Star Wish

Star Wish

More soul mate concept work. I have been reading Edgar Cayce's book on soul mates and was inspired to make this digital poetic image collage :)

©2010 L.Warren

Endless Monotony

Complex technology meant to make our tasks easier in fact has only made our lifestyles more complicated. What was wrong with the rising and setting of the sun, the highs and lows of the ocean, and the living cycles flowing beautifully with the natural order of Nature? There isn’t an I-Pod application that will ever come close to replicating what is real and alive. The tick-tock clock tells me another minute has come to pass and I feel as though I am watching a broken humanity from a high vantage point; treetop, mountain top, or perhaps the moon. I am staring down into a perplexing micro-machine world in a kind of delusional detached, fog-like state. People are such strange creatures, day in and day out, they scurry about like rats trapped in a cat’s cage, doing this, doing that, doing each other in a deadbeat routine. They call themselves “alive” but I mustn’t be able to see the “alive” part from this vantage point. I suffocate slightly as I swallow that thought and I shut tight my eyes to hold back tears on the verge of falling and I see a word etched deeply into the back of my eyelids, two word actually- ENDLESS MONOTONY…
©2010 L.Warren

Barefoot and Tomorrows

70 degrees today finds me in a tiny tank top and short shorts, my feet barefoot against the newly awakened ground, and the birds are orchestrating a song to announce the arrival of Spring at last. New shoots of twirling onion grass and Kentucky blue curl between my toes as I take a seat in a familiar spot by a favorite tree. The images painting pictures in my head are pure poetry but I can’t quite get them out and upon the virgin white canvases I have ready in my studio, so for now I bleed words loudly onto paper to heal the hurt in my heart and head.

A view of the cemetery across the way reminds me those collective granite and marble stones commemorate those mortal tomorrows that have already come to pass for some people and where they are now is known only to them, but I know their souls are somewhere. A new spring yellow daffodil blooms in an unbeautiful location right next to an air conditioning unit. Her brilliant bright yellow petals are a blaze with new life and promise which contrasts sharply against the stark grey cold manmade thing she grows next to. The metaphorical meaning all these things hold for me is almost breath-taking and powerful-I feel slightly rejuvenated and less depressed. I feel hopeful.

The cemetery, the daffodil, the birds, and spring all serve to remind me of the promise of new beginnings, new life, new hope, and new possibility. We are but a moment so we must not be afraid to live a moment. I have a second chance, in fact it must be realized that life is full of second chances and we mustn’t be afraid to take them, to live them, and to hold them tightly in our hearts. There is no certainty what the tomorrows could bring except promises of new possibilities, promises of awakening, and promises of a fresh start. A tomorrow could bring me the possibility of a new pair of arms to lose myself in. A tomorrow could bring me a new smile to turn my strung-bow lips upside down and fill my heart with warmth. I know for sure that in the tomorrows to come I want to live fully.

Today is a beautiful day and tomorrow even more so. Tomorrow I may find myself with a paintbrush in my hand once again, but today the words satisfy me enough. In between the blue flat lines of cheap notebook paper I lose myself with my thoughts and emotions. The descriptive words I write are cleverly designed to bury your eyes in my dark inks. Writers design words for intrigue because reality often times paints a different picture of our physical presence, sometimes rendering us in the cool dull colors of boring. On the outside we all look the same even if we look different because on the outside we are all human.

Tomorrow reminded me today that we are more than just that, so much more. My words and my artwork are the real pieces of me. My art and writing are creations born from something found in the very core of my being, my soul. Our skin is just the sheath that holds our soul and sometimes we forget to look more than skin deep when looking at other people. Though our surface flesh may at sometimes be sewn together rather rudimentary, we have to remember that there is so much more there than just want we see on the surface.

I know my outside may be seen as pretty to some but my outside is also far more boring than my inside. While walking barefoot and thinking about tomorrow today I realized that I exist in the same way you do, as a human soul trapped inside a layer of flesh hoping there are other people out there who can really see me, for me. We exist like a pebble in a brook that no one knows is there until they step on it. No one knows you are there until they see you, feel you, breathe you, and connect with you. My words and my artwork serve that purpose for me, they connect you to me, and they allow you to see me truly as I am meant to be seen, from the inside, not the outside. It is a concept that too many people don’t consider today in this fast paced world and blinded world.

I have also realized today that tomorrow reminds me that we are all living just to die into immortality, and mortal tomorrows remind us that the bones and flesh fall away so we may never truly vanish from the whispering winds of time. We die and are always reborn into something new, what that means to me may be entirely different to you, but in one way or another tomorrow reminds us all that we all have one thing in common…tomorrow , no matter how different our vision tomorrow may be!©2010 L.Warren

A Matter of Time

Tick-tock time is the creator of change and Tick-tock time is a clever thief; a silent weaver and bleeder of our mind and our life. Time swallows times, devours itself continually like Ouroboros. The first day for us will always and infinitely be our last day because all things begin in order so they can end in order. Time reminds us that just as there is a beginning and an end, there also is not either of both and DNA is the time piece of Eternity-forever-always, growing, changing, and evolving with tick-tock time.

time

once remembered

now forgotten

initially praised,

insulted later

hopes eternal

suffering longer

only change is certain

up and down go together

just as

right and wrong

dark and light

day and night

good and evil

male and female

alive and dead

it is only a matter of time

wait awhile longer

only change is certain

rocks of ages

deserts only

sand and mountains all the same

monuments erected

ruins now crumbled

from dirt return to dirt

man lives to die

only to live again

ashes to ashes

dust to dust

birth to death

death to birth

all over again

only change is certain

in an eternal life

tick-tock time reminds us all

it is only a matter of time

wait a little longer

©2010 L.Warren

The Truth is the Lie Vice Versa

We create lies to make ourselves feel better, we devour them like junk food on blue mood days and pop them like pills to satisfy our need for emotional protection, to shield us from what hurts us so terribly-the real whole truth. We are not emotionally equipped to handle full blown truth or real hard pain. If we were the world would be a terribly cruel cold place. We live because we love and we lie because deep down we hate to hurt others and selfishly we hate to hurt ourselves.

My truth is, I find it hard to lie to others but I am great at lying to myself. I continually tell myself that “everything will be alright,” when really it isn’t, but there is comfort in the protection someone perceives to feel during the act of telling a lie-even to one’s self. My lies become the pillow fluff of the clouds cloaking the stars that are waiting to receive my wishes. Wishes made from vaporous desires, ethereal dreams, and secret hopes.

The truth is, I am terrified right now, I am totally alone without many friends I trust enough to count on. I miss home and I miss my family and I am stuck in a place where there is little left for me. Stuck in a house I bought before the housing bubble burst, stuck in a reality that is a far cry from the one I thought I would be living. I am thirty and that damn clock is tick-tocking away with my life right before my very eyes and there is nothing I can do to slow it down.

When you are thirty, forty comes quickly and the last thing I want to be is a single crotchety old cougar hag vying for the fleeting attentions of younger men or some cat collector without a real family of her own. I want to start over, I need to start over and I want to get my next relationship right but I am terrified of getting hurt. I don’t want to feel the sting of hurt and emotional torment anymore. It is suffocating and tormenting and I have had enough. I was told recently that settling for nothing is a lot better than settling for anything but how do you stop the ache your soul has for something when you settle for nothing?

I am so afraid…

It is spring, the season of new beginnings, the season of blooming promise and prosperity. The blossoms shade my red brimmed eyes with their soft thin edges just enough that no one but me can see the tears that I refuse to relinquish. Their soft thin edges are razor sharp with truth, a truth that cuts my heart in two like the harsh angry words I wish to scream loud enough for the world to hear but my throat is paralyzed by fear and will not open, except to swallow the whole real truth that suffocates my being.

My wishes are mingled with the blossoms that hang from the trees, wishes looking like marrow-sucked hollowed bleached bones… each unfolding petal, like pillow fluff clouds, grows to hide a certain truth, falsely promising me that everything will be okay.

everything will be okay...

©2010 L.Warren

Is it self-deception or is it self-deprecation? Perhaps reckless caring? What is it about humans that make change so hard for them to accept?
Viscerally I am aware of my own unsettling metamorphosis
Changes over time
cruel time
tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
I change, people change, nature changes, the world changes with every passing second
Real change is slow
tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tockdrip-drop, drip-drop, drip-drop
water collaborates patiently with time
against the surface of a stone
in its end, the stone loses to change
By imperceptible fractions a slow
alteration in a river's course is created by time.
The night sky fissures and rain falls
drip-drip, drip-drop, drip-droptick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
against the surface of this earth
raindrops fat and milky white in the lightof the full moon cascade in infinite numbers
from blue-black sky bringing change in every droplet
Thunder as violent as any shift in the San Andreas
rumbles with forever's truth
Humans deceive themselves in by believing they can control that which is beyond their control
Change is out of their control
Forever's Truth
Nature is time, time is Nature, Nature is God, God is truth
©2010 L.Warren

Want to Forget

Wolves born of contemplation
nipping at the heels of emotion
emotions saturated in
hurt and shades of blue
wolves chasing feelings from heart to mind
cruelly
whereupon I shall dwell on truth
truth stings my mind
I want to forget
thinking is a dangerous sort of
torment
I want to forget
ease the torment
of thinking born from
emotions and feelings
I want to grow numb…
©2010 L.Warren

Static Noise

too loud
static noise

bothersome

i hate it
swallowing the sanity of my mind
what little is left of it

static noise
looks like people
sounds like people

i am tired of people
and their
twisted ways
delusional thoughts
crooked points-of-view
tired, tired, tired
of
this static noise
tired of
people

©2010 L.Warren

Métis

To the New World from over the sea
upon the Mayflower came the Pilgrim in me

An English beginning followed by French, Irish, Welsh, German and Swedish
American Indian blood binding with this

European born ancestral lines of time
a blood that flows through me but does not define
ME
who I am, who I am meant to be

HUMAN

From Michael’s Island
comes the Ojibwe in me-the Aishinaabag
in my grandmother through my mother’s side
blood carried with pride

from mother too comes
Pennacook Abenaki
through my grandfather an adoptee

By way of Minnesota a long time ago
through my father’s line does flow
blood belonging to the Nehiyaw- The Cree
it flows, all of this blood, through me

American Indian born ancestral lines of time
a blood that flows through me but does not define
ME
who I am, who I am meant to be

HUMAN

Between two worlds I stand
with two views of this New World-this beautiful land
How do you choose the side on which you stand?

We are HUMAN together
Creating this inclement weather
People of Red
People of Yellow
People of Black
People of White
People that fight

I have turquoise eyes and white skin
I Identify with the white world- the white kin
but mixed blood, this Métis, is a conflict within

I understand where I come from
because it is what I am- what I have become
yet it does not define me
who I am, who I am meant to be

HUMAN

There is no crime
in being a human in this world in this time
We can be human together
and survive this inclement weather

I stand with a knowledge and perspective
of both sides and beyond
it is up to me how I choose to respond
to a world full of hate
We are human-a form of bipedal primate
with a higher intelligence that tells us NOT TO HATE

We have the same face
We are one race

HUMAN


We all stand with a knowledge and perspective
of all sides and beyond
it is up to us how we choose to respond

Relative of White
Relative of Black
Relative of Yellow
Relative of Red
Relatives of each other

Colors of our skin maybe different

but the color of our blood is the same
our life force our inner flame
burns always Red
and I now understand the word Métis can be shed

There is no such thing as mixed blood in a HUMAN soul
we are a humanity we all comprise the WHOLE
©2009 L. Warren

Quick History Lesson regarding this poem: Generally in academic circles, the term Métis can be used to refer to any combination of persons of mixed Native American and European heritage, although historical definitions for Métis remain. Canada's Indian and Northern Affairs broadly define Métis as those persons of mixed First Nation and European ancestry. The Métis (from French Métis - any person of mixed ancestry) are people of mixed ancestry, such as Nehiyaw (or Anishinaabe) and French, English, or Scottish heritage. According to Indian and Northern Affairs Canada, the Métis were historically the children of French fur traders and Nehiyaw women or, from unions of English or Scottish traders and northern Dene women (Anglo- Métis).

Triangles of Frau Lou

Oh, Louise Andreas-Salome did you put the trios in ménage trios?
Of you, of your mind, I am so in awe.
You the intellectual whore so misunderstood.
Oh Frau Lou to be like you, I wish I could!

What becomes of the female mind
when intelligence is to become so entwined?
A dangerous woman does it make?
Even Freud feared to be caught in your wake.

Oh, Frau Lou a lover of many men of great mind,
holder of a youthful beauty so pure it could blind.
The triangles of Frau Lou could once dangerously bind,
many a men of great mind.

Hendrik Gillot, Paul Ree, Friedrich Nietzsche, Frederick Carl Andreas,
George Ledebour, Frank Wedekind, Arthur Schnitzler,
Rainer Maria Rilke, Paul Bjerre, Vietor Tausk,
Adler, Carl Jung, Arnold Zweig,
Friedrich Pineless, Sigmund Freud and so many more,
fell under the charm of you, the intellectual whore.
Some loved you, some lusted after you.

Some did neither of both, but all respected you.

You, a keen observer of human nature with an indifference to moral convention,
with a burning desire for intellectual ascension.
You, whose sexuality and intellectual pursuits struggled in suspension.
Oh, Frau Lou your prose, your writings continue to hold my attention.

Louise Andreas-Salome, you found a brother hidden in every man,
only because you wished to live like a man.
A modern day tomboy of your time the women sought to ban.
You, a mastermind of female intelligence with a brilliant plan.

Frau Lou with your Pythagorean friendships and your insatiable intellectual curiosity
challenged the gender roles of your day with such ferocity.
You were Friedrich Nietzsche’s twin-flame and most painful atrocity.
You played a role in turning his mind into a mental monstrosity.

Oh, Frau Lou a lover of many men of great mind,
holder of a youthful beauty so pure it could blind.
The triangles of Frau Lou could once dangerously bind,
many a men of great mind.

A Hedda Gabler in living skin,

the two of you so much a kin.
The similarities seen even by Ibsen,
when he made his famous female protagonist your near twin.

Louise Andreas-Salome did you every psychoanalyze yourself?
Where you happy with yourself?
Did you ever find pride and contentment with yourself?
I have found the one great thing missing in your many works was yourself.

You once said, “Two are at one only when they remain two.”
Did you truly believe this to be true?
Your marriage unconsummated was not so unlike your brilliant works so devoid of you.
The distance between you and all you loved was a truth that was long over due.

I couldn’t help but take notice of your unspoken hurt.
You had empathy for others you would not subvert.
Yet you had an inability to recognize your own hurt,
your own loneliness, your own pain, to yourself you were inert.

Pain is a pleasurable part of life,
a necessary liberating strife.
You knew this well because you studied it with your very own life,

you lived your life with this strife.

Did you ever truly love at all?
Your detailed writings on sex and sexuality could enthrall,
but sex is just sex without love after all.
Were you never so lucky to ever have known true love at all?
(the green is the part I am still working)

Yes, but of course, you were your Romeo Rainer’s moonlight,
and the two of you made up for everything there wasn’t time for in one night.
Fourteen years your junior, oh, Frau Lou how reality does bite.
Your passionate love for him, though not meant to last, did burn bright.

Miss Louise Andreas- Salome, Miss Frau Lou
Truth tells me the triangles bound only you,
within time, within your mind, and your soul, you were bound by you,
within the triangles belonging to Frau Lou.
©2009 L.Warren

Isometric Isomorphism

This poem will probably make absolutely no sense to anyone other than myself. I had a dream last night that I was standing in front of a shattered mirror screaming at the top of my lungs over and over again, "Isometric Isomorphism, Isometric Isomorphism!" This is just a weird poem inspired by a weird dream. I think I understand it but I am not sure if anyone else will!

Everyday I wake up to a one dimensional world...

human monotony
religion and politics together-a mind stunting neoteny
what travesty
people blind, not able to see outside and beyond indoctrinated reality
losing piece by piece their absolute totality
disillusioned by their stunted mentality

The Euclidean March I call it
prefected by political propaganda and holy writ

Humanity walks a very thin line
without knowledge of real time

Human monotony limiting us to one dimension
our intellect and consciousness are kept from ascension
handicapping our mind
making the truth so very hard to find

Humanity not thinking beyond one dimension barely seeing two
let alone three or four
or the possibility of there ever being more
no longer having the drive to explore
for a truth they would most certainly adore

They continue this one dimensional thinking
never rethinking
just one dimensional flat thinking

Thinking only inside out and never outside and beyond
just content trying to be part of the beau monde,
that never ceasing pathetic materialistic quest
of which the truly intelligent are never impressed

for the intelligent are always searching
and always researching

continuing to look for all the answers
they are the never tiring intellectual dancers

while the others are stuck in their false reality
that forecasts a certain fatality

Each person trapped on their own embedded layer
unable to see the truth of the universal multilayer

Stuck we are in a complex system of an isometric isomorphism
searching for our hyperbolic quaternion-our magic prism
we are stuck between untruth and truth in a hellish schism

Lucky I have been, for I have gazed through the optical prism
into a world that goes on infinitely outside the hellish schism
I have learned that when ordinary three dimensions of space combine
they form a single dimension of time
a waltz called Minkowski's Spacetime

a four dimensional manifold
a place where many dimensions of possibility unfold
a reality that is a true site to behold

The mindless mass of humanity can have their one dimensional world
I have held the knowledge of the truth unfurled
I have seen the truthful real world

I would rather waltz with Minkowski while singing his tune
than march with Euclidean to his doom

"Space by itself
and time by itself
are doomed
to fade away
into mere shadows
unless they dance
together in unison
preserving their
Independent Reality"

Einstein knew it, so too did Lorentz and Poincare

Chasing after Truth, Time, and Space for eternity shall by a wild affair!

Unto the Edge of Edges

Here I am again standing in a familiar spot. My mind and heart are neither here nor there, but running about feverishly everywhere- in too many different directions for me to keep up. I have been here before, many times before. I stand here at this point near the beginning which is the very same point found near the ending. I know that without a beginning there can be no ending and without an ending there is no beginning. Time divides where an object or an area begins and ends. Time is the brink between that which is here and there, past and present, life and death, endings and beginnings. Time is the edgeless point that defines where everything is forever and forever is at the edge of all edges.

I am stuck at this point not sure which direction to take. Do I step forward into a new beginning or do I step back into the familiar territory of an old ending? How could two different directions, two different steps be so different and yet the same? Chances do not present themselves without risks being taken and regrets come to full power when opportunities are missed. There can be no beginnings or endings without risks being taken and opportunities being seized or let go.

Some follow their hearts and some follow their minds, but me, I wait for that right time. A time when my mind catches up to my heart, that very moment when both come to together and meet me on the very spot I stand right now. Opportunity that presents itself during such an alignment as heart and mind is certainly worth taking. It is a rare occurrence, I know, if logic and emotion were ever to meet harmoniously in the middle-never say never, there is always a possibility for wonderful occurrences to happen. Surely a meeting such as this is a promise of finally being able to step forward and capture a moment of forever.