Musings of the Mad

An ill maintained, rarely updated and deceptively poetic stop in the world of wide webs. The crux of the dilemma is that I am not a poet. Poetry is merely one of the forms that my art takes. I am a writer of all things. This corner in the world of wide webs is my home. It is where you, gentle reader, will see my soul. Light and dark, good and evil, love and hate . . . and every extreme in between are the fodder for my words.

[queerspoons]

reblog if ur bi, ur not biphobic, or ur best friend is a beautiful valid bisexual

[maddeningmuse]

The Yin-Yang of Memory

Sometimes I can forget you And it’s in those moments that I find myself Only to realize that I’m looking at A reflection of A memory of A time when I was me Seen through the eyes of a new man That you’ll never meet One of life’s little ironies, I suppose That learning to sleep alone Is the lesson you taught me And that growing up is inevitable If you plan to survive In this twisted, backward, crazy, mixed-up world Other times I remember you And it’s in those moments that I find myself Renewed as a phoenix from the ash After you burned the future we dreamed While I walked away from a life we’d already left behind A long time ago It’s another of those twisted ironies That there, in the yin-yang of memory I’ll always be able to find you When I need you And I cant help but wonder  That it should be such a blessing And such. A. Fucking. Curse.

[maddeningmuse]

Promises

I promise to hold your hand  When you leave me And when all that’s left is the way the sun lit your hair All those years ago When you stole my heart I promise to sit by your side When it’s all over And when even these words are a memory After all the love we made and the dues that were paid When the last words have been written I promise to hold your hand Because someday  The future we dreamed Will be the life we leave behind And so I promise to hold your hand When it’s time to go

[maddeningmuse]

Today is to Come

We made moving in and out of the shadows into art A subtle dance between the Sun and the stars Through the moons of all life So beautiful in the execution we never saw the allocution Or the days to come Twisting adulation to adoration We stumbled over all the missing pieces Falling to a crippled alchemy A perversion of love born from circumstance that I still can’t tell was real or a dream Still we danced in our emptiness Until the shadows were armor and We stood unified Me and you against the world, do you remember? I remember and still we never saw the allocution Or the days to come When the night would betray the shadows And two become one as the stuff of fairy tales Moving in and out of the shadows as art Only in our dreams We stood alone in the light, naked and afraid The dance done, the band quiet The armor on the ground at our feet Showing only emptiness in the memory When the night betrayed the art and we never saw the allocution Or the days to come As two become one, separate Apart Moving in and out of the shadows into art

[maddeningmuse]

Today is to Come

We made moving in and out of the shadows into art A subtle dance between the Sun and the stars Through the moons of all life So beautiful in the execution we never saw the allocution Or the days to come Twisting adulation to adoration We stumbled over all the missing pieces Falling to a crippled alchemy A perversion of love born from circumstance that I still can’t tell was real or a dream Still we danced in our emptiness Until the shadows were armor and We stood unified Me and you against the world, do you remember? I remember and still we never saw the allocution Or the days to come When the night would betray the shadows And two become one as the stuff of fairy tales Moving in and out of the shadows as art Only in our dreams We stood alone in the light, naked and afraid The dance done, the band quiet The armor on the ground at our feet Showing only emptiness in the memory When the night betrayed the art and we never saw the allocution Or the days to come As two become one, separate Apart Moving in and out of the shadows into art

[maddeningmuse]

By Any Other Name

Question the beauty of a rose For a love that may go by any other name May be replaced in the dark of night Where dreams rule over fate and Roses may make a man bleed

Question the beauty of a rose For a love whose growth must be pruned Groomed and taught to be pleasant Lest its thorns become wild and A man becomes enslaved to an ideal of “beautiful”

Question the beauty of a rose For a love that smells so sweet May find its way into the heart Where love’s battle with sensible rages ever on and Roses may make a man headsick

Welcome the beauty of the dandelion For a love that is so pure It is first seen by children As a gift presented to their mother and An innocence that once lost may never be recaptured

Welcome the beauty of the dandelion For a love so sweet it may become wine Sharing its honeyed intoxication so It may be forgiven for growing so wild and Beautifully, unapologetically free

[maddeningmuse]

The Other Side of Love

The problem is in my shoes Whose laces are so loose I seem to trip my way Through heart after heart Until I landed here Where I never thought I’d be On the other side of love Where the wind stands fair And the tracks of tears carve canyons In a face that was once young as it says Love isn’t in the feeling It’s in the falling... Or so the saying goes First love Second love Third love They all matter And yet they don’t hold a candle to Light the way to you The place I’d never thought I’d be On the other side of love Where night will fall and the darkness rise When friendship dies and true love lies And all is fair in love and war Or so the saying goes...

It’s the last love That says so much Like the sad songs of youth It tells the story Not of the falling But of the dying heart As it beats a path to The other side of love Where love is something best observed By those well-versed in its diction The last love is the most lasting of loves Or so the saying goes...

[thissometimepoet]

Care for the Caregiver (a poem)

Care for the Caregiver

I tuck the vet I care for into bed since legs and arms don’t have the strength anymore for heavy blankets and I’m told I am a good soul though I am also a tired soul a lonely soul

I’m almost afraid to go into the kitchen now that I’ll see my soul sitting at the counter pouring sugar into a cup of coffee and I just won’t be able to handle the look in his eyes anymore.

[maddeningmuse]

This is my life

[maddeningmuse]

Dear John

Reality sinks Into the depths of my mind I'm alone again

[maddeningmuse]

By Any Other Name

Question the beauty of a rose For a love that may go by any other name May be replaced in the dark of night Where dreams rule over fate and Roses may make a man bleed

Question the beauty of a rose For a love whose growth must be pruned Groomed and taught to be pleasant Lest its thorns become wild and A man becomes enslaved to an ideal of "beautiful"

Question the beauty of a rose For a love that smells so sweet May find its way into the heart Where love's battle with sensible rages ever on and Roses may make a man headsick

Welcome the beauty of the dandelion For a love that is so pure It is first seen by children As a gift presented to their mother and An innocence that once lost may never be recaptured

Welcome the beauty of the dandelion For a love so sweet it may become wine Sharing its honeyed intoxication so It may be forgiven for growing so wild and Beautifully, unapologetically free

[maddeningmuse]

Living

Become ev’ry thing You swore you’d never become This is called living

[maxmundan]

I see the back of a head as I get out of bed and, as I study the stringy, blond hair I whisper out loud, “Who is it, this time?” and I wonder what piece of my soul I’ve needed to trade to keep myself well I should get up get my worthless ass clean but I don’t want to give up this life Sweating and sick can’t find a vein guess I’ll just shoot into one of my fingers I shed a useless tear for the baby I may never see again Why’d that stupid bitch have to leave and take my kid with her? I should try to get my daughter back but I don’t want to give up this life Wasted at work skimming the till I’m looking over my shoulder while counting the money I’ve stolen Don’t know how long I got before they see through my shit and send the cops to my door to drag me away so I can go through withdrawal in a cell I know it’s only a matter of time but I don’t want to give up this life Out on the street looking for dope but Chuy’s not at home I’ll have to make other plans maybe cross one more line My car I can sell My cock I can sell Whatever it takes I’ve done every single thing that I swore I’d never do but I don’t want to give up this life Lying in bed shooting my dope I feel that sweet rush of oblivion make the pain go away The cigarette falls from my lips and my eyelids become too heavy to hold I may really have done it this time I have no idea if I’ll live through the night but I don’t want to give up this life

Max Mundan, I Don’t Want to Give Up this Life

© David Rutter 2016

Get my new book, “Five Words That Can Cripple a Man” by clicking right  HERE!

(via maxmundan)

Wow....

[maddeningmuse]

Thunderstorm

Love the falling rain Like tears down my face, crying Alone in shadows

[maddeningmuse]

Sketchbook

It started with a line A pencil sketch from a steady hand Vertical and straight, right down the left margin Until a sudden curve Quite literally draws it away Mere seconds before it would have run out of page     and died a smudge on the desk

The curve became a spiral A slow and determined movement Building a path Traveling around and around itself As if it were seeking its own center Seeking some sort literal closure     in the absence of an emotional one.

It started again with a square One on top of another Connected at the corners building a cube Shaded on the side and Casting a shadow to block out the spiral A box to keep everything in     and the walls to keep everything out

Because this picture may not be worth 1,000 words Maybe it’s a sketch that’s only worth 500 Just a moment in time, a second really To explore the white space and Rob it of its purity Spreading darkness like butter onto bread     feeding consciousness with beauty only to be thrown away

In the end maybe its enough It might just happen that this sketch reached its full potential And died happy in the trash Balled up in the corner, hugging itself Finally loving itself and being happy to do it Or maybe that’s the lie     and every sketch that ever died in the trash is mad as hell

It could have been so much more The next Mona Lisa Maybe something as bright as Starry Night Hell, the Scream was at least cathartic Only how will a sketch ever know Huddled up around itself in the trash     the junkie of art

Then it starts again with a line   Only the hand isn’t so steady now It shakes, trembling with urgent desire An artist’s need to create To get that next fix An explosion of self-expression in an image     saying everything that must never be said

This line is darker Striking in its boldness Running to the edge of the white Daring itself to jump from the page To the sky as a bird in flight A masterpiece sculpted from the meager beginnings     of bold lines on a page

Instead the jump is a break A right angle across and another up Sketching the path of an elevator Down to up and down again Then back up and down more quickly Cycling faster and faster rushing to the right margin     where it will die, a smudge on the desk

It started with a line A brushstroke from a steady hand Vertical and straight, right down the left side of the canvas Until a sudden curve Quite literally paints it away The beginning of a new picture born from trash     a masterpiece worth 1,000 words.  

[maddeningmuse]

Sketchbook

It started with a line A pencil sketch from a steady hand Vertical and straight, right down the left margin Until a sudden curve Quite literally draws it away Mere seconds before it would have run out of page     and died a smudge on the desk

The curve became a spiral A slow and determined movement Building a path Traveling around and around itself As if it were seeking its own center Seeking some sort literal closure     in the absence of an emotional one.

It started again with a square One on top of another Connected at the corners building a cube Shaded on the side and Casting a shadow to block out the spiral A box to keep everything in     and the walls to keep everything out

Because this picture may not be worth 1,000 words Maybe it's a sketch that's only worth 500 Just a moment in time, a second really To explore the white space and Rob it of its purity Spreading darkness like butter onto bread     feeding consciousness with beauty only to be thrown away

In the end maybe its enough It might just happen that this sketch reached its full potential And died happy in the trash Balled up in the corner, hugging itself Finally loving itself and being happy to do it Or maybe that's the lie     and every sketch that ever died in the trash is mad as hell

It could have been so much more The next Mona Lisa Maybe something as bright as Starry Night Hell, the Scream was at least cathartic Only how will a sketch ever know Huddled up around itself in the trash     the junkie of art

Then it starts again with a line   Only the hand isn't so steady now It shakes, trembling with urgent desire An artist's need to create To get that next fix An explosion of self-expression in an image     saying everything that must never be said

This line is darker Striking in its boldness Running to the edge of the white Daring itself to jump from the page To the sky as a bird in flight A masterpiece sculpted from the meager beginnings     of bold lines on a page

Instead the jump is a break A right angle across and another up Sketching the path of an elevator Down to up and down again Then back up and down more quickly Cycling faster and faster rushing to the right margin     where it will die, a smudge on the desk

It started with a line A brushstroke from a steady hand Vertical and straight, right down the left side of the canvas Until a sudden curve Quite literally paints it away The beginning of a new picture born from trash     a masterpiece worth 1,000 words.  

[maddeningmuse]

Sex Dream (The Dance of Men II)

He started on my chest Rolling my nipples between his fingertips Like he was creating an etch-a-sketch masterpiece Edited with soft, insistent kisses I want him I want him inside He teases me Replacing his fingers with kisses His desire expressed through dance As our bodies knot together A masterpiece of masculinity He feeds me all he is And I drink it in hungrily Nourished by his very essence Until he moves me where I’m needed And he fucks me For there is no euphemism To dilute the ceremony of this He wants me And I want to give him what he wants Rocking my hips with little moans Reveling in the ecstasy And the exquisite pain The perfect yin and yang One cannot exist without the other More and more Over and over Harder and faster I’m begging him now And then he cums We collapse together Exhausted Sated and complete Already asleep and Dreaming of the dance again

[maddeningmuse]

The Minotaur and The Satyr

Did I ever tell you about the time I caught the Sun?

See, where I grew up; it was dark all the time. Cold, and really, really hard to make your way without constantly tripping yourself up and falling face first into some shit. But everyday, there was the Sun. So high up and somehow still so bright. And my Gods the warmth! It was like being wrapped inside joy; as if love was something tangible that you could touch and wrap around yourself like a blanket that would never get cold.

I looked at the Sun everyday. I admired it. "One day," I told myself, "One day, I'm going to catch it and I'll never be cold or in the darkness ever again!" It was such a higher power to me. Everything it represented was everything I felt inside about myself. I knew that I belonged with the Sun; that I had somehow been born wrong and the darkness that was supposed to feel like home felt alien next to even the idea of the Sun.

The day that I caught the sun was the happiest day of my life. For the first time I felt complete. I felt whole next to a love that matched my own. I felt every drop of its light as a kiss on my thirsty lips. My soul was sated in its arms and I felt safe away from the darkness that had been my home for so long.

And I clung to this love so tightly that, through the light, I didn't see the darkness that still surrounded me. I held the Sun to my breast as a greedy miser; desperate to escape the cold, loneliness of the past. I burned myself in its heat and I blinded myself with its light until I could no longer see anything but memories of days gone by.

What did the Sun do? That day I learned that the Sun's light is for everyone. That the darkness follows us all. The Sun is so bright that it can see the beauty that I couldn't. The Sun is so warm that it turns the barren wasteland of the coldest heart into all of the love in the world when flowers bloom and trees blow in the breeze. The Sun is so much more than the love of a good man that was born into darkness.

So I let the Sun go.

And the Sun, it did set that night, it's parting gift to me the return of my sight and healing of my burns. With eyes that looked upon the World anew I watched it go. Our time together must have taken its toll on the Sun as well because as it sank to sleep it seemed bruised; purple and red and blue as if it too had been battered by my greed. I whispered an oath of my undying love and devotion to the wind in the hopes the message would be carried on the horizon to the Sun's ears. Then I turned and I returned to the darkness that had been my home; after all, you don't expect a sunset to admire you back.

But that isn't the end.

No sooner had I turned my head than I saw a something emerge from the dark. Beautifully tanned skin covered rippling muscles from torso to head where two massive horns curved backward in a spiral. Soft, brown fur covered the legs of a mighty beast that seemed ready to pounce at a moment's notice. A lopsided grin twisted his mouth and melted my heart as this beautiful Satyr let out a bellow of laughter.

"Beautiful man," he laughed, "Where do you think the Sun goes at night?" And he wrapped me in his arms and I felt complete. I felt whole next to a love that matched my own. I felt every drop of his light pass through me as our lips met in a kiss dominated by passion. My soul was sated. "You only need let go, because even the Sun needs a break from the darkness."

"Will you stay?" I asked.

"Not forever." said the Satyr, "But for a time. For a time. And then the Sun will have to rise again."

"What will I do then?" I asked fearfully.

"Always remember that the sunset does admire you back." he answered.