So I’ve been thinking lately. It’s the holidays, it’s cold out and I need a healthy dose of humor.
Therefore, I’m starting up another theme-esque exercise. Except it’s entirely different. Though I will get back to theme. Eventually.
This new post happiness comes with a disclaimer. Nobody panic.
DISCLAIMER: This is not an exercise that involves me running around town in a Disney Costume, singing at the top of my lungs. That would be well, a bit excessive.
If you were looking forward to that possibility, I have just crushed your dreams. But you’re still going to get some humor!
What I am going to do is document my day to day life. I’m entirely sarcastic but it’s okay.
Anyway I will be throwing my “life stories” at ya’ll (me mocking my twang that lately people have told me is there).
Once ago I thought I knew myself. But that was years ago. I’m me. Though I’m not myself.
I see all this time passing by and I think I should be different. Think I need to conform. I clench my eyes shut to pass away the voice inside my head.
Dammit I can still hear it. It never goes away.
My conscience. Is that what it is? Maybe.
All the maybes they drown. Not my soul. They drown my sense.
I’ve done a lot of changing. I’ve transitioned into different stages. I watch the News. I see all these things happening. I listen everyday, what’s going to happen?
I see it all, right here. Right in this exact moment.
I look across a field, glancing between the blades of grass. I can see her. Running, prancing, falling in love with the spirit of life.
She’s sprinting, she doesn’t see the hole. She falls in lost.
She comes back again. Staring back at me. Right here, she looks me in the eyes.
Gone again she goes, rolling through the hills, running through airports, jumping out of planes, and falling from skyscrapers.
I see her once again.
Right here, in my reflection.
I haven’t picked a theme yet, but simultaneously now I have.
Discovery as a theme has a broad context. You can either think a lot into it or a little as you would like to. Which is nice.
There is this beauty to discovery, it can be a really great thing. Or not. Really, it’s ones own preference.
What is important is that we are all beings. We come from something else. We may not know our origins, or even who we are. What makes us all alike is that we all go on this journey of discovery. We want to find ourselves. Or we want to lose ourselves. Maybe both.
My goal with this theme when I’m writing these poems/ short fiction is to not think about it. I want it to be real. Not created. If a sentence is going to come, then it should come naturally. If only a word comes, then good I have done my creative thinking.
That is what discovery is. Finding life along the way.
I see it,
My life on the walls.
These years I’ve lived,
Aging in the same house.
The years flaking away,
Like all this chipping paint.
Fading to 20’s blue.
How I see it,
By the water damaged door.
In this house,
Found in freckled lacquer.
This week I managed to pen out four poems instead of three. New record!
Each of the four poems that I wrote, have this symbolic connection to paint. A beautiful connection. It is this bridge that allows people to cross from the present into the past. It lets them see a time they may not have lived through. It can bring them a glimpse of the past, where their ancestors stayed in time.
This bridge it can reflect the sides of pop culture, by showing what was big during certain eras. It shows the ever changing style of the past and compares it to the present. Paint tells a story. Look at a painted wall and it can tell you a story you never would have knew.
My poems this week are: Taste of Life, Feral Time, Canvas Face, On the Wall.
Taste of Life, is a poem to describe life as a hopeless pit. It uses paint as a symbol for the leaving of one’s happiness due to failure, and how fast it can happen. The poem resolves by offering the hope of reaching happiness.
Feral Time, is probably my favorite. In the poem is the reference to popular culture, and to the changing of times. It sort of entails the aging of a person and how paint served as the symbol for time. Paint became the indicator when things changed and the drastic point to which they did.
Canvas Face, is a poem about makeup. Ladies rejoice, here ya go. Doing makeup is the painting of the face. The face is art, and foundation is the lucky paint.
On the Wall, is a story that could tell itself. In this poem story, the paint becomes a villain.
Paint is often over looked. There’s a lot of symbolism that it holds. Often times it is over looked for the simple fact that it is in all of our lives in some way. It’s inanimate. It’s just paint. But is it really? When you throw paint into words as a symbol, things really begin to get interesting.
Think of it no more than it is. Paint, a lacquer that comes in all colors and many different consistencies. It is meant to cover something a wall, a canvas, someone’s face, clothing, any number of things. Most importantly it is meant to make something new out of something that has already been there.
Painting is doing makeup every morning. The face, it becomes something new. An alter person.
Plowing a field, turning the grass brown and spreading it smooth. It is an earth painting.
Paint is simply a new beginning.
Add personification to that and the tales of where paint runs, are endless to the imagination.