Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Saturday, January 13, 2018

Without True Cohesion

New ideas were slow in formation this week. Selfdoubt still plagues even now after so much personal development of style and achievements with writing over the past few years.

Furthermore, a damn popsong keeps filtering through my head, throwing my concentration off from my warm room project—the song’s meter mangles the sought-out rhythms and harmony for the verse, altering the patterns I want to use— makes my words clutter, fall offkey, falter.

Adding to my frustration: I cannot bend the poem to suit the selected persona—his voice runs counter to my own: confident, angry, rebellious, defiant, hints of respect (when he feels it is earned) … everything I develop for this new voice, for this personality crumbles into further unnecessary fractures without a sense of connections, without true cohesion… the poem inches forward, when once it galloped…

Probable Manuscript Titles
• 1913
• 1913: The Warm Room
• Warm Room, Open Window, Unmade Bed
• the unmade bed translated
• river/fractured
• fracture(s)
• suspended world
• remains of an uncalm world
• the wild green outside
• nervous rookery

Saturday, January 6, 2018


Midweek I gained the perfect idea for revving up this sleeping blog—but within a few hours, distractions erased any beginning phrases and paragraphs. I even weeded out the back garden, cleared out dead sabers of sleeping irises, all in the hopes of charging up a new idea, a casual commentary for development.


The blank page stares back: a grass field frosted over, trapped in a limbo, a paralysis of expectation.

What do the following items have in common?

• lit match / unlit match
• crumbs of bread loaf
• radio static
• quoted line from Chaucer, stripped from a notebook
• slow ache along the lower back
• open book
• closed book
• unread newspaper
• hands cusped near your face

Sunday, July 3, 2016

fractured line 838

838. our boy mumbles in his sleep—low on the landscape                     thunder motions—fades

playing with the haiku form— @HaikuSentence

Saturday, July 2, 2016

fractured line 837

837. five days after summer solstice, we shave back my hair;                     rain will fall soon

playing with the haiku form— @HaikuSentence

Friday, July 1, 2016

fractured line 836

836. shadow of a pen hovering over the page; the neighbor’s                     hounds bark

playing with the haiku form— @HaikuSentence

Thursday, June 2, 2016

Prompt / Poem / Poetry

[A Collective Meta-Modern Poem]
from Students at Wharton County Junior College,
English Composition 1302-22187
She holds her breath when
    crossing over fractured lines
in the sidewalk—
          (D. G. Smith)

Creative ideas launched roots in the earth,
endlessly growing.
Words entered the mind, emotion would forever be flowing.
Thoughts resembled petals,
breath taking and unique.
The sun too, sparked new creation each and every day.
Seeds scattered,
therefore lyrics spread.
Creativity was recorded for all to witness,
there would be no decay.

          (Arianna Presas)

As a whole, it is an item of fashion to be proudly seen,
Yet as an individual work of threading, it is useless;
Merely an idea that finds itself quickly disposed of
Without other similarly constructed pieces
To tie together- a modern statement
That once in the vogue,
May be thrown out as an embarrassing rogue
Or hailed as a timeless work
To be mechanically replicated many times over.

          (Miranda Smith)

I came from my father’s fertile soil. I began to grow; one stem and a leaf. I breathe in what is spoken and shower in discoveries. I stay in light or wither away. Eventually, I will plant seeds, being a fertile land for them like my father was for me.
          (Allison Moreno)

High above all, with a unique perspective of the vast world
Gains knowledge from book worms and distant travels
When understood leaves the mind flying high

          (Morgan Weaver)

A trash can. In the sense that we can throw in our feelings, memories and other meaningful things. In life, these things will always pile up at the landfill and make us who we are as unique individuals.
          (Alina Mohammed)

You are the switch to your light. You are the zipper to your leather jacket. You control all your fantasies. It can have like or as, but remember not all men wear pink. It may take a century to write it. However, I do not see Jay-Z complaining. Do not hang me for that one. It is all to answer a simple question.
          (Rolando Ramirez)

Filled with colorful flowers and scented meanings.
In an open field, where birds are set free.
Flying through the air with surprising and clever intentions.

          (Ashley Nguyen)

Strong yet fragile. The dragonfly, through echoes travels through a short life.
          (Chris Garza)

Friday, May 13, 2016

Prompt / Poem / Poetry

[A Collective Meta-Modern Poem]
from Students at Wharton County Junior College,
English Composition 1302-22187

Find out more information regarding Mark Rothko.

—a luna moth— on a broken bottle.
          (D. G. Smith)

We look around; everything is beautiful.
We smile, breathing in the aromatic air.
Peace is what we feel as we feel the rush around us.
Streets bustling with life, the shoving of shoulders.
     We are screaming, so we write it.

          (Julieta Barreiro)

The mind's eye witnesses that which blooms plentifully, a sudden unison of limbs approached the door, that who watches assists their passage and notices the stray reminder hobbling behind—
          (Angel Guzman)

Spinning fans, the equivalence to running thoughts. But a reflection of yourself is just a piece of glass where a person can see themself. Looking at the base of a statue, before one looks up, how will you know what the rest of it looks like if you don't keep looking up?
          (Michelle Vivot)

Ideas are lurking in raw images such as mother nature herself. She provides inspiration to a poet, such as my photo of a flower and the fly. Both are creations of God and mother nature. Inspiration is the key to create a rhyme or a story. It could be different colors, shapes, objects, or even sizes, the outcome can be as strong as the winds of a hurricane.
          (Hieu Lieu)

A tree holding on to existence,
from the rigors of its creator.
Flowers closed to the eyes of the world, as
a car abused by its brother.

          (Jubal Velho)

I always get my hand dirty,
I devour the Earth and make anew.
There's many of my kind, but some of us take hours
and some of us take days.
We sing as we work to make the time go by and we start to rhyme, but that's what they want.
Sometimes it's frustrating, I give them what they desire and I get criticized anyways. Only my brothers on the field can relate.

          (Pourya Jannesari)

I am ugly and boring to look at,
But once dug deeper people fall in love. A beautiful creation comes out of me, when people pour their emotions out.

          (Sanam Walimohammad)

It begins with the roots, they need water and nutrients to grow, but some leaves and flowers do not bloom like expected. Not all flowers reach their full potential, but that might be the beautiful part to it.
          (Brianda Avalos)

A table, a spot for a young woman full of emotion and allure, to bring
forth an expression of herself to her peers.

          (Bryan Poole)

A blossoming network of life,
Radiating outward metamorphically
Cycling through each new sunrise brand new.
The energy flows downward,
Touching everything and bringing light.

          (Jewel Korman)

Different shapes, colors, and sizes.
Inspiration for something magical
But lost like a dog in a forest
And strong like a man of faith.

          (Kellie Flores)

unsrcrewing the cap of a bottle, the ocean water flows out and water will contaminate— but with the cap, your body guard will protect the water from getting out
          (Mohammad Memon)

In a world full of greens and blues,
Man creates an alien structure that, stands taller, metallic, sharper,
It stands out, opposing natural thought,
Combining two forms of two different cultures, becoming one stage.

          (David Pichon)

A color of sun,
A source of happiness,
The water makes me alive!
I can seduce you with my soft hands,
As well, put you in danger with my sharp thorns.

          (Umme Ammara)

It is a foundation which connects things whether they are big or small.
It is the soul of a larger organization, which continues to grow stronger each year.
They evolve as time goes by holding onto their true form of Mother Nature.

          (Anam Mohammad)

A yellow bloom speaking sounds of love
Unfolding it'a silk petals in rhythm
Expressing feelings surrounding its green nature
          (Shagufta Dadabhoy)

They come in many different shapes, sizes and lengths,
All sorts of different colors may defy its outer beauty,
However analyzing it throughly may show the inner beauty,
Over the years, seasons change and they evolve and go through the cycle of life and death.

          (Soha Mardiya)

What rocks do I see?
There are gold, brown, gray and white rocks on the ground.
There are beautiful and pleasant.
What are they made of that I could think?
They are all made the rocks harder than the sponges so I would not be able to touch with my hands outside.
How were they reflected?
The rocks were reflected so bright and well organized, it can be valuable over the hot sun what I have been understating them so well.

          (Wen Osaretin)

I go against mother despite whatever she says— I'll protect you because mother is a moody woman, I'll defy her for you through a sea of similarity. I will make you unique— mother may try to change us but we will remain different
          (Shayan Lahijani)

Nature is the expected and the unnatural and synthetic is poetry. A fountain is powered by pumps and chlorine keeps it clean. Yet, the unnatural and the natural coexist as one.
          (Anna Hickey)

Which seat do I choose?
The emotions coming down, deflecting the sun from my reflection.
The angles all vary.
Different viewpoints to help think louder, breathe softly, and get a sense of belonging.
Which seat do I choose?

          (Nadine Hassawi)

Thursday, May 12, 2016

Prompt / Poem / Knowledge—part 1

[A Collective Meta-Modern Poem]
from Students at Lone Star–CyFair College,
English Composition & Rhetoric 1302-5016

Mark Rothko, No. 7, 1964,
Mixed media on canvas, 236,4 x 193,6 cm
Courtesy Gemeentemuseum den Haag

—a scar under the chin.
          (D. G. Smith)

The wind is my guidance,
whispering together in a storm,
the veins running through me,
slowly I've fallen ,
death comes upon me.
My deed is completed,
days turn into nights, the old lose energy of life.
A new life a new me has been created.

          (Josie Aguilar)

Waiting for the final stage of growth,
It slowly starts to open to experience the light,
Radiant colors blossoming within the beauty,
Is revealed once there is acceptance.

          (Celeste Cespedes)

A water fountain
Constantly overflowing with ideas
Never ending

          (Alyssa Lesly)

Life is filled with many opportunities and treasures. Sometimes it feels impossible to reach your goals. You may compare yourself being trapped under water in a cool stream. If you use the things you have learned or have been taught, you can apply skills to your daily life.
          (Kaylon Hubbard)

Instinct that lies between two halves of a whole. Be swallowed or regurgitated. I accept these evils or become the hunt. The hunter. Power flooded in veins that shredded by gnashing they pulsate
          (Leila Rodriguez)

Tendrils of the trees creeping towards the sun for life. Feeling blue in a sea of reds, not everyone understands and so you are drowning and drowning, yet you live, for it saved you.
          (Shaynia Grant)

Her mind was a flower that blossomed with wisdom.
Growing throughout her life experiences; rain or shine.
She needed both to flourish into the flower she was destined to be.

          (Juliette Ragi)

Catastrophe growing into a tree.
Marking's engraved on each branch,
each one a new keepsake.
The more that is known, the more that can grow.

          (Mireya De La Garza)

I spend my days looking down on society.
Sometimes I am a predator, sometimes I am the prey.
Society believes I'm poor. Living in nature is my shelter.
I live reality. I am free. I am rich.
Numbers are labels not reality.

          (Brian Morales)

The foundation of the world.
A big blue body of water.
It is everywhere and all around.
Powerful waves hitting the surroundings,
never dying.
          (Jose Duarte)

Gloomy clouds roar though the sky.
The waves cover the boat putting it into a
deep slumber. Man struggles to get a grip,
a life preserver at am arm's length.
The bright yellow light greets him to salvation.

          (Matthew Rivera)

She’s first acquired from inside, and grows without a ceiling. Written on towering walls, sunken in bottomless seas. She draws others in, sharing power that never limits.
          (Brook Wernecke)

A flower blossoms with the light of life, grows with the showers of the rain the bright colors makes it stand out giving out the sense of peace. With the radiant smell making it known attracting the bees to spread it seeds.
          (Chassity Valadez)

The allegro tempo of music surrounds the brain and enriches it with the soothing sound of the harp.
With the picking of each string, a part of the brain lights up, getting exposed to new experiences.
The sound of the music opens up the path of abstract thoughts
but the riff of the sixteenth notes enlightens the mind to think beyond and beyond.

          (Jessica Sinay)

A river
constantly flowing with new ideas
thoughts rippling through rapids
when I reach the end
I drown

          (Taylor Mize)

The seed is placed into fertile black soil,
Life bursting and bearing fruit,
Taken from the tree our eyes opened and begin to see,
Eden is lost and the flowers die,
But the seed remains bursting Life in the black soil.

          (Alan Lujano)

Water-flowing gently, filling the body.
Swish swish you can hear it hit the surface.
A cycle, a never ending cycle.
You have to keep floating.
Take advantage of the current and keep floating.

          (Jalissa Garza)

Minuscule, vulnerable
A flower blooms on a lone branch

Just as the flower blooms,
Ones experiences do the same.

          (Alexis Cruz)

A bud, so small, ignorant, and vulnerable. A newborn circled by full and vibrant of its species. Time passes on and fulfills its nourishments needed to bloom, into its prime, luscious and bright self, yet at the end of it all, it will be the end of it all.
          (Mercedes Miranda)

Navigating through the path
Of which we choose
The control of what we grasp
Is in our hands

          (Christina Seuffert)

Slowly but surely it will be
Collected and released.
Continuously flowing, a
Cycle never to be ceased.

          (Aresia Arthurs)

An Unraveling Revelation

In the midst of Darkness
Lies a seed of lightness
A seed of evolution
That shall rule all creation
An Energy protracting through its wings of fire
Creating a Roar heard from every corner
Even when wronged
It emerges out of its Ashes
Radiating its glory once more
For all flesh to see
Bowing to it, they shall be

          (Tawfik Hussein)

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Prompt / Poem / Technology — part 2

[A Collective Meta-Modern Poem]
from Students in a Writing Course at Lone Star–CyFair College,
English Composition & Rhetoric 1302-5019

Visit the for details on the artist:
Elaine de Kooning.

—twisted phrase on the tongue.
           (D. G. Smith)

Quickly they grow, with the passing of time,
the old ones are discarded to make room for the new.
Leaves, dependent of the tree they belong to,
as much as the tree itself is of the leaves.
Shed, left to wither and die once they have outlived their purpose.

           (Francisco Baca)

I remember seeing that harsh smile,
Engraving into her cold marble face.
The smile of a troubled soul.
Yet still managed to make my world shine brighter than the sun just through a screen.
I hear a strange noise, it's strained,
Beating faster than the wings of a baby birds first flight.
Reminding me she's no more.
The sky was dark and angry outside,
But I guess that's the cycle of life.
           (Tasnim Rahman)

As the electric fingers develop over time, the inexperienced post is restricted from progressing on its own. The old post is being supported by the electric fingers and without them, it will collapse. The electric fingers think for the post and doesn't allow it to mature for itself.
           (Malayasia Pearson)

Technology, an incessant poison.
A dictator, eroding humanity.
Discrediting our imagination,
Demeaning our value,
Until there is nothing left.

           (Jessica Kinsey)

Eureka! The light switch goes off and on.
A new idea springs forth in our minds.
It's flicker keep the darkness away,
For we are not dull.

           (Tamara Foster)

Dark room with a tiny box, light doesn't escape. Playgrounds are empty, faces zoned out at a box. Fingers taping away with an emotionless face.
           (Anastasia Cowen)

The addiction that creeps into the mind and assents the body is something like no other. The deliciousness that overwhelms the endorphin is more scary than the word addictive itself.
           (Kathryn Rogers)

A benign cancer that develops too quickly, clouding our means of reality and truth. Leaving little time to grasp.
           (Brittany Villanueva)

Like waking up a sleeping giant once the giant is awake action will be taken destruction might occur but justice will prevail
           (Blien Mahari)

As the emergency phone call, the cerise switch acts in a similar method at the press of a scarlet button. It claims for the act of assistance of a stern guardian. Without it, chaos, insecurity, tremor, and uncertainty arises.
           (Jose Cortes Jr.)

Networks and digital elements are a growing child. It is full of life and grows as the years go by with the guidance of scientists and parents. Advances are necessary. Keeping with the ever-changing ways of our planet, growth and modifications are expected to be vines of a plan that are almost impossible to take away but are vital for the production of things we enjoy.
           (Kelli Longoria)

It saves people's lives
Can be manipulated to do good, or bad.
Without, they would drown,
Drown in a sea of uncertainty.
Its color attracts.
If someone uses it wrong, they judge through it.
But yet, its use is a choice.

           (Sofia Gomez Fuentes)

I spend my time opening doors.
Connecting people all over the world.
I open for the good and the bad.

           (Noor Saleh)

A simple red button that helps obstacles without people have conflict— I have seen the struggle without—
           (Moises Salinas)

The small creative creature changes colors in every moment it decides to stand still, just like a branch of leaves. It is always changing its hardware and components, but its intended purpose or reason for being does not really change. There is always a chance that something bigger or better will come to its existence. It moves quickly and stealthily and never stays in one place for long.
           (Angelica Perez)

The heart is your lifeline to nature, so always take care of it and nurture it.
           (Shreatha Scott-Gutierrez)

Snap! A camera captures every life it is pointed at. As with a gun, there is no way to escape. There is always someone behind the trigger watching and waiting. Intent unknown, for protection or for fear?

Every day as we fall within the sights.
The flashes leads to the day that will be known as the last night.
Standing in line like Pines growing old to seal our sign.
Whole others dine on fine wine.
           (Zachary Baslangic)