Thursday, October 27, 2016

Work of Art... Rose thru the Concrete


I swear... There is something about her eyes that takes me on transit.... Wanting to surpass all dimensions... Move mountains... Search my soul... Be awakened...stay awoke.

The level of consciousness, wisdom and humility that lies behind these windows to her being... Make me pause and think...make me... Patient.

Waiting for that moment when her gears shift and that mind explodes into an oasis of neurological goodness that leaves me speechless... Wanting more... Wanting her.

Listening as she speaks her truths... Listening as she speaks her truths... Listening as I hear her truth...spoken.

I swear.... There is something about her eyes... That moves me... Awakens me... Keeps me woke.... And I am humbled.


Saturday, October 1, 2016

Monday, September 19, 2016

Somedays - The 5 minute Moon Dance

I can see the moon this morning, greeting me with her seductive aura... Willing me back into bed... Tempting me to ignore my alarm clock.

I can feel her caresses... Her soft gentle touch, making me twist and turn... I think she wants me to blush.

I inhale her scent with reverence as I stare into her light and I am captivated, mezmerized, intoxicated.

She touches my skin with her sultry armor and I am made to believe that we are invincible together.

My eyes are now closed and she wills me to dance to the rhythmic beating of my restful heart.

Sleep comes easy cacooned in her blanketed wonder... I am in bliss...

My alarm clock sounds and I know that it is over... My dance with the moon and my 5 minute snooze feature.

Y. Salmon

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Somedays. Part 1

Learning as I go my friend. Learning as I go.
Somedays are meant for you.
Somedays are meant for her.
Somedays are meant for the others...The 'forget-me-nots', the kindered spirits, the rebels with a cause... That one friend who constantly fidgets.

Somedays are meant for solitude filled with rejected phone calls and 'thought of you today text messages.' Music filling your inner lobes, recklessly pulling at your heart strings.

Somedays are meant for self pity and conflict of emotions. Everyone and everything has miraculously managed to get on you gat-damned nerves.

End of Part 1...for now.

-Y. Salmon

Saturday, March 5, 2016

#MyLifeAsAHuman #MyThoughtsMyWords Entry #668 Artist Unknown.

You see eyes flicker across your canvas... Describing wordlessly their bold intentions. Watching you touch and caress with each brush stroke. 
Carefully constructing your dream into reality... Breathing life into what once stood perfectly still. 
You inhale deeply with frustrated anticipation weaving in and out of your mind and your emotions...

Your hands seem to bleed and blend into your canvas, forming the exquisite realm of your pain and joy. 
You are anger and magical laughter. Pain and retribution. 
You are swift accusations and compassionate love. 

You are an artist restless and freedom bond. A creature of rebellion. A fighter against suppression. 

You are an artist down to your very core. 

Languid yet contorted all at the same time. 

You are reality in a world that is all but a dreamlike haze. 

Relax your tightly wound hands and rest your ever-speeding mind. 
Let your arms transform into wings as magnificent as your soul. And fly my wonderful friend. 
Fly into the unknown. 

-Y. Salmon

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

#MyLifeAsAHuman #MyThoughtsMyWords Entry#888 The Realness of a Dream

She's always been a bit of a dreamer...
   half way here...
        half way there...
Making her way along the paths only traveled by the ones that they call different or special...

The way she speaks speckled with nuances and meanings that are all her own confuses the masses but is understood by a few that she considers her own..

I've seen her smile and nod and engage in humorous banter so convincingly that she feels genuinely present...
You would never guess she's dreaming.
      Her eyes are changeable and hide as much as they convey...
             always travelling...
                  always far away.

I've seen her cry.
Wretched silent tears that demonstrate her pain only by the heaving of her chest.
       She'll curl herself in a ball of internal agony while she rocks away the hurt of her reality.

She's resilient though...
    despite the dreamer path she walks...
           she feels compassion for all things that are art...
Whether it is the sadness in your eyes,
      the sway of majestic hips,
             the mastermind of  propaganda...
                    the sensitive tug of a pair of lips...

-Y . Salmon