Tag: Spiritual Journey

Rain Again

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The clouds crowd around the sun, like moths to a bright light. This hue of blue turned grey. I guess there really are 50 shades. Even tho it’s dismal outside, I’ll still wear my shades. You can stare,but you can’t see past the glass. The rain starts to fall, yet the drops are graceful. I use to hate this, until I witnessed a tree smile. Showering me all while sheltering me, this feeling can only be a mother’s unconditional love. Now i dance in the rain instead of slump with my head down, sometimes the sun gets jealous. The clouds begin to part, the sun wants all the shine. Like the stars, the ones we can follow along the red velvet to see on display. The real stars are smart and stay out of reach, but occasionally they shoot trying to catch our dreams,and put motion to our wishes. The reflection of the oceans, I can’t swim but I can fly. I’m just learning how land, It’s not as easy as taking flight. The air here is thin, but crisp. I bask in the softness of the clouds, and let melodies of the sun rays whisper sweet nothings of silence. Interrupting my tranquility is a parade — I predict it will rain again tomorrow.

-Leighrick

Slice of Life

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Slice of Life

As a toddler I use to wonder if the birds could hear my thoughts.
That the dew on the grass was from trees crying, because they felt lonely.
Watching the sun set ablaze these cotton polluted skies.
The moon arrives.
With the slight waves of a breeze, kissing my skin.
Transporting chills through backward columns.
Lips against the pavement;
What I witnessed was not specific to any hue.
My silver lining was love, in the shadow of a larger portrait.

Eye got my I’s peeled
Fixated —
Inspiration.
Intimacy.
Illumination.

I’ve got my eyes peeled.
Wide open.
Inhaling every color.
Recreating Space.

I am the vanished piece
to the puzzle, peace.
Everyone grab a slice.

Don’t be afraid to feel.
Don’t be afraid of the way you feel.

My words may not suffice my thoughts.

Opening my heart parallel with mine eyes.
Uncovered, Unblocked, Unlocked,
Expanding.

Absolute knowledge may intimidate circumstantial courage.
Not frightened by falling, because
I can’t get much lower than understanding.
The wisdom eye seek – deep-seated – [and] overlooked.

The pupil.

Ink is my blood, and I can’t help but leave a trace.
On every canvas —
I’d donate my smile to those with a frown.
Paint murals on sidewalks for those whom walk with their heads down.

Dreams are notes of my existence; which is not a fantasy, because I never sleep.
Visual conversations with my conscience.

I couldn’t fit all my faults in to San Andres, so
the thought of accountability, continues to shake up the world.
The pebbles cast resemble the magnitude of that in a bird pond.

Skipping.

Seeking peace through beats and rhymes.
Eyes fixated –
Insight.
Vigilant.

Gazing souls wander – gawking at redemption.

I remember feeling lost.
Realizing this is the beginning, and scared when it may end.
I never forgot how to pretend.
The make believe, made me believe,
The fates delivered the coup de grâce, at any moment.

With every breath.

I have my eyes peeled on what is coming around the corner.
Kin to Slumber, Grandchild to time, an accomplice of the sandman.

Rubbing eyes,
Crossing t’s.
Decoding p’s and q’s

I want to connect every continent like water.
Leaving no trail to follow, but
enough inspiration to create your own.

I am trying to enhance my view.
Honesty isn’t always as flirtatious poetry.
Occasionally submissive to empathy.

Trying to emulate an open book.
I lay here a diary waiting to be broken open.
Longing for someone to tease & taunt death, because
They know if they ever read it, I’d spread threats with rumors.
Only to have my words tell the story, there are always three sides
Yours, Mines, and the truth.

I never told them I could write,
I never told them they taught me how.
I told myself never to tell them what this really is about.

I’ve got my eyes peeled.
Wide open.
Inhaling every color.
Recreating Space.

I am the vanished piece
to the puzzle, peace.
Everyone grab a slice.

–Leighrick

Break Fast & Read Slow

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Break Fast & Read Slow.
This morning I sit contemplating, scrummaging through synonyms and personifications. I take a stab at exercising mediation and writing being in sync.
Once upon a time I believed that communication in relationships [i.e Family, Intimate, Friends ,etc] was farfetched. Telling one person, let alone the world how I feel? Never!That is…until I picked up a pen, maybe it was a pencil, or maybe I was sitting at the computer abusing it with my bead eyes and frolicking fingers.
Since then I have been pursing creative writing. First – I wrote with intentions of beefing up my confidence, but more importantly I found an outlet. The feeling is natural, as I began to simmer down writing became a healthier alternative for expressing myself, and the way I feel.
I have dissected every syllable and ingested every doubt. Collecting memories like recipes, and holding them close like secrets.
No longer do I believe that I am restricted to pain, sadness, tearful joy, trauma, warm love, oppression, heartbreak, etc to produce a gem. The pressure has ceased, and all these ingredients are just that.
As appetizing as it reads – surely it does not define the divine Goddess I am.
So currently I am marinating in this process of enlightenment. Soaking up the pungent frustration and tart effortlessness. I am the author of [my] cookbook; is your mind malnourished? How about some dessert for thought, the sweetest tasting intellect served on a platinum incrusted paper plate.
Thus allowing you to savor every simile, break down every syllable, and extract every nutrient from my light, and let the imagery melt in your hand and mouth, this is what love tastes like.

Bon Appétit !,
– Vigilant Leighrick, Poetic Renegade.

Who Needs Sleep?

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Instead of sleeping I think.
Conversing with my Conscience.
rekindling memories and setting ablaze doubts.
I am the smile and the frown, together
Shaping beauty.
Jaded compliments, opening old wounds
Tho deceptive as the skin may be,
The density of my bones, upholds a heavy spirit.
A paradox.
It beams light, and eases darkness.
Breaching the infrastructure of this tale, it’s growing
Rooted so far down the sky becomes the ground, and
My solar plexus houses the blueprints of galaxies.
Invisible to looking eyes.
Tap into the 3rd frequency, and see
Wisdom is heard in the whispers.
Instead of sleeping I think.
Imagining my own colors,
Sanding a frame of sizable impression for masterpieces.
Empathy is kept safe in the right atrium’s, saving what’s left for the ventricles.
I found love on a two way street,
Sitting at the crossroads.
Lotus Pose.
Unlocking the gift to
Be.
Willing…
Knowingly….
Instead of sleeping, I think.

-Leighrick

The Giving Tree

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The spine is a trunk.
The nerves are vines, draping insides of beings like sound-walls.
Meditation is the freeway to higher learning, of self.
A portal.
This truth is no pyramid scheme;
Judge taste – not people.
Leaves fall resembling coin filled wishes, to the bottom of a pond.
Whose depths are more than seen on surface.
We are all flowers.
The branches of energy are
fruitful, delicate, and sometimes blemished.
Mother’s of the sun birth daughters of stars, with crescent eyes.
Upheld by Orion.
Their voices mocking Little Walter;
Singing blues to the blacks, browns, and all bands of color.
Harmoniously their cries spawn tides, expunging identities.
There is peace lodged in the throats of mutes.
Yoga is poetry in the form sign language.
Exchanging idioms between flexibility and endurance.
This Being –
Firm like a mountain, pose
Still like a tree, yet
a Warrior soul.
…

-Leighrick

Dear Diary

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Trying to emulate an open book.I lay here a diary, waiting to be broken open.
Longing to have my stories leap into someones hands and be embraced –
Instead of hidden.
Recovering old memories, chasing bubbles with siblings and cousins.
My grandparents grass was so green,
All the other sides surrounding were concrete.
Love couldn’t get much better than this.
Sneaking sips of Caprisuns,
“Just reuse the straw”
“I saw another box under the table”
“Great!”
“They shouldn’t miss this one.”

Turn the page and feel my emotions get bullied by words, said by people
I wish I never heard.
Now you’ve met them, and
We share something in common.
Sensitive like the t.v. antenna in the living room.

Trying to emulate an open book.
My house is like a library.
Several books, but even more stories.
I lay here a diary, waiting to be broken open.
Longing for someone to tease death, because they know if they read it,
I’l kill em !
Only to have my words revive their spirit.
I never told them I could write.
I never told them they taught me how.

You’ve skipped pages towards the end,Anxious to see how I turned out.

You left the pages with stains from my heart – faced down.
Discovering my smile in every caricature I draw,
trying to mask my normal frown.
I remember laughing until I cried,
And crying until no one new the difference.
Until it all came alive, and
you realize most of my life have been served through sentences.

The Notebook –You’ve read plenty of love stories and letters.
Every time you see a picture of a broken heart,
You can smell the tears on the page.
Then you come across a hotel I drew to house all of my mistakes,
with extra closet space, just in case my skeletons try to escape.

You can’t feel your body.
Reading these words seem to articulate my fate.
Trying to emulate an open book.
I lie here like a diary, with stories repeated and untold.
Bold truth and white lies.

I can’t be individual by myself.
There’s so many characters in this book;
which story will you choose from?
The author doesn’t change, only the interpretations.

-Leighrick