The inspiration

Anything is possible

Your ideas scream

You hear screams of passion

Screams of possibility

Screams of the hope you can bring

Screams of the sorrow you lead

Screams of the love you can spread 

Screams of the hatred you can unleash

You hear as you release the passion and possibility

The hope and sorrow

The love and hatred 

You hear as these overwhelm your mind 

Then, you stop hearing and start listening

You start to go

With no thought or care

The pen moves by itself

The music plays itself

Everything becomes thoughtless

Moving with ease

capstone pt. 12

That all changed when she brought me to the ocean

In those rich minutes the light was warm gold,

viscous, she let it in

floating in the sodium and the waves.

Rocking back and forth

I fought the ocean,

that colossal blue,

as it pulled the warmth from my heavy limbs,

Suspended four inches from the plexiglass surface,

blowing fat bubbles that distorted your reflection.

Time changed that though,

and warm gold became cool to the touch

sad skin

No matter how warm

Rubs against mine

Like pruned fingers

on paper

Scheduling

As graduation comes near, I have filled nearly every block in my schedule with events. I’ve needed to purchase more clothes to accommodate the frequency at which I will need to dress up.

With back-to-back formal events, it feels as though we are making up for a year of lost time. Due to quarantine, I have not worn formal attire in almost two years. This schedule is typical for end-of-year seniors, though I often find myself opening my planner a bit too often out of excitement.

Having a filled calendar gives me something to look forward to each day or week. Even if it’s just a final exam, that day has something written on it. My school planner is running out of pages, and the schedule has grown so long that I may need to purchase next school year’s calendar early.

With all of these plans, I hope that the blank days following graduation will not feel empty. I have plans for the summer as well as college to attend, though, while I look forward to the break, I plan to enjoy every day of this busy May.

Image Credit: Quapaw Area Council

capstone pt.7

This trip turned all that thought inward at times

It forced me to really think about what i was feeling,

and to sit inside my heart

so that my hard wired head could stop

and i became content to be in my own space

content to sit within myself as I moved. 

content to just watch as the world changed around me

merely maneuvering my truck from idea to idea

it forced me to process things by writing them

but it also gave me the space to think things through in conversations on the phone

but that depended entirely on cell service 

the oaks

wrinkles

white walls

metallic beige

flying roaring

cutting

white walls

warm animals 

in half motion

motioning

in motion

you latch on to these moments, these images, as they race in your head, as they take tight turns, as a force like gravity pulls and pulls you away. you find yourself empty save the quiet conversations and the warm silence. the moments that make you you. but how ‘bout I move them? 

how ‘bout i reorganize the pantry

pull the back towards the front

pour it all out

how ‘bout when you feel those candlewarm memories

in your stainless vaccum

you feel them.

you feel the road, the car

the pull

you feel the moment, the memory

fading

into the fog

capstone pt. 14

______

Then on friday

as the sun set I tore down highway 1

past cambria

by hearst castle

frantically searching for a place to get in the water

and even as the sun dipped under the saddles I sped through

I could feel I could find it

and I did

I changed quickly and jogged past multiple signs which thoughtfully informed that this area was the elephant seal’s area not the humans area, I wasn’t wearing my glasses and it was not very bright so I only saw them as I was leaving 

but I saw surfers in the water and the break looked nice enough so I ran through the grass towards the beach 100 yards off

where the grass stopped the seals started

some small but others enormous

big black bodies

pink mouths

and the screaming

but nothing could pierce the orange and purple sky 

I darted through a maze of them

(entirely honestly I don’t know where the courage to do this came from)

but

I sprinted the last 20 feet to the water, threw my board down and paddled hard past the break to arrive at the silent surfers

I was a mess of limbs and heavy breathing but their boards just made small sounds when they breached the swaying surface and i settled into the salt and the sea

it was a pitchy little close out but occasionally the ocean would toss in this fast pulling right that could pick you up at the rocky point and deposit you on the other side of the cove in just seconds, forcing you to take a deep breath while you paddle back past the seals and the sand

I told this guy that I had been looking to get in the water before sunset and I thanked him for sharing his spot with me

“I’ve come here every day for a couple weeks hoping this spot would be breaking”

“oh yeah?” I said, moving closer by kicking underneath my board

“It opens up only a couple times a year, it needs just the right swell direction, if the waves are too big it washes out, and if it’s too small it doesn’t break, oh and the wind blows it out almost every day on top of that.”

A wave came and he tore off down the line

I watched the sun set from the water 

splashed the cold water on my face.

And When i got back to the car I wrote

I wrote for him,

To her.

To her we are all just bodies

Blubbery and black

She pulls and pulls

The heat from our soles

But occasionally she opens up

And gives back

as he got in his truck I ripped out the page in my journal and handed it to him

My Pencil

With the slow re-entrance to in-person classes, I have found that several digital aspects still remain part of my daily routine. While I used to carry a large pencil case with an assortment of options, I now have only one pencil that I keep in a little fuzzy pouch. Paper handouts are a rare commodity these days, and I find my handwriting degrading by the day.

I have left behind the use of binders – something which I have practiced and perfected since the second grade. The amount of papers I use now simply does not fill enough space to justify the use of a large cardboard structure that fills my backpack. I now carry a simple folder, one I have been saving for years.

My inability to write as aesthetically as I did in previous years may hinder me in life, but at least I can type efficiently.

I know that I will never retire my pencil, however, as there will always be a need to write.

Image Credit: CBS News

Ride the Wind

As i sit and watch the trees

The leaves flow in the breeze

The leaves flow going wherever they are taken

Free to float without a care

i wish to live like that

As i sit and watch to realine

i sit and think about the birds

They live their life as i live mine

The beautiful bluejays

Not a care in the world

Riding the wind with the leaves

What is it like?

Living those days

But now i wonder,

What if i was one of their kind

Where would i go

What will i see

i wonder how

How would i feel

What would i enjoy

Will i get to ride the wind

With the leaves in the breeze

And the bluejays

flying for days

Do i want that

Im happy with this

i like to sit and watch

But now I wonder,

What if i could ride the white ferrari

on the skyline 

to the nights of another place

See a new face

As i sit and watch 

the leaves flow in the trees

i think about a place

That tells a story

Where people have come and gone

But i create that bond

i wonder if i can find that place 

As the birds fly with grace.

a quick view into a Frozen Dream

The igloo that I inhabit is purely built out of ice. Blocks of ice stacked on top of one another until they create a dome that only raises about 3 feet off the ground. Before I assembled the dome, I had dug a pit that was about 3 feet deep into the frozen crust, under where I would eventually build my icy dome.

I had finished my igloo project, filling it with a deer and bear skin bed along with a small, vintage wood stove. Although the wood stove did little for me on the treeless coast of Greenland, I got creative and burned the oil collected from the fish I caught. I also brought with me a huge collection of Dura-logs which would sustain me for my stay in Greenland.

Every night I clung to the skins that entrapped my body in a cocoon of unsatisfactory temperatures, not cold enough to freeze but not warm enough to not question why in hell I would leave the Southern Californian bliss to come to the frozen tundra of despair.

But what made it all worth it was my constant adventure of navigating extreme winter conditions and the amazing art that lives and breathes in this magical place. My mornings consisted of sitting up and rotating 90 degrees to my heater where I boil coffee. The warm liquid slipped down my throat, heating my insides. My usual days consisted of taking an extremely long time to slip myself into the thick snow gear. Fur lined my hood and tickled my windburned cheeks as I crawled through the tunnel of ice that leads in and out of my igloo. From there I set off on the deserted icy planes, passing the occasional seal, with the intention of continuing my photography collection on the yearly migrating walruses.

image found on Pinterest


Seaside

by the sea she sits

watching the waves crash over and over again

her blank stare collided with the violent ocean movements

her fragile body sank into the warmed sand as the water slinked up the beach

desperately trying to touch her

next to her a book that reads Gone With The Wind laid on a small quilt

the checkered baby pink and faded lime green quilt also held an old fashioned film camera and a what seemed to be a collection of shells

at that moment I knew nothing about her accept she may possibly be a romantic due to the book

she interested me because she looked so unbelievably in place

she seemed to simply exist, without disrupting any of the everyday inhabitants, very quietly and naturally

above her seagulls circled in a draft

their wings sat almost as still as she did

she wore a white silk dress and a large scarf that wrapped around her whole upper body

then I see her hand lift and point out into the wide plane of water

she soon retracted her hand, probably remembering that there was no one to show what she had spotted

the water stood still and glassy all the way out to the horizon

I followed in the general direction her finger pointed and saw a large explosion of water, soon after there was another much smaller spout

my best guess is a humpback whale and her calf because it was around the time for their migration

soon after seeing the whale I picked up my things and walked down the beach in the opposite direction of the mysterious woman

hopefully you enjoyed a short glimpse into my outside perspective on an interesting stranger

found on Adobe Stock

Cool Pool

You know that feeling.

Like when you sense something move in the cool stagnant water

underneath the surface,

where it shouldn’t,

it is.

Like being away,

the opposite of home,

and even as you jerk your leg away 

you can feel it cramp,

ripping hot.

You can feel the vessels crimp;

doubled,

twisted,

restricting you,

keeping you just within reach,

within reach of the cool,

the cool of the bottom of the pool

where the water doesn’t move

or isn’t supposed to.

from terra galleria