February 21st

A Bitter Thing

Failure
Is such a bitter thing
It gnaws at the soul
tears flesh from flesh
The bite of wind with icy teeth
cutting deep into an unarmed cheek
Burns like coals
flaming beneath naked feet
Crying out blindly
in their raw defeat
Flail, fight, do what they may
But it inevitably awakens
like the blooming of day

February 20th

Spring

Dark like the grave
Cold as a corpse
It is born out of this
Most unexpectedly
Out of death comes life
Spites the reaper with a laugh
Boldly comes forth
Like a patriot crying "Liberty!"

February 19th

Hope

Whispers words to the downfallen ear
Sings gentle melodies to sooth all fear
Bears witness to the future unclear
Brings a rebirthing to things held dear.

February 16th

So, I don't really have time to write anything right now, because I really need to get to bed. Just wanted to post a photo really. G'night everyone. =)

February 15th

My Valentine... <3

So, I have found a new love this Valentine's Day.... charcoal. I am seriously amazed I never met it until just a couple weeks ago, I had no idea what I was missing out on for so many years. I love it, seriously. It might be in fact my new favorite art medium. Although I'm not sure anything could replace the passion I have for acrylics, charcoal is currently pretty much tying with it, which really stuns me. There's something about charcoal that cannot be replicated with acrylic work... it's just the whole experience of using it, of creating something with your own hands, it's really a spectacular feeling that I just can't describe. Using paint brushes is using your hands too, yes, but I don't know... it's something about actually feeling the charcoal piece in your hand that makes all the difference. It makes you feel more in touch with your artwork, like it's truly a part of your being. I love that feeling. =)

February 9th

So, it's February 9th, 16 minutes past midnight, and I find myself basically falling asleep as I attempt to type this without any major grammatical errors, although I have already encountered about 30, all of which I've had to backspace during the writing of this single sentance. I think I'll call it a day.

February 8th

The river is seriously one of my favorite places to go, ever. It's so beautiful down there, so peaceful. Living right there, right on the river would be such a wonderful existence. It would allow for so much inspiration. I love it, period.

February 7th

February 2nd

So, just a moment ago, as I was writing that thoroughly uninteresting title above (since frankly I'm too lazy to think of something snazzy, or creative, or even both at this late hour) I realized that I didn't know how to spell the simple, common word of "February". I pondered over this for a minute, but ended up actually having to look to the pretty little calander on the wall by the fridge to figure out how to spell it correctly... I think I better call it a day before I find myself becoming more illiterate from lack of sleep. ;)

But before I do, I'm just thinking of the word February for another second. February. No one pronounces it like that. As far as I can recall, everyone I know speaks it like "FebUary" and forgets about the lonely little letter 'r' that falls in the middle of that word. Webster should really change the spelling of it. It would make it simpler to type, easier to remember the spelling, and people insist upon leaving that sound out when speaking it anyways. Just a thought.

So I found this in one of my notebooks earlier... I have no idea when it was from, but I'm guessing probably a year or so ago, since my poetry writing style has changed since I wrote this one. But I guess I'll post it anyways, since it relates to the daily picture to a degree (and no, that picture was not from today, and I highly doubt you'll find any dandelions outside any longer. That was from before I got my new camera, but I liked the depth of field and didn't have the time to edit a recent, better photo today, so this will have to do I suppose =) ).

To Be

Oh to be,

To be like a sheath of grass

Laughing and dancing with the flow of the breeze

So blissful, so free, so oblivious

Of the storms of life awaiting it
Awaiting to strike on the clear azul horizon.
To be, so free, so free to simply be.
Yet this life does not fare them well for long
For the frost is bound to come.