Shadows of my Mind

Goodbye

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Tue, 18 Mar 2014 03:34:00 +0000

Well, I have decided to go ahead and try out the facebooks as my primary place of posting. Blogger has been good to me, but it's time to move on. If there are actually any people who read anything here, you can continue to read at https://www.facebook.com/shadowsofmymind. If not, then...be well, stay safe, and of course, pour one out for me.

Broadside

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Mon, 10 Mar 2014 02:28:00 +0000

Cheapskate, the clock reigns,

soon the dial of the shell cracks,

every kiss, whispers in the dark cry blank

traipse around the event horizon,

spinning at half the speed of light,

and music strains,

against the diamond pin-pricks on black velvet

but the rain doesn't bother us,

it's you and me in the end,

taken in by the fog,

eternally...

Counting Sheep

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Sat, 08 Mar 2014 20:31:00 +0000

Close your eyes see the flecks of gold

flashing like fire on the peripherals...

rivers of neon colors swirl into a thousand spirals,

resting translucent, torn to pieces,

a mind swaying ever so slowly in the dark

familiar faces paint my perceptions,

as my head on the pillow just melts away,

down, down, down,

soon breath becomes stolid, and

scenes of splintered mirrors on the roadway

don't seem out of place,

I got lost, just counting sheep...

at last.

Addled

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Fri, 07 Mar 2014 00:31:00 +0000

Put aside the tremors of last night,

no one noticed the addled man,

cue the music soft on the senses, like pillowed

ash,

Pompeii arisen, deep red on the horizon

leaking, gushing, frozen in memory,

Do you recall the last time?

Lost in angel's hair rivers flowed meekly,

as lava defeats the flame,

we all pretend we're floating,

above the fray,

but we've truly run amok,

purging feeling,

unable to stop feeling,

still there's the crazy, keepsakes

littered on the moon,

reminding us who you are.

Vector

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Fri, 07 Mar 2014 00:04:00 +0000

Gliding,

searing hot pain,

like waves on the blue sea,

splintered patterns, woven into cloudy tapestry,

on a long drive, slow along the desert highway, mileposts skipped like stones

boredom, specially formed in cracks and crevices,

found a home wedged in my weary head, never

saw the brights in the rear-view,

it was like a storm,

Flood

Never had the rain poured so hard,

still the brilliance of the gods shewn through,

like radio waves,

on that dusty road we never tired,

dislodged from infinity,

just another enigma,

encased in a bad dream...

Wonder

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Wed, 26 Feb 2014 00:28:00 +0000

Blacken'd are the years,

with every day that past

swift as the solar winds,

evr'y day I sit here under the stars

and wondered why,

at rest, climates wander...

even as the hands of time play

revolving 'round the Daisy's dial

the glitter behind closed eyes

shewn the way,

lost,

like dreams in repose.

Oddly Familiar

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Fri, 21 Feb 2014 01:07:00 +0000

Fling away...melting like wax

another day

flows down the drain

still

like oil to water,

we sleep in the same bed,

as the anointed portion of our love

pour down the rocky cliff

congealed

in the empty spaces,

like some forbidden fruit,

wet with anticipation ripened and red

soon the gentle breeze fits our mood...

'cause the darkness drifts like smoke,

all the weary legs, all the weary smiles,

lost in the drums...

Sweet like honeyed dawn,

embraced in something oddly familiar,

satin drenched in sweat

trailing out into the bedroom floor

like molasses,

on a pin-drop sky.

Streaks Follow

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Wed, 19 Feb 2014 05:00:00 +0000

Fell, fallen in to the lake,

by the window, frozen on the mirror

an image of the snow,

stained like ancient silver,

it's warm enough by the fire,

dying embers burst like fireworks,

stare, gaze unto the bottom

quickly look away, and

the streaks follow, like sharp knives

of gold on the horizon,

One more drink, and it's off to bed...

With our arms entangled,

arrested in the sheets,

like photographs stuck together,

too long in a dusty old book,

The ground seems to swell...

Ten Faces

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Fri, 14 Feb 2014 03:14:00 +0000

Dripping wet in the misty morn,

ten faces at the bus stop,

with 7am so sure on their brows,

another day ahead...it was supposed to be

sunny

they said...

but here in the winter fog, ten faces studied one another,

one was clearly possessed:

with twirling keys in a tight pocket,

jingling and jangling - surely up for promotion...or worse..

Another reeked of the corner tavern:

one-dollar cigarettes and Old Crow,

it must've been quite a night,

stationed at the bar like a moth to flame,

certain glances lost...another fantasy revealed,

in dark eyes...

And then there was the girl at the end of the line:

a slave to the vine,

asleep in her mind, you could tell -

with a faint smile, the golden warmth of her sheets,

betrayed a silver lining -

the low scream of midnight was nothing compared to

a seat at the overlooking the breath of dawn...

Ten faces stood together, better left anonymous -

so soon to be raised again like fire,

let's meet here again tomorrow!

Tupelo Street

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Fri, 31 Jan 2014 01:53:00 +0000

It was the last house on Tupelo Street,

and the blood-red sun dripped upon

that gleaming white picket fence surrounding the yard,

looking just like jagged teeth...

A most curious fellow stood by watching passers-by,

as they made the most of the late summer day,

some waved as they went on their way - others ignored him completely

still unaware of the odd twinkle in his eyes,

like the first star you see at twilight...

His elbows rested, callously

upon that fence...

spindly hands and fingers - streaked with the green

and brown from digging in the dirt - were all tangled,

like a crown of thorns...

He looked straight through me,

with a stone-faced stare that would have frozen

a lake of fire,

soon I felt those sickly eyes,

trace the edges of yard, and back again

as if surveying a new kingdom...

I lay awake that night, till but a few hours

before rosy dawn, wondering and wondering again...

deep and dark were the waters of doubt,

but the alchemy of anxious curiosity drove me instead...

...into the back yard of that unusual fellow...

With no silver moonlight to tread on,

I met my destiny at last -

following the sounds of what seemed like

an old man snoring, but it was not like a breath -

no, it was a rhythmic, a swaying sound -

a sawing sound now...curious still, but now,

now, now the fear beat about my brow,

sweat streaming, colder than a witches tit...

I stumbled in at last!

With my breathing fresh and fast,

my heart froze at the sight before me;

gnashing teeth, and ashen limbs

looking much like those gleaming white picket fences

earlier this afternoon, the old man was not snoring,

but sawing away gleefully!

The faces of the fallen lay all about,

and I fell too...

another addition to the garden...

When you see the Spring roses bloom,

lush in red and orange, and spotted white petals

entwined in the tendrils of morning glory,

wrapped about old tree trunks...

you'll see me too, from time to time

just behind that old house -

on Tupelo Street.

Picnic at a Funeral

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Sun, 05 Jan 2014 07:16:00 +0000

Truly the nascent flowers play,

upon the treads...the narrow grooves of imagination ,

scattered on the supple winds,

in colors, reminiscent of banners swirling in the breeze...

It's quite sunny now, a heavy warmth felt on the tops of weary heads,

maybe noon...

the procession tramples on, over cobble reminders...

not yet broken in two, the eye's have it -

yes, we're all dressed in that blank canvas...

all faces in union, remembered to the blue skies,

tears down an alpine nose...

I place a flower upon the years I've been alive,

and the the rest in the grave...

Let's just rest by this stone,

a bottle of wine and wheel of cheese,

celebrate the divinity of our being...

because you don't really know when it's all for keeps.

Father Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Thu, 19 Dec 2013 23:19:00 +0000

Corralled in the silver snow,

Invisible towards the crimson streamers flown,

Entropy, drenched in the memories of time,

Dripping wet, in the jungle's steam,

No changing of the season,

Just a smile and a wave, as we pass upon the stones,

It won't mean much the next morning,

Here in the chaos
city streets, electric..
...another face in the crowd,
our moods, just another vaunted spike,
barely registering on the cracked screen,

All we can do is marvel at the glowing buttons,

Keep pushing, mash them together, like dough....
till you win the fight.

And...RESET.

Broken Record

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Tue, 17 Dec 2013 04:23:00 +0000

Crimson lightning, stains the white skies

like cracks in the wall

scars on the fabric of time,

May I sleep yet one more time,

On a broken record, I skip

over every promise,

like an earthquake,

and the blood boils...

There's only one last breath, left in that old life...

Symbols along the drenched limbs,

traffic on the highway,

like a knife's edge the road is jagged

it's just enough to make you wonder,

when up is down,

to drown out the pain.

Placid Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Tue, 17 Dec 2013 04:03:00 +0000

Ensnared, the wanderings of a mad man,
intertwined in layers, the
mind tears itself to pieces

Here, in the dark exquisite,
lions rear their ugly heads, gnashing of teeth
broken bones spear the way through
on the gentle tendrils of the mind

we sail on placid dreams ...

Along prevailing winds the waters shift,
on golden streams, stained by the blood-red sun,
sail on, my love...
soon the shoreline will stray into view,
another mirage painted on a canvas sky,

The years roll by,
trodden on, as boots to the ground
the shoreline wastes away
and the shadows creep upon the bay...
tired and tiered

Soon, the land will take us fallow,
usurp intentions, and planting fell will,

But at night, wings shall spread, splintered
in the dawn's cracks,
two lover's quarrel ends,

Streaked with pride and glory,
a new day comes...
And the story begins once more.

Innocuous Basterds Episode 1

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Sat, 26 Oct 2013 19:27:00 +0000

T'was a good evening in NW PDX last night for our first "organized" episode. We have finally given the show a name - "Innocuous Basterds". It's pretty much who we are. All in all, I have to say it was a good effort. In time, we'll add more to the show - hopefully with input from the army of degenerates we hope to gather in the future.

Anyway, here's how it went:

Obamacare, Pet Peeves, Bullshit PDX, and Phone a Friend: (this week, it was our friend Kimberly Allen nee Viernes; yes, she recently married). Enjoy!

https://soundcloud.com/jonamado/sounds-from-friday-evening

Podcast Project

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Sat, 19 Oct 2013 17:02:00 +0000

This podcast represents our pilot episode. Future installments will be more organized and a bit less rambling. :)

https://soundcloud.com/jonamado/inaugural-episode-alcoholic/s-bzp9v

Our premise is to provide a bit of useless entertainment (duh), by discussing current events, pet peeves, bad movies, and other various sundries - some of which will be provided by friends (someday we may even have a few listeners!).

Afternoon Leaves

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Thu, 17 Oct 2013 23:13:00 +0000

Rusted away, last night's dreams...
floating along the makeshift gutter's stream
like afternoon leaves on the fell wind,

Brown eyes reflected in a glassy stare,
her orange umbrella cast a shadow,
with a red handle in the pouring rain,
a waterfall cascade,
but still the blue in the skies
it was just that time of year...

Deathly yellow sun, pasted close
on the blackened pavement,
as she boarded the train, searching for
a clean seat
her legs wearied by the long game
she saw him once again, as she always did;
he smelled of the mists,
a poor soul, with endless travails
and a wry smile

Another night on the 5:15, she thought...
missed glances, and paper minds,
destined never to meet,
or wanting to meet for that matter...
it was just something to make the trip,

It was her stop, she turned towards the door,
Still their eyes met as the doors closed
"I'll see you again tomorrow, won't I?" she said
Unspoken

"Till then."

Moulting (Waiting for Season's Change)

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Thu, 12 Sep 2013 01:00:00 +0000

The lake ripples in the sunken moonlight,

and the icy-blue fingertips of winter's night

caress the scattered stars resting upon

a hero's shoulders

The old man's feet wrestle the years

as the floor-tiles grow weary,

cold and brittle

like tree branches after a storm

Every step behind the windows,

caught in the mirror

one side white-hot, like molded steel

the other laid bare; a wasteland of snow

and a promise of days to come

A vision of intemperate times,

swept across a living-room floor;

dreams of fire and ice,

left in the recesses of the mind,

and cradled in the heart.

Burnouts Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Wed, 04 Sep 2013 00:49:00 +0000

Sometimes I hate the words

despise them for all their little fucking paradigms,

sucking on our withered intentions

goddamn it! why is it every word is entangled in some witches brew of

wanting to be admired,

when in the vast reality of shit this world is,

nobody gives a damn about the words,

it's just the same fucking buttons I push over and over again

Fuck it all, all the words,

nothing we can do will ever compare...

the stickiness of a mind,

mired in the sameness of it all,

the same sun and stars, the same moon, the same mirror I look into every morning,

the same old worthless phrases

bandied about like so many lost souls in the street

It's hard to figure out the puzzle, you know

desire melds into one -

anger of the past, the happiness of now, the flame of the future

while the windows remain closed, fresh air deceased

and the words grown stale.

I change my mind...I really do love the words I've grown to hate.

Dancing in the Sunlight

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Fri, 30 Aug 2013 21:42:00 +0000

The old woman danced in the afternoon sunlight,

not with nimble feet, but frozen hands.

Just my mother, you see - never able to gain a wide berth of trouble...

Sitting there in the shadows I watched,

carefully tracing the edges of the antiseptic room;

white were the curtains, large the windows of the soul -

every gloriously tiled footstep caused a squeek, squeek, squeek on the floor...

Here at the end, we stood...

and yet the flood had not been released,

nay, not even a drop was shed...

Another minute or two passed, I knew I'd never speak to her again...

I knew we'd never laugh at the sparrows in the front yard,

seek peace in a like mind,

or remember the bad-old-days like every other day...

Soon it was time for me to go,

I felt in necessary to remember the old woman dancing in the sunlight,

never nimble with feet - or hands for that matter...but she could cook with words...

No, we were clumsy together - two shoes tied together by blood...

forever bound by dumb-assery...a billboard for foolish decisions...

still she was my mother,

and we were one in the same,

one day I will forgive that trespass,

one fine day it will all make sense, you know...

from the past the tears will fall,

only to live another day.

Friends

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Wed, 28 Aug 2013 01:37:00 +0000

Skipping on the clouds,

sun rays, glittering on the horizon

cast down to the bright new sea

on the evening's turn,

bad luck shared with the beasties,

into her eyes I never strayed, content in the jellied fray

we shook and still frozen in the ancient cave,

it was a long night,

survived by only a latent voice,

and solemn friendship among the years,

It became clear, the darkness was our crew-mate,

Odd eye see, a forlorn conclusion...

but still we remain,

with a knife against the flimsy shield of time,

bound together by innocence.

As the summer wanes,

remember the moments we had,

on the open sea of bright new days.

Epilogue to the Battle

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Thu, 22 Aug 2013 00:45:00 +0000

Moist grass underfoot in mourning dew,

fresh soil disguised on a streak,

a smile, sickly sweet,

she listens to the hall, heavy footsteps pitter-patter

as the clouds pass over

just a wisp

silver in the morning heat,

that sting, a sting on the flanks,

boiled like an old leather heart, rage fills the

broken glass...

unable to empty the hole,

the dirt slinks back in,

like she used to on the evening sabbath ,

now the spell shatters,

on the daylight we slumber tense,

unable to forget the fateful hours hence,

remember it was only a dream -

that's what the leech did say.

Nightmare King

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Tue, 20 Aug 2013 23:54:00 +0000

Slayeth away, busy King

along the crimson fields the warriors fell!

Tearing apart the darkening skies, the King raised his voice

above the din, bellowing like the call of the horn.

"Stay, my boys! Leave the way clear - the Champion is mine!"

Over the bodies he skipped merrily, traipsing over the pawns,

keenly focused,

on a legacy by the sword.

"Don't go m'lord! Come back, before it is past time!" the warriors brayed,

still the King did not attend - drawing his jeweled sword,

shining now in the evening sun, stained with fading stars

Above all others, he led his life plain,

conqueror among the conquerors,

till that fateful day, the day his Queen was besieged,

She kept the watch

watching the feral hordes writhe above the catacombs

Not in the tower, but at the front gate, urging the young men to fight

in his stead.

With sleight of hand,

She was taken by the Champion that day, with cold steel and heart alike,

the grounds full of blood and dust, patterned like the spray of a waterfall

upon every lifeless face,

He stood above her, the Champion, driving his sword into her gullet

while taking the King's place in her heaven,

and all that he ever held dear.

Almost succumbed under the haze of fever,

the King did see it all,

the fire in His eyes, wretched gnashing teeth, yes, a hole was made into his soul that day!

As the thunder raged, and lightning fell like tears,

an oath was taken - with no one around.

Vengeance, was the only compass of the King.

Now at the edges of sight, his men regaled in the muddy fields

knowing what was to come - the mighty King!

As he clashed his shield against his sword, the men shouted

on high: "Do not continue m'lord, you are consumed!"

Too late for the Champion, however - for he knelt by the end of the King's mercy

Screaming, screaming, the hordes did wail, beseeching the nightmare King,

strangely hollow now, the scene divides

the many seem so few, and the hills become cobblestone hallways,

"What sorcery betrays these eyes?" wondered the King, as the voices became tangible

Gazing down upon the Champion, he noticed the flames had become blue,

a continence much like his weighed upon the image below him,

weaving together the mists, he cleared his troubled mind, and now he recognized the enemy!

It was so clear now, like the harvest moon -

"This man is not my wife's killer, he is my son..."

"My son! My Son! How has this come to be?!"

The King, seeing his son's bloodied features sharp, did now retreat a few paces,

ceased only by the feet of his body stumbling into a unknown form just behind him:

It was only the body of his wife, the Queen...with a dagger lodged in her heart,

to the vision he gasped "My love, my love! What have I done?!"

Time now slowed forth...as if in a dream,

heaviness poured across his limbs swathed in the fear of what he had done

slow as molasses in the morning air,

as the the servants stood by, gazing upon the would-be-king

horror clear, the sound of flesh became muddled once more.

The call of the horns,

The call of the horns,

the cry of the falcon in the distant past,

the pall of summer on the winter's smile,

for times long ago he flailed about,

on the soft mossy banks of the lake,

allowing one final glimpse of what was,

a tapestry of love, now torn upon the rocks, his

standard in the thorny brambles,

and the cruel absoluteness of tender life,

now alone in the corner, two forms still,

while the shadows crept in...

"Ah!"

the King thought to himself...

...then what is the point of being young, if you cannot regret it?"

Streaks

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Wed, 07 Aug 2013 01:03:00 +0000

On the docks they skitter along, lost and found,
little feet grown large on the drizzly boardwalk,
with dreams aplenty, as when the wind was young

Few reach the pinnacle of speed - the effort alone would slay
dragons, these souls are on their way no doubt,
towards heroic deeds yet unseen,
with determination on the sweat of their brow,
pining away with a demigod's plow

Some flow down the gentle pathway to a nearby pub like
cold molasses, taken in by the smell of the sea,
new pork pies and stale beer,
a cacophonous, winding, misty embrace -
wafting along the edges of their senses,
they search for way to stay razor's edge

Most, forget why they came -
the fog of being human is not easily swayed
hemming and hawing,
toiling just to skirt the taxman's gaze,
but not enough to
kill the numbness on the brain

Soon all the big feet, some narrow, some wide -
all of them seek shelter amidst the throng,
wishing to become small once again,
tiny footprints on the sandy beaches of the world
unknown and unhindered
back to the place where dreams anew.

Madness of Red

noreply@blogger.com (shadowsofmymind) — Thu, 01 Aug 2013 01:22:00 +0000

It was a quiet evening in the heather,
teaming, swaying on the gentle breeze like wildfire;
I went there to escape the morning's ill feelings, - still not yet allayed,
yet now I could see
sunset's pure colors oozing upon the horizon;
the madness of red, soulful blue of impending twilight,
sharp orange and yellow fruits all hanging on a drooping
tapestry in the sky

Stillness and silence preyed upon my mind at last,
and the forbearance of the season washed away the
elements of a long, long day -
how could it not? I knew the earth wished to take me.

Yet, the creatures saw me in the meadow, saw me for what I was;
two once lively legs and feet, a lithe and impenetrable will - now reduced
to the ashes, such bright eyes now dimmed with heaviness of time
simply lying in the heather, arms spread wide to caress the evening air,
once again...once again to feel young as if the day was new,
just grasping for hope everlasting.

Between the comings and goings of the hours and minutes,
mere seconds can make all the difference;
a lover's kiss or a strangers kindness,
or a timely melting of the heart -
against all-odds, we continue on,
pondering and planning the next move,
we know we cannot stay long...
yet I will always find myself here again,
alone or not - back in the heather.