I won a poetry contest....

Click the link for music while you read
Here is my poem:

Shadow Friend

Dark Skies, crimson remorse...
Your blood, runs chillingly throughout my veins,
I look aside, and close my eyes,
Whilst angels weep over thy remains.
In this darkness, to thee, the nights cold flesh
Bonds loosening as the body quivers free...
This simple sacrifice,
So small, alluring, fragile, beautiful misery.
Scented lilacs, surrounding the tattered clothing
Night's whispered breeze upon my face
This hunger, all haloed within
Rises with me the greater your disgrace...
Your haunted eyes, deep rooted fears,
For one all powerful second in time
Tantalizing, overwhelming,
For just this moment, you are mine
Then gone again, in a simple flash
Shadows circle like a cloak,
And there was nothing, left
To remind you, as in the predawn you awoke

PS

Just beneath Frannies post, was this evenings post, but I began it sometime on the weekend so it appeared there...
My apologies to any wandering peeps....

Frannies Tones

a child in pain .. a mother scorns .. no sugar cane only weed and thorns ..a child is bad theres no direction just a grin at the imperfection... where parents dont give the help kids need.. they feel ignored a bad seed... where is the love thats suppose to be where is the fruit dead is the tree alone is me


an emptiness within you mind a hunger in your hearta thirst within your very soula yearn for some thing more its desolate and frightening its enough to drive you in sane its just a want for someone there so you can share your pain


my friends are calling from far beyond... its there i know i belong.. will they welcome me again.. we they all still call me friend..i can feel there touch its cold as ice ..something inside says ohh how nice ..ttake me back to my safe haven ..give me back my little roomwhere life meant nothing there was no pain....where each day was just the same how i long to go back home inside my room all alon

This is my friend Frannies poetry..
Frannie is a wonderful kindred soul, who seems to really stem from my homelands, some place hidden and deep within my soul.
Places most people dare not to go.
It is nice
In all of the years of feeling misunderstood, and like an outcast, She is the first person who seems to really see life the way I do. Not that that way is right or anything.
It is horrible and miserable and a wasteland if you ask me.
That is not the point.
The point is........maybe I am not just a little too crazy...haha

Whatever, it is not difficult to find the ppl who come from where I do, it is very rare to find someone who understands.
Frannie, you are a brave and noble angel, I have thought that from the very first time I heard your story.
I am grateful.

My Husband

My husband is a beautiful Mystery,
quiet, calm, polite.
My husband, withdrawn, subdued.
Intelligence gleaming, from beneath cold eyes.

But deep inside him lurks a terrible beast
It is ugly, gaping.
It lulls a soul to sleep,
And then feeds upon it.
Sucks, at the souls' deepest fears
aiding them to create a reality, based
off all that is ugly inside.
Enabling, the soul, to feel all dirty inside, somehow
As he begins to take, each night, at what is his
He feels, by right,
Just for sticking around.

My husband, he is full of intrigue
There are mysteries beyond,
What most Mortals could tell

Pools of recognition, and sharp shadows of imagination,
He is, reflective of all life,
And the Ancient, firm, slow-moving Forest...
He is reflective, of the Mountain,
His heart, much like ancient stone
and more stubborn, then a goat.

My husband, who flies with the Falcon,
And creeps through the night, as a jackal,
A very shadow on the wall.

My husband, who is the Red Fox,
By cunning alone, caught the gingerbread man.
Elusive, dark Angel, cast brightly in a robe of Divine Light.

My husband, who swims with dolphins from neptune,
Each night, glorious indigo rest, to recharge, the bright light,
deep in his soul.

He's not really mine at all you know.
He rode in one night, but a wounded sparrow,
With a broken paw, a broken heart, and a broken soul.

And I lay beside he, broken also...
And together, we nitched a little hallow
Deep down, neath the earth.
In which to heal together.

My husband knows secrets, deeper then any
Mortal lifetime, could gather, or begin to piece,
With any one single mind.

This husband, this husband of mine.
And he is elusive....evasive as all hell.
He drives me mad daily, irritating my aura so...

And he reminds me daily, of why I love him so.

Flying Free

Spending the night and the day,
With this cloud, hung low around me...
The fog and the haze of darkness...
Shrouding the things I wish not to see.

The answer lies somewhere inside here,
The ability to resolve this for once and for all.
Not willing to look at it closely...
Not willing to leap to that fall.

Oh it's just so comfortable, on this ledger.
Comfortable to close it all to numb.
Wish I could stay here about forever...
Sitting deaf-n-blind-n-dumb.

If I close my eyes, singing lullabies...
Perhaps I'll set my spirit free...
Somewhere down inside, so deep down inside,
is a spirit flying free

Ramtha, I answer you

Whilst following along, with some of the Ramtha teachings, their connection, between quantum physics and string theory, and how there is now, a dawning scientific evidence, that indeed, thought does create reality...
Ramtha, began to explain, about addictions, and why, if that is so, do people create such terrible realities.
Ramtha, seems to figure, that one can become addicted to emotions, just the same as any drug.
And that the firing of these synapsis, through the neuropathways of the brain, to stimulate the emotions, tend to repeat themselves, quickly forgetting the information that lay there before, in favor of the new pathways.

In fact, eventually, following a trail along, certain repetitive occurances, the synapsis, of the old path, begin to deteriorate, and fade.
In this manner, it is much like a drug addiction.
The brain begins to believe that it cannot function properly unless the drug is in your system.
The old pathways, shut down, and deteriorate, and the neuropathways, currently in use, push the body, for more and more sources of stimulation, leading the body to a symptomatic withdrawl, when these sources are not being pushed through it.
This same philosophy, in effect, will work on your various other bodies. Such as the emotional, mental, and spiritual bodies, as well.
This drive, is somewhat mechanical, as our brain filters our experiences (or substances) that we intake, striving, and pushing, the being, into creating ever more sources to fuel that addictive cycle.

This was my understanding anyways, of the gist of Ramtha's explanation
At the end of this explanation, the being looked very pointedly out to the audience, and asked...
So what emotions are you addicted to?

This question struck me quite deeply, being as to how, I have had a phenomenal interest, in the study and experience of addictions throughout several of my lifetimes upon this planet.
I had been relieved to find myself on the outside of this experience in this particular one, until Ramtha spoke that question.

I am addicted to my emotions, as equally, if not more so, then many on this planet.

I have discovered, I am addicted to hurt. to suffering. and to failure. and to being alone, and misunderstood. lost in a world, where I am not accepted as I am.
In the last blog, I described, how I became used to these emotions, being a part of day to day life, so used to it in fact, that I did not even question the existence of them.
I think, perhaps, at more then one point, these emotions were all I had left to tell me I was still alive.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, I have taught my brain, to create a reality, in which I will be rich, and prosperous in recieving heavy doses, of the life experiences conducive to feeling that way.

So you see folks, I don't really pass the buck here, I take full responsibility, for the lifetime I have created, I just want you to all leave me the fuck alone, and let me live it.

However, I now begin the process of changing the emotional addictions I have trapped myself to, so you no longer have the ability, to intrude and hurt the way you do.

Thank you so much to all of you, who have helped me create my experiences. This was very noble of you. It is not always easy, to assist a loved one to self destruct.
And I forgive those of you, who's neuropathways, have become so ingrained in helping me experience the richness of that, that you can no longer stop just because I request you too.
You need not fear, eventually, I shall be so far over that, that I won't even need you anymore, and you will find yourself another to do these things to.

Crabby Old Woman

What do you see, nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking
When you're looking at me?

A crabby old woman,
Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit,
With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food
And makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice,
"I do wish you'd try!"

Who seems not to notice
The things that you do,
And forever is losing
A stocking or shoe?

Who, resisting or not,
Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding,
The long day to fill?

Is that what you're thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse,
You're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am
As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding,
As I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of ten
With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters,
Who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen
With wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now
A lover she'll meet.

A bride soon at twenty,
My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows
That I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now,
I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide
And a secure happy home.

A woman of thirty,
My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other
With ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons
Have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me
To see I don't mourn.

At fifty once more,
Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children,
My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me,
My husband is dead,
I look at the future,
I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing
Young of their own,
And I think of the years
And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old woman
And nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age
Look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles,
Grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone
Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass
A young girl still dwells,
And now and again,
My battered heart swells.

I remember the joys,
I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living
Life over again.

I think of the years
All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact
That nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people,
Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman;
Look closer . . . see ME!!

This poem was sent to me via email, entitled anonymous. The background story, is an old scottish woman, who has died in a nursing home, with nothing left to give to the world, but in her hand was found a poem. It irritated me that it was remembered for the story, and yet they could not be bothered to remember the women who wrote it.
That seems to be a reflection however, of the world we live in...
Perhaps that is why one awakens, to find they have forgotten their names.
Ahhh, how very reflective.
The scariest part of this poem however,
When I look at it, is how much I relate to it.
It was one of those OMG it's me poems.
Then it occured to me it was written by an ancient and long dead scottswoman (for the record, I am one of those, well.....once again, a half-breed anyway....lmao)
Except for one tiny fact of course.
I am not quite so ancient and dead, at least not during the course and progression of this particular lifetime anyway.

Ofcourse, as this wise and enlightening scottwoman points out...our years, within a lifespan, are all too few and short. I shall blink, and I shall be old, one day. My children grown, and moved on in their lives, my husband...perhaps not dead, but in all probability, consumed by some desire or another, that exists "outside of his life from me"

As I am also somewhat of a recluse, with a bad habit of loosing loved ones phone numbers, I shall be alone, bitter, and old. Unable to do anything about my life or the situations in it.

Just as I am about to allow this to depress me somewhat, it occurs....I do not think I know how to be anything but. From birth I felt alone, cold, bitter, and old. As if I was on a roller coaster from hell, and unable to get off of it.
With crazy and psychotic phantoms roaming through my head.
I have gone through various stages of development with this, birth mentality.
At times I am angry,
Others sad or depressed.
Sometimes I am overwhelmed by this life, or by others intruding upon it.
At times, thankfully, I am just empty, which to me, is somewhat akin to bliss.

I have learned to deal with it, and regretfully, the hollow emptiness, or even tinges of physical pain, that I have learned to associate with incarnation upon this planet, has become so familiar, that there are times, when I wrap myself in it, like a thick blanket. Finding comfort and security, in the one thing that has remained consistent with my childhood.

This had just become my way. And I accepted this fate, with grace, eventually, coming to see it as natural, normal, and an inconsequential piece of my environment.

Then I read this poetry.
And as I realized how well I related it to it, I also realized that it was causing me to review my own memories, and history.
I differ from this woman quite a bit.
For my own review, I can see broken dreams, and promises.
Illusions cut down in youth, before they were ever given a chance to bloom
The realization, at a young age, of being a dissappointment, and letting everybody down.
The inability, to ever, even once, reach out and grasp at my abilities, over and above anothers vision for me, and that to try, meant to be cut down.
Mostly my dreams tho
In my youth.

When I was nine, my world changed, and people's real faces shone out.
By sixteen, I quite dreaming, all together...
Long ago, and far away from here, I had given up.
I had given up on the human dream.

To think of my child hood now, hurts me so deeply, I'd rather just not go there.
Not because of how dramatic and bad it was...
But because once upon a time, that woman's life was real to me.
I could taste it all around.
Once upon a time, I dreamed her dreams.
I felt secure, and loved, and nestled, in a safe little hole, where I was free, free to be me.

Some very dear friends, and I am sure a great deal many more then care to admit it,
look at me, and shake their heads, wondering why I stay here, wondering why I live the life I do.
Wondering why I choose to accept the realationship that I do.

I do not believe in the dream.

It would not matter where I went or who I was with. So long as I have no faith in it, so long as I do not believe in it, it will always be the same.
I have never tasted it, never been given any chance to experience wether it was real or not. And the few, precious occasions, when I did reach my hands out, believing, wanting, willing to risk it all, I fell. I lost all. I landed my ass down so hard smack dab in reality, that it wasn't ever once worth the fall.

Except for one thing. The most important thing of all.
That is my children. And my cat.
These beloved little angels have never let me down, and even at the worst of times, and in their worst behaviour, they remind me how important dreams really are.
If I have none of my own to cling too, then there's are worth it all.
And already, too many beautiful, young and innocent dreams of their own have been broken.
And already, too much of my life has been spent towards doing everything to give them a life, different from my own...
And already, in too many little ways, I have even managed to fuck that all up.
Yet still, I carry on, each day, bearing a sheild, of four little smiles, and one loyal pet.
A love, so unconditional, that it matters not how many times I fuck up, nor how many times that I fail, it is always there to shine me forward looking, in complete innocence, waiting, expecting, knowing I will just give it one more try.
Dear God, if there is nothing else I can make of my life then that, I beg of you, let my children always remember a mother who tried.
For that, if nothing else, is a gift more beautiful, and more important in this world then all.
NEVER GIVE UP! NEVER STOP TRYING!
With that one gift, no matter what happens, no matter what misfortune life brings their way, I will always know they will always try, they will always survive.
My strength, and endurance for life, is a gift I hope each one embraces, and takes, to make more, more then this life of mine, this focus each day, just to make it out alive, and together, just one more time, just one more moment to survive.

ok, so we have ranted about being copywritten...
Although I suppose that was a little unfair.
Once again that was someone's fantasy,
And perhaps had absolutely no connection to myself personally.

What do you do when you don't belong?
Not to this world, nor any other
You just kinda float through them all
Half existing, in the hearts and minds of mankind
Infinite power to reach out to, tap in to
But nothing, deep inside, where you need it most?

Mostly this little blog, has become a place of dreaming to me
A place to unwind, wrap myself into deeper levels of consciousness,
Perhaps exploring somethings hidden there.
The process is much deeper then the words that you see written here,
But it all kinda helps me find my way into myself, ya know?

Anyway, that is enough for today

Thought creates reality....
I am thinking of you...

Whorling, marching, lurching, wretching,
This chaos lies deep within...
Somewhere inside, memories hide,
And I dream of a land, never been.
In my mind I am lost, but fascinated,
As sequences reel in rewind...
Dark things, and discoveries, awaiting,
And light beyond that which can bind
Curiousity, lost in awakening,
A loose missing point in time...
These patterns that whirlwind around me,
Forever tying a mind