A Poetic Blog
Photography
Playground (Dedicated to the Children of CT Elementary)
I often contemplate, especially in times of struggle; on the past at times as if my mind is remotely set to play and rewind, consistently searching for that part in life, in which I was fine. And not fine in a physical sense; but in a place were the only worry I had at age 5yrs old was where I could find plenty grass for the grass-hopper to eat that I had caught on a leaf after playing Indians and Chiefs. I was an innocent child. I believe I stood about something feet… I’d hear my mother chant, “We must eat” with a plate of chicken, broccoli and peas in her hand which reminded me that life is a plate of journeys. I ate, even though I was not too fond of the peas I learned not to disagree, because disagreeing usually resulted in a beating.
Alas, I am now only 8yrs old discussing life knowing this wasn’t it, and there was more to it, a playground artistically painted in the clouds where worries don’t exist and the extent of my childhood ranges from many known friends of playing baseball, and on occasion the baseball would get stuck on one of the twelve gates. I don’t see my parents much now, but one day they will have the pleasure of seeing this beautiful city that we live in now.
The Neurotic Discussion Continued
Since I posted the below article “The Neurotic Psychopath Poets.” I’ve got interesting comments of personal views that has personally inspired me in ways… if you don’t mind <<<<< Hopefully you won’t 
I would like to continue this topic on my A Poetic Discussion Forum. Thank you! You guys are truly an inspiration in why I write!
Obsessions is poetry, and claustrophobia are the letters that are obsessive-compulsive to the outline of the words that come together to format a meaning; I’m a neurotic poet?
The Neurotic Psychopath Poets
Obsessions is poetry, and claustrophobia are the letters that are obsessive-compulsive to the outline of the words that come together to format a meaning; I’m a neurotic poet?
Neurotic is defined as a person suffering from neurosis; for example:
mental case, psychoneurotic
claustrophobe – a person suffering from claustrophobia
hysteric – a person suffering from hysteria
obsessive – a person who has obsessions
obsessive-compulsive – a person with obsessive-compulsive characteristics
psychopath, sociopath – someone with a sociopathic personality; a person with an antisocial personality disorder (`psychopath’ was once widely used but has now been superseded by `sociopath’)
diseased person, sick person, sufferer – a person suffering from an illness
(http://www.thefreedictionary.com/neurotic)
Although, I have none of the above^^^^ symptoms of this psychological illness…. I can’t help to wonder why so many poets who suffered from it, was by all means the most beautiful poets.
Here are a few, to mention:
Sylvia Plath
(1932 – 1963)
“If neurotic wants two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I’m neurotic as hell. I’ll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days. ”
Read more: http://www.neuroticpoets.com/plath/
Dylan Marlais Thomas
(1914 – 1953)
“Whatever talents I possess may suddenly diminish or suddenly increase. I can with ease become an ordinary fool. I may be one now. But it doesn’t do to upset one’s own vanity. “
Read more: http://neuroticpoets.com/thomas/
Oscar Wilde
(1854 – 1900
“I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.”
Read more: http://www.neuroticpoets.com/wilde/
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
(1830 – 1886)
“If you take care of the small things, the big things take care of themselves. You can gain more control over your life by paying closer attention to the little things.”
Read more: http://www.neuroticpoets.com/dickinson/
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
(1828 – 1882)
“I have been here before. / But when or how I cannot tell: / I know the grass beyond the door, / The sweet keen smell, / The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.”
Read more: http://www.neuroticpoets.com/rossetti/
“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
― Sylvia Plath
Artisticreligious
“I witnessed a beautiful picture painted in crimson, elegant and frail. The art of the painting was meticulous as if it was mechanically designed to intake deeply distresses, and pumped passion through its abnormal character.
Detailed with affection, covered in existence, representing a language that spoke with criticism…. Overwhelmed, I begin to sob; for the painting had reveled art in a way of life.” –Nelvin Ray Love
I had a conversation that went something on the lines of this: “I really enjoy your work as a writer, although I believe if you incorporate a spiritual message in your work, which will make your intentions even better.”
So let’s just say that conversation led me to a point of confusion questioning the whole idea of art being a part of religion… just because I’m religious. Does one have to paint a picture of Jesus in all his work because he is Christian? Or a movie producer films a murder scene, but cleans it up with a God given message.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, if you’re a religious artist so be it…
But I feel as though art is raw, and true to thought, and expressive of the artist; but has a religious person I tend to have a guilty conscience that continues to criticize my responsibility has one of “God creations” “damn conscience”…
The general question is can one separate they’re spiritual/religious belief from art?
Umm…
I’ll answer that question in the word of Georges Seurat- “They see poetry in what I have done. No. I apply my methods, and that is all there is to it….
JP Cooper “The only reason”
“I’m sure I knew the only reason God gave me eyes was to see you… The only reason God gave me hears was to hear your voice” – JP Cooper
This is such a poetic song. JP Cooper is one of those artists that are so amazing you want the whole world to know it, but you also want to reserve the music like fine wine.
Truly gifted! He is one those artists that it doesn’t matter your preferred genre of music it is just that soulful and beautiful you shut up and listen.
An art piece by the artist, God who named it, Osiria Rose!
When I see stuff like this I can’t help but think how artistically incline God is.
It almost makes you wonder if he was in that sense neurotic. Neurotic to the point to where His passion of creating beauty was is life.
And when I mean beauty I mean beauty in general. Why else would he create such a beautiful soul named Jesus.
Just think he had the whole universe as his canvas. He was the original artist. And we all have the pleasure To Witness the largest art Piece ever created!
My poetic thoughts
The Creator
I’m almost certain god created me in his image, because why else would I create a world that replicates my point of view of what I define beauty is. Why else is it hard for me to control my passion and script every bit of my emotions publicly. It must explain the thunder in me that screams at times, but I know if I put more of a show on I will light up the sky with the hopes of Eve noticing me. I created you in my world and watched you develop so beautifully. I watched you closely as you would eat fruit from the garden, and how well your beauty would blend with the painted flowers and weeds that you would on occasion dance in. At times you would call me when you were down and when you would cry, secretly so would I, which might explain the rain of tears. As the creator I fell in love with my creation and couldn’t help to stand back in regret while you fall in love with Adam, but I do understand I created him as well and can only blame myself.
Homeless
You tell me that love has no home in your heart, because it tore your decorated walls of trust apart.
Distorted your beautiful flowers that you planted with passion, while the soil overflow with tears.
The fabric that you also call your skin has been unstitched, bruised and color fading.
Pieces of glass lie scattered on the carpet from the broken window, that has now distorted your view to see clear.
The pantry that once had food for your soul is empty with residue of pessimistic that the pest feed on.
The bathroom mirror shows a reflection of a person that resembles you; animation of a princess, but when the sun sets you’ve fallen in love with Shrek and your new name is Fiona, unattractive and love is the blame.
You tell me you could care less of love being homeless, walking the streets of broken attempts, falling weak of loneliness.
You even said that love could be sleeping under a bridge and you still wouldn’t give a shit.
But I question you and say what if love got hit by a bus full of passengers seeking it? What if love was trying to catch you again as you fall?…
and what if love was a puzzle that is trying to find the pieces to put itself back together?
What if love was me? Now I’m homeless!
Consensual Music
The sense of urgency brought me to a place where the melody played a passionate tempo slowly releasing a snare…
The touch opened notes that seeped through my skin drowning and gasping for air, I became confused
I began to tremble out of nervousness, spilling and staining ink while creating obsessive sheet composition.
The percussion of my heart started to beat rapidly conducting an orchestra that displayed a show for the audience of emotions that stood and applauds…
I’m lost in you to the point that your magnificence is displayed and distorted with the view of you. In a musical way…
