T-kun Unusual Wordsmith III

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Ideas come in small sizes these days. Unable to write. For the hardest time to write, for someone like me, is when emotions come to play.

I can’t think that way. Thou, some would call it heartless. In some ways. It is.

Everything has to be blank. In order to be filled it something. No rational thought should be needed for something like this.

Many other writers of some kind, will get inspired by something. But that requires emoting to be inspired. Not just looking at it, shrugging, blanking out on forgetting it, upon later finding something on your desk about that damn thing not long later.

Hitting the deep end to just do a rant. Is an all time low. Despite is all, it will soon be over.

Have the mind clear a bit. Forget and see where it takes us.

I’m hoping out this dark pit of moping.

Next write, will hopefully be better. But I wouldn’t hold up to it.

At the edge of the docks, look to the worlds at an angle, seeing at first glance and nothing more to add in thought of what would see?

Glass; casing everything safe, from the harsh warps: of the time and weather. Smooth to the touch but damps the tips with no other reason that it can. As the fall leaves of cherry, golden, auburn, with a mints here and there of an everlasting linger spring.

Floating; at a standstill, colliding and brushing one another, in peace, as they carry on the wet glass. As soon, far in the distance of one’s eyes, clawing ways through the shadows, scaring with cracks: into breaking the liquid glass floor, but nowhere close to it.

Darken the cheerful colors of the vegetation, into a shallow whip of them, barring that once soul gone from what danced before on the glass of water before the cracks formed, from their passed season fathers and mothers, of pine trees, unwilling to let go, but sadly blacken soon as winter comes, in time it will.

So soon, whirl of another world comes, breaking through the glass, casting mini whitecaps over the foliage.

With eyes so wide as the ink air of night filled with stars, swims by, a sliver tint carved catfish or dull gray dyed carp, breaths in time as the whitecaps go around it, stalling the cracks, a parting the fallen.

From another world, this would never happen, but it does, for there is space that is needed to be filled and to be left alone, the choices of that, come not from force or as is, it becomes as with both.

Relying only on those who will do just that, leaving that three worlds becomes that as one, for again, space filled or not, will come or not.

In the time that passes, it will for soon happen and be so.

Just as the sea dwell goes through the glass with waves of peace, leaves of anew, cracks of the past, come together, making one world all know, just keeping looking and it will be seen.

Three Worlds by Maurits Cornelis “M.C.” Escher

Made in the year; 1955

Location when painted; varies areas of Netherlands

Want to go into the Wild West, Read the rest of this entry →

Want to go into the Wild West,

Get the history that made all happen,

Into making this day come true!

 

In the Wild West,

There might not be a lot of things to know about,

I would say,

That is far from the truth,

As there is one cowboy,

With a heart a gold,

And hat just as big.

 

Round up your horses,

Gather the cattle,

And pack up,

BigBlackHatMan is here to teach you,

About e’ old west!

 

Through the old times,

Of how young America became,

Beyond the trials,

The blood,

The sweat,

And the bullets and cusses filled the air,

Forming this land!

 

Here it proudly and quick,

For BigBlackHatMan,

Is just as like the old fables,

That goes swiftly into that sunset,

Passing by,

And rousing the dust high,

Forevermore,

Never to be seen again.

Pain always comes first unrehearsed to open ears

Where the world is non

Change is needed now

Rumors are said that it will

Not sure how it can happen

Winds are picking up

Seasons are changing aghast

A sign to move on

Better to leave it

Dwelling won’t change anything now

Best to move on fast

Smiling is better

Pain will always be here yes

But we choice forward

The Dark Life

The life I have,

Is not all that,

Great.

I use my body,

To get money,

To feed my little,

Ones.

A street hooker,

Is not the life,

For me.

But I do this,

For them,

More then for myself.

I see a nice well pay,

Car coming up to me.

Time to work the,

Magic.

Everyday is a routine.

Stand,

Mess around with people,

To look,

Show what is needed,

Be ready for blow-jobs,

Or doggy-style.

I do both very well,

Done.

I find myself,

At home.

The little ones,

Are asleep.

Well almost all of them.

My eldest,

Who knows my true form,

Is always waiting,

For me.

He welcomes me,

With a teary-smile.

Just glad that I’m home.

Other hookers,

Would give up a child,

Or rid of it before birth.

I’m to kind-hearted for that.

They are my blood,

My kin.

My light of this dark,

Life I have.

I’m glad to always,

Have them near me.

One day,

I hope to give them,

A better life.

One wants a puppy.

Another a pool.

New shoes,

is what,

My youngest wants.

Dreams I plan to see,

Through.

I just want to live,

To see it through.

The night before,

Could have been my,

Last.

The Dark Life

The life I have,

Is not all that,

Great.

I use my body,

To get money,

To feed my little,

Ones.

A street hooker,

Is not the life,

For me.

But I do this,

For them,

More then for myself.

I see a nice well pay,

Car coming up to me.

Time to work the,

Magic.

Everyday is a routine.

Stand,

Mess around with people,

To look,

Show what is needed,

Be ready for blow-jobs,

Or doggy-style.

I do both very well,

Done.

I find myself,

At home.

The little ones,

Are asleep.

Well almost all of them.

My eldest,

Who knows my true form,

Is always waiting,

For me.

He welcomes me,

With a teary-smile.

Just glad that I’m home.

Other hookers,

Would give up a child,

Or rid of it before birth.

I’m to kind-hearted for that.

They are my blood,

My kin.

My light of this dark,

Life I have.

I’m glad to always,

Have them near me.

One day,

I hope to give them,

A better life.

One wants a puppy.

Another a pool.

New shoes,

is what,

My youngest wants.

Dreams I plan to see,

Through.

I just want to live,

To see it through.

The night before,

Could have been my,

Last.

The Sinful Child
The room is dark.
Pipes leak steaming water.
I know as its drips,
felled on my fresh-whip skin.
I feel the tears and blood,
Slide down my unholy skin.
I keep my mind far,
away from the real world.
Yet, it can’t seem to work.
All I know is that,
the people I loved once died,
A long time ago.
Losing the golden child,
And taking it out on,
The “sinner”.
I am no sinner.
Never then or now.
I pray one day,
After this punishment is over,
That they’ll come back,
One day.
Yet with my ears,
Filled with screams,
No echo’s of a bright,
Future will ever happen.
Deep down,
As deep as my,
Wounds.
My mama and papa,
Will know that I was,
The good one.
The golden child,
They know,
Never loved them.
Mama…
Papa…
Please…
Can I,
Have one more,
Chance.
I don’t want to be,
Your sinful child.
My ears hear the door open.
No!
I don’t want this!
The very whip,
Caked with my own,
Flesh and blood.
I can only glare,
At you.
My arms and legs,
Still chain and bound,
To the wall.
I plead for you to stop.
Your ears are deaf,
To my voice.
Like always,
Father.
I know that your,
Out of you mind.
Your drunk,
By your breath,
And blood-shot eyes.
Yet, I know,
I won’t stop praying.
For a happy ending.
One with wonderful,
Parents.

The enjoyment of seeing love at its rawest,

Will be at the moment where,

Two people want to be together,

Forever more.

Again,

A tender moment it is,

Those looks they give each other,

When nearing one another.

Holding each other close,

Hoping for that whatever life has for them now,

They can do it together.

A band on the finger means little,

Stay together and being happy,

Is another meaning all the more.

But now,

Words can only do so much,

In telling this small emotion.

When actions of it,

Does and takes it,

To another level.

For the happy new couple,

May their lives go beyond and more,

For the smiles I hope they’ll have.

If there is a moment to misuse something,

Why not the five senses we use?

Dumb as it sounds,

It does have its interesting moments.

Able to see colors through smells,

Feel or taste sound or sight.

Again strange,

But what if there is a hidden meaning to it,

Besides the oh-so easy LSD drugs,

And it just happens.

Ponder a moment at the thought,

And go with it when questions follow.

Could the meaning of how life becomes more simplex?

The symbols of differences soon become likely toss aside finally because of it?

Have becoming complex be only know as random word play?

Many more questions will come in time,

On answers relies on who is being asked,

And will it be answered with childlikeness or maturity,

For so again,

Are you asking or is another asking you?

A thought as any other,

Becomes a hedge maze,

Some are likely to never escape from,

Unless they,

Themselves,

Made it!

In the twists and turns,

An exit is bound to be found,

But again,

Is the person ready to leave?

Or do they wish to walk on through,

The coils and spins,

Because what the unidentified holds,

Is just too much for them?

Sadly,

I’m not the one that needs to answer,

Am I,

Little hedge walkers.

As people has said,

This critic takes a lot of shit,

And how she handles it,

Is a good role model!

Say what others speak about her,

In between the lines,

What she critiques,

Holds a lot more than just fan fiction.

Such as this,

At a form of being creative,

Minds of the young,

Are at the ready to grow into something more!

Sadly at times,

Not all of those of an older time,

Don’t see it,

Just kids being extraordinary kids,

Of an enigma that should be left,

Of have any free thinking and become confining.

Oh yes,

This critic has seen the sad minds,

The crazy minds,

The wrong minds,

The misjudge minds,

And the minds of the unsure!

Creatively is a tender subject,

When others may throw it around,

That not all have it,

People do,

But in different strokes,

But in same rhythm!

FanFic Critic may not know it,

But does it so anyway,

Looking into the minds of many,

And be a humble voice,

Even if no one wants to hear,

But it’s a loss for those only looking skin deep.

At times,

I’m surprise she keeps going,

Yet,

I would even being shock if she just up and left.

Grand woman she is,

Taking shit left and right,

Being a voice,

And be a friend if wants her to be.

To me she is,

Even when gridding one’s work,

It becomes slowly welcoming,

If given the chance.

Here her out,

That’s all I can say for a critic,

That is doing something to guide,

To lead the many minds through the roads,

Of creatively!