Tag Archives: Writing

Long overdue

I finally got around to adding long overdue features to my other blog “The Vinyl Jungle.”

There is now a menu with “About The Vinyl Jungle” and “Contact The Vinyl Jungle.”

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Demon Taunts

We all have demons that haunt us
An abuse
A mistake
A ripple effect
A risk you didn’t take
My demons are ones I can’t trust

Hiding in the darkest of shadows
In your eyes
Be unseen
A passive retreat
Hide what should not be seen
Love that still walks in the meadows

And then I questioned
The decision that I’d made
Though I knew the answer
Rode on the edge of a blade

The decision that I made
Rode on the edge of the blade

So I shrugged it off like it was a joke
And hid from it all behind blue smoke
And then I awoke
But It was too late
The loss was my fate
I let it slip away so easily
As if I meant nothing to me

We all have memories that taunt us
Cold chasm
In my heart
No looking back
Avoidance plays a part
For misguided precepts of trust

One Month Old

On July 23, 2017, I made the first post to my other blog on WordPress. The Vinyl Jungle was inspired by a friend who, after reading posts that I had been putting on social media, told me that he almost felt like he was reading a Blog. A little light went off just then, and after some more thought, I decided “why not?” 

I listen to music nearly every day. And as of late it’s almost always from my vinyl record collection. The Vinyl Jungle is off the cuff writing about the the album I’m listening to at that particular time. Sometimes, I write a kind of review about it. Sometimes I write some interesting related facts. And sometimes, I’ll recall an old memory that’s relative to the record I have spinning. My goal with The Vinyl Jungle is the same as when it was just simple social media posts. I hope it inspires the reader to check out some music they haven’t listened to before, and to gain some insight into that music. 

One of the goals of anyone who writes is that someone reads it, even if they are, at the core, writing for themself. This morning, when I checked the number of subscibers I had for the first time, my head started spinning. Thirty days in and I already have 242 subscribers! So I want to send my sincerest thanks to anyone who has stopped by The Vinyl Jungle, and an even bigger thanks to those who have subscribed. I hope you continue to enjoy it as much as I enjoy the music that inspires it.

Poetry of love and life

I havent been writing too much poetry lately, but I have been writing, nearly every day. It’s no long lost secret that the easiest way to write is to write about what you love, and I love music. When I write poetry, it is really just an extension of the lyrics to the music in my head. Although I may have my moments, I know I will never equal the talent of the artists I revered in my youth.

No, I haven’t been writing poetry lately,  but I have been writing – writing about poetry. Writing about you, about me, and about the one thing I know we probably have in common – music – the poetry of love and life. Please check out my other blog: The Vinyl Jungle.

If you love music as much as I do, I’m sure you will love it.

Inner Sanctum

There’s a door to the sanctum where inspiration is bled from me
It used to be easy to find
Even when there wasn’t a sign
But now it lies buried in distant memories
Of days past that shall never be
Again

There’s a longing in my heart where emotion once roamed free
It may never live there again
Except in deep desperation
And uncovered in the darkest of times
But the desirous will never see
Inside

There’s a chasm inside my soul where temptation used to be
It’s hidden by a dark gray line
Buried in the depths of time
With remnants of what has forever been lost
And what is for all eternity meant to be
Denied


Copyright © 2016 Mr. Flying Pig

Crowded

Wanderings into manifestations of the subconscious
Trappings of a dream often noxious
In the still of a nighttime swell
Thoughts too obscure to compel
In a rambling memoir to which I suss
And the night wanes on and on and on
From the stolen dreams it rest its laurels upon
Not knowing what is false or true
But hanging onto the memory of you
A brief glimpse of what can so quickly be here and gone
Waning in my thoughts as the day draws to a close
Thinking of the fragrance of the summer’s latest rose
A passing thought of a lost destiny
The path of a denied serenity
And the long road along a footpath of woes
Though the outcome will always be forever clouded
And the future sealed  in a veil opaquely shrouded
Forever will a truth guide the way
Directing what the written words say
Through the collision of so many thoughts crowded


Copyright © 2016 Mr. Flying Pig

I Am Not a Writer

I am not a writer; although I do like to write. Really, I am more of a reader. I have always enjoyed reading, and it’s never mattered what. If I’m sitting down to breakfast with nothing more than a box of cereal in front of me, I will read that box in its entirety – the label on the front; the promotional stuff on the back; even the nutritional information and ingredients on the sides of the box. If someone is sitting across the table from me, I’ll read the paper from my side, even if it’s lying flat on the table (yes, I have no problem reading up-side-down). I’ll even rifle through a random technical manual if it is the only thing available. My favorite things to read are good fiction, biographies and science. Oh, and let’s not forget about Mad, the only magazine I read regularly.

Lately, I have found myself reading a lot about writing – techniques and how to come up with ideas for writing. I started taking an interest in that topic for a fairly obvious reason; I have this blog, and this blog is filled with my writings…but…I’m not a writer. When I started this blog, I had a good amount of poetry and prose I had written from years past that, to that point, I’d only let my closest friends and family read. Consequently, it was easy for me to post at least one or two entries every day in the beginning. I wasn’t writing nearly at the rate I was posting, so I knew it was a matter of time before I eventually ran the archives dry and would have to fill this blog with only newly written material. I had a decent backlog, so I wasn’t too worried about it; until recently, when the backlog ran out. For the first time that I can recall, I found myself feeling I needed to write about something, feeling that I should, that it was expected of me. So I started reading blogs about how to write and how to find inspiration. Some of them said you should make it a point to write something, anything, every day. I tried doing that for a little bit, but felt what I came up with most of the time was total crap. I also made an important (to me anyway) observation: by trying to write something every day, I was making writing a chore and consequently, I wasn’t enjoying writing that much anymore. So I stopped trying and started enjoying.

I find a rare kind of pleasure in writing. I like to play with words and phrases. I enjoy working up sometimes subtle rhyming and phrasing schemes, wondering if anybody will even notice they are there. I love using metaphors and ambiguities that can be interpreted a multitude of ways, where the reader could walk away with a very different interpretation than what I was thinking about when I was writing. I like to write concisely so there is no doubt as to the subject matter, but at the same time not have the end result all tied up with a neat little bow, with no questions left to be asked. Life is not like that. The world is not like that. The universe is most definitely not like that. Why should what I write be any different? I am after all, observing life from a very small world that is part of a wildly expansive universe that will always be impossible to fully understand.

No, I am not a writer. Nor do I ever want to be. I am a reader. I am an interpreter. I am a disseminator. But I am most certainly not a writer. While I can’t deny that I hope others will like what I have written, that will never be my driving motivation to write anything. I write for one reason only: self-enjoyment. I write as a form of release; a kind of therapy, and for the fun of it. I’m not going to feel guilty about not writing something every day or even every week. Maybe I will write two or three things in one day. Maybe I won’t write anything for weeks. It doesn’t matter. I will write when I feel like I need or want to and offer no apologies for any lapses that might occur between my posts. There’s a certain freedom with not being a writer. I like that freedom.


Copyright © 2015 Mr. Flying Pig