Mike Frawley
If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't they never were.
Richard Bach



We’re children of the sacred flame
yet stumble lost within our darkness
while forever cold our hearts remain

I Write


it releases all the ugliness
that I could never say
and all the beauty I can’t share
in any other form or way


There is no way into someone else’s grief,
all anyone can do is come up to it
But there is a switch there, a dull thing, unechoing
It re-tenses presence

My steady angel of these past years,
fiercely beloved, bites down on me for a strap,
and we snap free, and here, near the sound,
is plain silence

She too has spent her life mixing an art
to sketch it, paint it, photograph and print it,
while I go on piling up poems, stories, endless notes –
the pages of a faith I cannot seem to shake



There’s a submissive silence… an infatuated resignation to continuously avoid our fate. 

We gave up on words. Dressed in someone else’s skin - feeling from our own souls, unpolluted, far from the stupor of this macabre silence that has become our prison. 

Vanishing simultaneously, leaving behind only the traces of our stoic and persevering dreams - in every single time that life was lived before, that could have been lived after… that it is lived now.

© Pocochon


"Mayakovsky’s Revolver”

In the dark I can see my older brother
walking through the tall brush of his
brain. I can see him standing in the
lobby of the hotel, alone, crying along
with the ice machine. Instead of the
moon I’ve been falling for the lunar
light pouring out of a plastic shell I’ve
plugged into the bathroom wall. Online
someone is claiming to own
Mayakovsky’s revolver which they will
sell for only fifty thousand dollars.
Why didn’t I think of that? Remove the
socks from my dead brother’s feet and
trade them in for a small bit of change,
a ticket to a movie, something with a
receipt, proof I was busy living, that I
didn’t stay in all night weeping, that I
didn’t stay up drawing a gun over and
over with a black marker, that I didn’t
cut out the best one, or stand in front
of the mirror, pulling the paper trigger
until it tore away.

submitted by ashagosha

Winds of change


There were days when young boys dreamt of becoming sheriffs, then mounties and policemen. Since bad people still made their presence felt, boys from my era knew it would take superheroes to rid the world of evil.
Evil still lurked.
On and on, the good guys changed.. with magic wands, rings of power, fangs aplenty, aliens among us, time travellers and the handsome undead.
And evil hearts are still beating.

It’s been said that only love can truly still hate. Does it follow that one grows to love hate? Or is the progression from this dichotomy a transcendence beyond these emotional storms.

I feel the wind blow. I know so very little of its message.

Our hour in Eden


A song in the distance awakened me, and I followed what was left of your voice like the tracks of an animal to the edge of the copper water. Though I knew there were Cottonmouths thick as ropes, I waded into the cool shadows and then up a hill where trees grew, preordained, laid out in perfect rows like headstones. When I had reached that place where we left the past, and shed even our skins for love, I saw them: the blackberries surrounded by briers. Supple and sparkling as jewels. The same ones that we subsisted on, with bleeding fingers, for one afternoon of our lives when the sun was still warm enough to protect us from the world. And though I remembered all the fears and burdens we shared like sackcloth and ashes, and I knew the danger of reaching into the unknown, (it seemed like there were serpents waiting beneath every beautiful thing) blindly grasping for the sweetness that everyone longs for, and I too have always feared those things I cannot see,  I put my faith in the innocence of nature. I tried to believe in the benevolence that exists if you go beyond the fear, and so I found them again: the blackberries, the fruit not forbidden to those who love, huge and succulent, and so full of grace, they were almost too heavy to bear.

                                    ~~adam stanley



The table

would groan

under the weight

of my wishes

if they carried

any gravity

or if helium

they might

carry me

to far off places

I can only


If stirring winds

were they

a flock of birds

could soar

and sweep

Sadly they are

none of these

In reality

they are

aspirations that

wither in the hand

never to play

dying from apathy

and circumstance 

Love Was You


Love was you
and love was me
a costly game
we thought was free
we learned
the truth eventually

Love was you
and always you
and everything
we never knew
and all the dreams
that won’t come true

Love was you
when you were there
then love became
a vacant  stare
and we both traded
I don’t care

Love was you
and only you
yet sometimes love
is painful too
now love lives on
but there’s no you

Suffer Not The Little Children


Little girls and little boys
should be going out to play
but they can’t
they’re not allowed
they’re too ill
all their hair has fallen out
the pain shows
in their tired little eyes
and happily ever after must seem
far and away the worst of lies
God I’ll never understand this game
but why
why must the little children
know such pain



I shan’t elaborate but one of my friends that I was sad for yesterday, made me very happy today.  While it certainly has its peaks and valleys, maybe this loving people thing isn’t so bad after all.  That’s it, oh and one more thing.  I love you and hope you do too.   

The Pain of Love


I too often feel the pain of love
even as I promise myself I won’t
and yet I’ve never known her strength
could it be I almost fear to ask
is there someone I should love but don’t
my friends I pray you love yourself
for like it or not, these words are true
love is clearly life’s most precious gift
and no one deserves it more than you

You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe deserve your love and affection.
-  Buddha via brainyquote.com

Genders and Generations


I wasn’t planning to write anything this morning, but I’m getting very tired of losing primarily female friends to stalkers and harassment.  I’m from a different generation than most of our friends here, and admittedly had very low expectations regarding the people I’d encounter here on the 21st Century Version of the Wild Wild West, but for the most part I’ve been very pleasantly surprised.  However, as expected there are some disturbed and often even unkind or sick people here.  We’re family here, dysfunctional as hell, yet family nonetheless.  I’m not technically gifted but I truly hope that there is something the powers that be at Tumblr can do about this problem.  I don’t wish to turn this into a witch hunt, but if someone is making you feel uncomfortable or afraid, please let others know.  There’s a lot of interplay here between genders and even generations, which makes it quite interesting, and yet it also opens the door to potential abuse.  Again as I said I have no answers but maybe one of our tech savvy friends out there does.  A little help?  As much as possible this needs to be a safe place for everyone.  Stalkers, I can’t stop you, but I believe we can.  To possibly paraphrase some revolutionary types of long ago, “this far shall you pass, and no further”.     

Mike’s Afterthought.  I wish I’d had a little more time this morning to work on this, but like most of you I have to balance Tumblr Time with work and/or school.  Plus having the added challenge of can’t type worth a darn it’s probably not as smooth or eloquent as I might like it to be, yet I’m still glad I posted it.  Another friend had to go into hiding and this is getting very old.  I’m not a techie type, never was, but maybe together we can find a way to put a stop to this ridiculous and hurtful behavior.  I’m going to call it an early night, so goodnight and I love you all.