Tag: poem

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Happiness is Practiced, Not Pursued.

Tranquility is not a place on a map,

Not a thing you can only achieve with a trendy new app,

or a 6 month deal, half off on the media

that you read, hear, or watch to establish mindful criteria.

I’m writing this as a PSA to myself,

so for you, my way might not be the best way,

But I prefer to close my eyes at any time or breathe deeply

instead of pointing at my calendar, looking forward to my ‘best day.’

Destination addiction is the baseline of the rat race,

the ‘pursuit of happiness’ is a road to nowhere but an exhausted, sad place.

Happiness is a state of mind. You can’t search for, dig up, and literally ‘find peace,’

rather, find some time to unwind,

just a few seconds to reset your second-guessings,

Devote some time to breathe, and watch your fears melt, anxieties evaporate, wash away your stresses.

The outer battle goes on, and even if you didn’t ‘get it all done,’

when peace of mind is the mentality you practice,

No matter the battle, the war is already won. – RSM

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sdrowkcab

nehW I saw gnuoy, ebyam ekil thgie ro enin sraey dlo,


I detrats gnikool ta sdrow, dna dluow rednow


tahw ti dluow eb ekil fi hcae drow ew daer saw delleps morf thgir ot tfel.


I thguoht fo yreve drow I daer ni esrever,


ti emaceb os citamotua-


ti saw ym og ot gniht ot od elihw gnidaer gnihtyna, emityna, tsuj a modnar tibah;


gnikooL kcab, ti saw a citsiugnil tfig fo ym nwo doohdlihc noitanigami.


oS, s’ereh a peed kcabworht,
ot nehw I tup nwod, deppilf, dna esrevered sdrow ni ym elttil daeh os tsaf,


dna t’ndid ezilaer ti saw ytterp ssadab. -RSM

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Along The Crescent Moon

As my physical body rests I find a dope lunar crater, as my astral self walks along the sun drenched moon.

I manifest my favorite skateboard, and do a nose grind in a goofy stance along the outer rim.

I feel a sense of clarity as the sun’s rays bounce off and shine through me, a warmth so rich;

The moon looks like a crescent shape from Earth tonight, so it makes sense,

that i look back at a certain spot on Earth, reflect on the very recent past and begin to reminisce…

I’ll remember gazing along the gold crescent moon and finding the hanging star.

I’ll remember the nerves that possessed me, until I realized I wasn’t the only one with butterflies, not by a long shot.

I’ll remember the way I felt when I saw them all, family, old and new, emerging in their Sunday best.

I’ll remember how love lit up the room, a warmth like the sun-a chamber of collective radiance across the river from my mother-metropolis.

I’ll remember having the best view in the room, as the master of ceremonies often does, and before I knew it, my job was done.

I enjoyed it so much, the one thing I forgot was where I put my nerves-they seemed to get lost in the rain and clouds as the bridal party, groom, and the bride walked out.

I’ll remember when the dance floor swelled, and food and wine surfed along as every tune on the soundtrack was somebody’s favorite song,

A certain kind of magic was created as we celebrated, the kind that compels the crowd to just know that this night would be truly special.

Only magical nights like these stay true, as we look back in the years to come.

I won’t remember this dream I describe, nor most others when I arise,

But as I slip further into a deep sleep state, kickflipping on the moon, doing a lil’ sleep-skate,

I look back at that spot on Earth and rewind, to the 1st of December, 2019, to one of my most loved memories; one of my life’s best keepsakes.- RSM

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Seven Haikus About Life, And Stuff.

‘Beauty’ is the air

between your eyes and the things

and people you love.

–

Important moments

pass by so quickly, that we

replay them ’til death.

–

Intimate moments

with oneself are works of art:

Powerful. Priceless.

–

Life is a dancefloor,

ballroom dance moves are the norm.

I like pop-and-lock.

–

Staggering to think

how many realities

we’ve made, and destroyed.

–

It’s hard to maintain

a peaceful flow, like water,

but fires are no match.

–

Understanding you

is your most important skill.

You are worth your time. – RSM

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Midwest Winter Grievances:

Ice and pavement mix together below my toes,

encased in old boots as I avoid the slick sleet, bro.

shuffling my BIG SHOES slow; that’s the way it goes when it’s Farenheit 32 or below,

and there’s only one frozen path, the only way to go.

All the flowers, birds, beautiful butterflies- THEY’RE ALL DEAD.

Only us humans and other annoying lil’ ICE DEMONS still reside right around us as questionable-ass rabbits

gaze at my apartment building, and scurry right past’it.

Ain’t much positive, winter is the fucks,

got kids digging out the car for like, 10 bucks,

all the animals outside look mad suss

and trying to hibernate on the weekends is tough.

Me and winter go together like bacon and cement,

the winter is a squatter in my life that pays no rent,

But, after 90 days (hopefully) it’s a wrap

Call the cops on the winter, watch them throw him in the back, damn;

Understand, me and Invierno have our moments

But he’s just a bitter old man, and his age is really showing.

The holidays are great, as well as my birthdate,

But apart from that, the winter is an icy ball of hate. – RSM

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Wake up Exhausted by Tegan and Sara

I’ve held the strong belief that certain chords on guitar carry a feeling (like Cadd9), a vibrating set of strings spring our minds to pick up a particular vibe,

our emotions churned by the same chimes over and again, burned into our memories, for better, worse, or all of those places in between.

Songs are the superstructure of these tones, several notes forming harmonies, patterns creating melodies,

as the unique energy they give flows into our mind’s eye, tagging up the walls of our memories.

A certain feeling is cultivated, after ‘that song’ is heard after about a thousand times,

be it a sad, somber thang, a high energy rage ballad, or something very monotone (like ‘Sex & Candy’ by Marcy Playground),

a unique quality – warm, fuzzy, and unmistakeable – calls to our souls by way of our ear drums.

Some songs feel like home, no matter what they sound like, and on its 10th repeat or more, that’s really all that matters. – RSM

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Circum Romani

It’s hard to hide ‘the crazy’, it’s bursting at the seams

as our fearless, brainless ‘leader’ yells, rambles, and screams;

It’s a multi-ring circus with the clowns up front,

Disregarding all the crowd’s needs for their own wants.

Waving shiny banners, having us all play along,

Everyone’s hand over their hearts- singing the same song.

We outdo our Gross-Embarrassment-Product, every day,

DC-Puerto Rico-China-Syria-Ukraine,

And you can’t just blame the main idiot for all the pain,

Oligarchy is the team, and oppression is the game.

Sports are a distraction, TV and movies have been

the-opiate-of-the-masses, plus religion? Man, we’re strapped in.

The Roman Circus used to give bread to the crowds,

events free of charge, and the Romans roared loud,

they would cheer when their victims were killed and dragged away.

The Roman Circus never stopped – the show goes on today. – RSM

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The Astral Movie House

What if right after your death you find yourself alone, in a one-seat movie theatre, where you arise as if abruptly woken up from a dream.

Your ideal self-image from your life’s memories is manifested, and you look and feel, by your own opinion, as the best you ever have.

An 70mm film projector flickers, and begins rolling a film onto a realistic-as-life screen directly in front of you. A classic black and gray circular countdown starts backwards from 10, in the clearest picture you’ve ever seen, anywhere.

The film begins. Your earliest memory in life plays out as the first scene. You are taken aback. Your emotions criss-cross and crash, and finally, you understand: ‘heaven,’ ‘hell,’ and ‘purgatory’ will all be experienced here, in this single-seat movie house. You’re free to get up and leave at anytime, but the thought never occurs to you.

It all comes back, a full recap of your now-past life. The best moments invoke laughter, tears of joy, leaving you feeling like a rejuvenated soul; while the worst ones trigger despair, regret, and unkempt anger, mostly directed at your past self. But not fear. Fear is for the living.

The movie ends, and as the credits roll, every name of all your loved ones, friends, family, co-workers, people you met just once, all scroll along. You are credited as the lead role, and the director.

There you are, alone in your own private astral cinema – lessons learned, emotions drained, and at peace with your past life – a catharsis unmatched.

There’s a red EXIT sign to the right. A force within you questions where it leads, and beckons you toward it.

You rise from your chair, and walk toward the EXIT sign. It leads you around a corner to a long, maroon-carpeted hallway ending with a single door. It’s an industrial dark gray, with a few scratches, and a worn black and gold PUSH sticker on it. You stop at the threshold, take a deep breath, push it open, and walk through.

You new first memory starts. – RSM

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A Cool, Quiet Mind.

Stare it down,

like your destination is already the place that surrounds you.

Stare it down,

the farthest part of the road ahead that you’re walking down.

Step by painful step, carry on, and adversity will give in,

for you are the one who will triumph;

Adversity is just the means to your ends, the road taken toward tranquility.

Patience, restraint, a cool, quiet mind-

these will turn the very obstacles that block your way into weapons you wield at the wicked, and unworthy.

Stare it down – the path, as you walk – and see how fast it begs to get out of your way. – RSM

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Mind, Body, Soul, Music.

Moving to the music being pumped into my ears is a second nature; only breathing comes before it.

Sitting on a bus, going somewhere and a half, my foot moves around like it’s conducting an orchestra of what’s coming through my headphones.

My fingers tap the sides of my phone,
Head nodding subtly to the rhythm;

It’s only when I ask myself “What is there to write about?” that I realize that the music has already taken me –

Sending 4 over 4s through my veins, bass and treble through my capillaries,

nervous system fully synced with my current bop’s beats per minute, and I respond accordingly –

even while typing this, my subconscious is a subwoofer, the way I move to the music without thinking; my crown chakra tunes in to the tune’s vibrations.

I almost miss my stop, and I hurry out the backdoor, but from my seat to pounding pavement, I haven’t missed a beat. – RSM