wasting

I'm Wasting.












wastingminutes.wastingspace.
and thats why fromnow on.
ill try my









very best to stopwasting









andwandering











andhiding












anddestroying myself down.













because even though imake great efforts to stopwasting,















im still wasting all my efforts.












© 2011 the still air

The problems with simplicity are as follows:

We waste no time figuring a       way out
             because the path rests rightinfront of our feet,
and we're  amazed when
  the pages of instructions   lead us to the   complete,

but isn't that exactly what they're for?

The simplest of designs can portray
the exact    same     messages
that   are     hidden   amongst
      some of    the   most controversial and  complicated    presages.

and complicated doesn't run our planet earth anymore.

We're   trapped inside  an    age    of simplicity,
         starting at    A          and   landing at  B,
connecting dots     that were   so obviously   layed before us,
 because  we want things A.S.A.P.

 it's   a struggle just to try   to paint a    picture.

And if we fall out of the flow          with no  simple mindedness,
    we run   out   into  the world   with   extreme  eccentricity,
and we, at often times,  find ourselves,
         falling into the  simpleness of   simplicity.

Is there a problem?

    the simple    brilliance of a   simple man,
can   simply drive him      to  finish   what    he   intends,
with   a whole new outlook, and  whole new  eyes,
just      so        things        will      be    easier   in the end.

Are we  in   an  age  of laziness?

Or are  we  just   simply   brilliant.
because there are  thousands  upon   thousands  of ways,
to  complete      simple   tasks, and there are       easier     ways,
      to complete them, so  the   complex  mind will  appraise.

And this is          where       complexity  stands  strong.

   with    what   we  know,  we can play out every outcome,
and   we  can   shadow  the   easiest and more  efficient way,
but   by  opening  up   our   minds   to the  complexion of every situation,
and realizing        that  we   don't      have to live   in  dog  days

anymore.

and   realizing   that  the  most  difficult   of tasks,
can be tackled with   new eyes  and  we can  clear away  the haziness,
and  discover  efficiency over the old   ways
and we can exercise every place in our brain and know that it's not laziness

but simple brilliance.

Simpleness is the world I’m growing up in,
and i plan on making my contribution simpler,
by tackling things with brand new eyes.
and walking life a little easier.


© 2011 the still air

Get In the Car

Transgressions and transformations.
Reincarnations of tattered souls. 
Remember what dreams are composed of,
Remember we are only fools.

If we don't accept changes,
And live strictly off of hypotheses,
The only change we could undergo,
Is end of friendships and new enemies.

You see our mind has a mind of it's own,
And within it is our functions,
And we control our functions,
So change is all part of that motion.

Openness is a saint. 
We cannot conduct energy,
Unless we accept all transgressions,
And become the transformer for the enemy. 

Everyone is the enemy,
And we are all due for new formation,
So please don't be scared,
when the lights touch down in new motions. 

Keep the car running. 
Keep the engines purr,
To be heard from a distance.
To be heard. 


© 2011 the still air

Body and Soul

"Do you believe in angels?"
She said,
As she placed her hood,
Upon her head,


And let the rain fall,
All around her,
With an umbrella at her side,
Embracing the cool water.


"Do you believe there’s,
Someone watching?
Someone who knows,
How were moving?


Someone who knows,
Every last sway,
And every last footstep,
And every last day?"


With that I said,
"Close your eyes,
Listen to the sounds,
And realize,


That with nights we have left,
There’s just so many thoughts,
To let run through our heads,
To run us overwrought."


"I was curious,
Of what its like to die,"
She said, "for every person,
There's not enough stars in the sky.


If we were meant,
To be alive,
I’m sure the angels,
Would make us realize,


That a star,
Has no conception,
To our,
Person."


So I took her hand,
And placed it over the moon,
To show her how dark,
The world could be soon,


And I said, "we’re all the moon,
We’re not the stars.
The angels are all flickering,
Guiding us through who we are.


I know the way,
You feel right now,
And I know the world,
Turns up somehow,


But in these dire days,
Please don’t separate,
Your body and soul,
Don’t contemplate,


Just step outside,
And breathe the air,
And realize,
That life’s not fair,


But it’s the people,
We hold close and dear,
It’s the people,
That we hold so near,


It’s the angels,
We all have in our hearts,
It’s the angels,
Who have grown to be a part,


of us


that make this life
worth living.


I do believe in angels,"
I said,
As I removed her hood,
From her head.


And let the rain,
Run down her face,
"Those are the angels,
washing your tears away."




© 2011 The Still Air

When lost at sea

location isn't key,
when you're lost at sea,
it's not the first thing to come to mind,
nor is the time.
You simply feel your way through
without fear of whats in front of you,
and in the moment of despair,
you'll remember you're still here.
No matter which way you steer,
you'll eventually come near,

the shore.


© 2011 The Still Air

The Compass and the Clock.

The   numbersTicked soo sloowly,   aside
    and   the    internal compass could    not decide
 on   north, east,    south ,                   or   west,
   but    unsettling,   settling   our    choice of   nest.

      a motion,   a question,  a suggestion,
   made a notion into  the   promotion   of            emotion.
    SloowlyTicckingNuumbers remained,
as       the   non-directive  internal   compass     constrained

What others    wouldn't   care           to understand,
or     would perceive   as    just an act            offhand,
is that  the  SloooowlyTicckiingNuuuumberrs    made time persist,
and   the never   settling   compass  was just   allowing two  souls  to coexist

 outside          the cliche's of the world on the    shelf
and    I wouldn't  have asked   for anything   else.


© 2010 The Still Air

a little movement

a little movement,

can  cha nge a day

a little movement

and  you'll   convey

a little movement

to   make a heart  obey

a little movement

you'll feel  de fray

move a little

and  feel    a new

move a little

and   pursue

move a little

and   stare into  vast blue

move a little

until you  know it's you

no movement

shows  you 're headst rong

no movement

makes  time  prolo    ng

no movement

can be all   you are   lifelo ng

no movement

doesn't  putyou   where you    belo ng

so move a little.have a little movement.

© 2010 The Still Air

responsibility

it was not forced upon me
it forced itself upon me
ruined me, shaped me
it is why i am me

it is shattered, and it is concrete
and it has shattered its concrete
till the initials and prints in the concrete
are shrapnel of concrete

i was not born for the events,
so why put me through the events?
i am a major part of the events
but what was the point of the events?

i do not think i am who i could be,
but i am glad i am who i should be
rather than who i would be
if i was not shaped into me

© 2010 The Still Air

the stranger.

i was the  wakeful
desired and hopeful
as i watched the turning event

i'll never see again
the stranger i called friend
i can't   claim resent

i'm not the angel
on frontlines  of hell
i'm not alone, nor the saviour.

and if i fall at the line
it will  come the time
when the friend becomes the stranger

© 2010 The Still Air

November air.

I glimpsed it  s       arrival
    i ll         say it   glimpsed  me
and    i saw    it   toda y
in  a way    only  i could   see.

I    felt   it     surr ound me
in it s         breeze       i  had       awaited.
it s          air         had not  stopped
had   not       given  in       or    hesi tated.

I    heard      it
  and       in       a way     I avoided it
by  layerin g       on         resistance
that         made      me          admit:

I  am   not        a part  of  weather
i m          merely   breathing       a ir
and as    i          accept the    art of    everyt hing
i ll     breathe      again             i  swear.


© 2010 The Still Air

New

Why wait for a new day
when       i'm enjoying this one.

what are     we looking forward to,
before the     day has   won.

It  was    in the  night,
that    I   composed a  dream,

of  us,  all of us,
just    us, fooling     around, it would seem.

And the mo ments   before,
that        we would wish       stayed longer,

were the   reasons      today was,
so      much   stronger

             than

TOMORROW.

why wait when
        these dream
are what we
         live for?


© 2010 The Still Air

saved for another day

The eyes closeup             the sky,
control the weather  frominside,
she is day,              she is night

           she opens up her           rains,
 not in dire           rage,
but to save her sun
                               for another day  .


© 2010 The Still Air

Makes me feel.

It makes me feel
                         like I'm falling down,
The way it makes
                         my head move around.
And feeling that way
                         I felt when I fell,
Made gears turn,
                        and a moment to dwell.

It makes me feel
                        like I am a bird,
Set free of it's mother
                        with flight to be learned,
But I didn't catch on,
                        when I learned to fly.
Fluttering, failing,
                         as I try for the sky.

And it makes me feel
                         like I'm finally real,
Like I've washed away makeup
                         to really feel,
What it's like to be human,
                         and a human at best;
Just a poor fallen creature,
                                                          So far from it's nest.

© 2010 The Still Air

Even Dogs Eat Crumbs

I’m going to            need help,
and       justasmuch     as you,
cause                      I find the old self,
waiting for             the new.

I       still watch             apparitions,
     dancing in               a background,
and I still know of              the heard,
making       music and sweet          sound.

But I’m merely                  just another,
walkingamongst                   the others
and              I need just as much       saving,
as a man who finds he             druthers.

            So                I’ll reminisce on this,
that as I feel all      senses numb,
                               that with everything I do,
even dogs eat crumbs.

© 2010 The Still Air

Hello October

Please, allow me to paint a setting,

                for those who can't sit and watch a leaf fall,

                for those who can't catch a glimpse of a cold wind,

                for those who can't stare up into the blue sky,

                and know that snow will soon touch the earth's skin.

Please, allow me to create this thought,

               that a world that decays its aging leaves,

               lets them fall so far to the lost, lonely ground,

               will let them join the leaves of the past,

               and let them be warm and silenced without a sound.

Please, allow me to tell you,

               this world needs more dead leaves.

               This world needs more us to keep it warm.

               This world needs so many more of you and I's.

               This world could use more open arms.

Please, allow me to die,

               an interesting statement, right?

               But look at what all the dead leaves do.

               I want to do my part, I want to be purposeful.

               I want to be a dead leaf, and a dead leaf that's true.

© 2010 The Still Air

scars

They’re permanent I promise,
I’m permanently not proud.
The feeling I felt for frequency,
was wasted where I wasn’t allowed.

We all want what we want,
and we taste tattered treason,
by beating and breaking our skin,
realizing resentment with no reason.

I am an animal,
afraid and alone,
but you and your methods,
hosted a heavenly home.

I might make myself
look like a loser inside,
but the true testimony of me,
might not make it from my mind.

You see the same settings,
and I perceive prominent people,
but I beat myself and burn brightly,
my superstructure, or so called steeple.

© 2010 The Still Air

mssing lttrs

in a momnt th mnd wll fll in bl nks
seing thngs tht wer nver thre
som wold fnd this dscovry
wnderng how ths is fair

tht ones mnd cn b so dmb
to fll in smethng tht ws nver thre
wy do we se sch thngs
sch wrng thngs, unfair

i tll yu i’m th sme
nthng shold mke sens
bt ourslvs let thngs hve reasn
bcase reasns our nly sens

reasn fr evrthng
dth, scknss, prblms we list
bt no reasn fr ourslvs
no reasn to exst

so if we dnt mss a mssing lttr
thn hw cn we say
tht we’ll ntice ourslvs 
whn w’ve lst our way

© 2010 The Still Air

just paper.

                                                            
disconsolate paper sings for someone to
come and write just a simple song. anyo
ne could write, anyone can write and wi
th writing, really, what could go wrong?
i am the paper and i just want some pen
to etch it’s thoughts and write out its am
en. i need someone faithful and true. Ple
ase write this life out. i’m calling to you. 
i’m wiped clean of any possible flaw; i'  
m just a blank piece of paper, why can’t
anybody draw on me, write notes on me
Secret notes, love notes, even hates too.
a drawing of a future. A drawing of truth
. what am i for if no ones to etch on me  
a future, a story, a life amazing and free?

i mean, i really am just a piece of paper. 

© 2010 The Still Air

the last stamp.

Years of stamp collecting
Made me realize the truth:
That every stamp is perfect,
But should be left unused.

Anytime I tried to dip
The perfect stamp in ink,
The imprint was off balanced,
asymmetrical, out of sync.

Again! Again! Never give in,
Words in ink that I’d replay;
However, it’s hard to say
How much ‘never’ decayed.

I reused the best stamps,
The ones that truly stood out,
‘Till their lines were flat and feckless
And I’d have to learn to live without.

My collection had run dry,
When I separated good from bad
And looked at others piles,
Looked at what they had.

All the things I needed,
To complete my stamp collection.
Everything would come together;
A pattern with direction.

When I thought I’d have no more;
As I looked at my good pile,
Someone stumbled upon me,
Tried to offer me a smile.

He had no words on his lips,
No speech in his cheeks,
But a stamp in his hand,
A stamp so oblique.

Was no fit to my collection,
But was beautifully inlayed;
A rose with perfect shape
Peerlessly weighed.

I dipped the stamp in ink
And placed it on the pad,
But before I could reveal,
The unknown result I had,

I opened up my lips
And my voice had begun,
“This is the last stamp I’ll use,
I pray it’s a good one.”

© 2010 The Still Air

Daisies.

Daisies whispering in the sunlit field,
the communication bond is quietly revealed,
as is the beauty in each flower,
as they sit there, with each passing hour.

And as time turns, and the leaves fall,
and the daisies remain, all in all.
Their shape their colour remain the same,
and the leaves will return, once again.

The winter will take them by surprise,
as each flower slowly withers and dies.
And the sad array of yellow and white,
will safely sleep under the snow tonight.

As the snow melts, and they arise again,
to feel the warmth of summers sustain,
and to find, after winter, they’re not impaired,
but simply enough, completely prepared.

© 2010 The Still Air