
Whether heart hides in pictures, sculpture, words or blogs- it is our maker.

We share for reasons the “normal” don’t, refuse to and will never fathom
For people like us, we’re lettered sad, self centered, “different” or maddened.

Addiction, release, second nature it may be, or our outlet to bleed
Fellow artists, writers, bloggers… Do not EVER stop giving into that need.

(Many blessings, love to you. May your blogs, hands and hearts always be full.) ~poetry and artwork copyrighted©2014TrishaLDunn.

Read Full Post »

Lost but found in a sea of rolling thunder
So dark
So light
 
In a space
between time
and space
 
Her ship sailed
blown by dirty earthworms breath
Governed by
Distress
 
Wrecked, torn
The ship no more
Landed on alien shore
 
She walked… fast
Leaving behind the broken mast
Fast
 
fisherman
 

Read Full Post »

Tired, so freakin’ tired of the same crap different day.

Sure, you’ll change; but only when I change.

Don’t live in the past he says. Then he brings up an hour ago.

WTF? is my latest brain  zap, Saying as Rain Man did but in my head repeatedly

Counseling, “yes” then “no” he says.

Trying to get out of it he says, “remember b4 when we went? they r going say u have a problem!”

“Me? Have a problem?” Great! Bring the new problem on I say! My problem isn’t m

Image

e dummy. It’s you…

You’re something I can’t cure, or self-help but inflicted through another read book.

You’re something alright, just the wrong kind of something.

And, you’re literally KILLING me….

 

Read Full Post »

Copyrighted2005-Present.TrishaDunn.AllRightsReserved.Today I’m stuck in that time zone that no one likes to be in. It is the time between times where regret, loss, and yet hope and faith all fit in.

The what ifs, could be, did that, don’t do that all crowd into the same place and feel like a never-ending weed in the sidewalk that returns and returns.

You catch yourself looking at pictures, looking at other people who work in your field, you compare yourself to many, many mirrors in the hallway that all have a different reflection. And although each reflection was a satisfying image, at that time, today it appears incomplete.

Today is a day where two hands are not better than one. One will do the job, and the other keeps tempting, turning, and covering.

Read Full Post »

Here I rage against
the dying night
as one great poet once reminds me.

I sit and sink
I’m reminded of the stink
that today came when so did company.

Words were like a surgeon’s steel
No tears shed were like a hidden ghost’s sunburn peel
And yet I too stood there in the vast black emptiness.

Later to my angst I stood awake
next to a lover who wished for sleep to overtake
too the couch I slowly crept, still reminded of what today I had not wept.

Survival, betrayal, new names, regret
wanting and wishing, yet never to get
all these and more the words of today’s work now a reminder.

No sleep for me this hour
maybe none either the next
Just me and the black hole to get cozy with for what was not wept.

Read Full Post »

it’s been too long since I’ve posted anything. there are excuses but what good are they to say?
i need to refocus, readjust, and start writing again.
has anyone else become so engulfed in the doldrums of life that they forget the one or two things, like writing, that is something of a love? there’s no ‘like’ involved there. yet, we sometimes forget and neglect the very essence of our selves.

Read Full Post »

Eyes crossing, blur in my words.

Lucky to have had typing class.

Can meditation become typing with eyes closed, or would Buddha differ?

Dog is snoring, husband is emotionally drained.

Does he not realize we all are out of emotion?

Parents are lovely when they still put you down as a grown adult.

Yet, in their eyes, words are just words.

Yet, to this author, words are a sword, a bullet, and brain all in one.

Nightime sinks into me fast; bartenders must have all the luck?

A mother I am, a mother is to me. Does that matter?

I think sometimes more or equally.

I hear so many, “I wish(es)…” about what was or should have been.

Yet, if ye got what ye wished for ye would still wish.

A waterfall is beautesque. Spell check says “wrong!”

Beautesque could be pretty and beast in one.

Life giving, life taking, and ignored yet free for all to see, drink from or leave.

A city hums like a well working bee hive.

Amazed at the need for no car, imagining the money one could save.

If so many are living the city life, what is this poor economy?

Or, is it a way for Washington to obtain a paycheck raise?

This poem is going awkward, but let it bee.

Maybe this is not poetry, but we are the poetry and life writes us. Line by line.

Letter by letter we are born one by one, 25 of us on replay. Making us not so unique; all the same just different too.

Will Smith turned 7 Pounds from a Pursuit of Happiness yet one movie had less than 7 dollars as and issue and the other movie had happiness being sought after in connection.

Another famous person looked of jungle in the asphalt, the marrying a millionare was move-quality, trying to make Sense Out of Life while Monkey Business pre-premiered.

Eons, decade,  skin color, genitalia and technology apart, yet these two actors had it figured out and wanted to create, write, act, display and show the world what it’s all about.

No, no fantasy, no 3d blue smurfs, just plain ‘ol effort and art on display; inter-connected through something some say, “there ARE NO mistakes.”

I gave respect; I got none back. I tried, tried again; still nothing. One decade, I spoke to Jesus personally and my life literally thrived from end-to-end; I was a shining example of reward. Then, the basement crumbled and everything slowly fell away with it into a dark black hole of pain and emptiness that haunts, leaves for a while, and becomes a stepping stone for some to use to cause me more pain. As one commenter said, “life sucks.” Yes, I agree. One book read that the character thought she was on earth living in her own personal hell. If Jesus can redeem, then where was he when….       the list is long. But also, where was Gandi, Buddha, Moses, Abraham, The Trinity, Mar

y, Allah and the rest of the clan? Are they at Java Dreams?

I can see my rambling is going nowhere. However, maybe it has touched some soul out there waiting for the words to be said so he or she could stop thinking it. Well then, it’s posted. It is said.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »