you cannot stop my thoughts with a dot, Period

I am a Poet. I doodle. I paint... This is a space for my Inspirations/ Poetry/Photography/Thoughts

Anonymous asked: There is immense beauty in your subject matter yet I still feel restrained reading it. I am not overtaken with lushness or serenity. I am here in the vastness waiting for something more. Words are just words until you lather them with life. PEACE

I appreciate your honesty towards my writings.

I suppose I feel like reading is a participation sport. That the reader has to show up and be ready to do some of the work also, but definitely not all of it.

I believe readers should be ready to be wooed, to be scared, to be enticed, seduced, inspired, or even angered. As long as the pot is being stirred and isn’t sitting stale.

I applaud so many different writing styles and finding my growth and what it is I bring to the table. I suppose mine doesn’t evoke anything for you. And this is okay.

Age and Youth

a silent restless crusade of elements
meeting like long lost friends
reunited in
harmony in
peace in
 love

the cooling sand,
the darkening sky

where age and youth trade wisdom and pieces of the puzzle,
becoming a little more whole with a little something
less to forget.

- Victor Ross II

I should

I want Whitman to knit a sweater for me, something out of fallen leaves and everything he has seen.

I realize I’m only as smart as the things I read. I want God to make something new,
I wonder if I would even recognize it. Would we cadge it, sell it, exploit it, shove a camera in its face. I remember I haven’t been to the woods in some time. I should make more time for trees and nature. Everything likes to be heard. I should make more music. I should tap into the vein that carries my poetry and nourish the healthy habits. I should make rituals, write your walls, rich you all, rich your falls, visceral.
Thought,

don’t let your love clot.

Perfume in the Wind

Soft like a fragrance
A perfume that’s malleable
Smacks the wind
Shoves against the wall and falls away slowly.
Chipped broken little pieces of the pretty wind
Sipped on by passengers. Inhaled by strangers,
A tough flower knows the rain
A fallen feather knows the dance
We must be feathers in the rain
We may not fly today, but soon the wings will dry
and we will be able to soar in the warmth of summer.

Eyes and Teeth

she caught my stare between the eyes and teeth

she smirked, but held the full smile back like the sky holds the rest of the moon from us

I wanted to love and whisper I wanted to tell those green eyes some secretes they have never heard  before something my voice has never done before. Some gentle storm I could brew like coffee. A cappuccino landscape and a round lump of sugar in the sky, she’s sweet beneath the bridge that breaks when sugar melts 

these
scattered stars could tell my heart 
wish 
they could talk