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Mat Aru Poetry

Open Nets, Capturing Now Revised. January 14, 2017. January 14, 2017. While summers walk in circles, side by side. My adolescence used to tip toe on sunsets edge. Arms outstretched for balance, trying not to fall. Water colors layed out to dry in quiet gardens. To linger, a wish felt at a later time. Armful of naive moments spilling onto the ground. Longing only felt when grey touches my brow. Seconds, an eternity each, then. Time, no longer a luxury as years roll by. Asking for a Sign. January 3, 2017.

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Forty and Everything After The first half was the learning. The second half will be the living.

The first half was the learning. The second half will be the living. Introversion, Misfittery and How To Build A Real Person. Though I did on occasion try and explain how I felt, my voice was too young, or my articulation of the issue too poorly formed to help them understand how out of place and isolated they inadvertently made me feel. Last week I read about a man in Indonesia who has just celebrated his 146.

a little soundtrack to my life aka my diary set to music

A little soundtrack to my life. Aka my diary set to music. Why I started this blog. America, I believed in you. I thought for sure that you would vote for Clinton. Maybe not even for her, but against a racist, misogynistic, xenophobic, islamophonic, homophobic asshole. You voted for a culturally ignorant spray-tanned asshat. We may not be perfect, bu.

Poet Rummager I sell collectibles and art online and often find the things Ive found have hilarious and at times, dark stories to tell. Its thrilling for me to be creatively random, so always expect the unexpected in the things I share with

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Open Nets, Capturing Now Revised. January 14, 2017. January 14, 2017. While summers walk in circles, side by side. My adolescence used to tip toe on sunsets edge. Arms outstretched for balance, trying not to fall. Water colors layed out to dry in quiet gardens. To linger, a wish felt at a later time. Armful of naive moments spilling onto the ground. Longing only felt when grey touches my brow. Seconds, an eternity each, then. Time, no longer a luxury as years roll by. Asking for a Sign. January 3, 2017.

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