Unwritten

Twice in the last twelve hours, I have heard this song. I think someone is trying to tell me something, like “Write, damn you!”

“Unwritten” (Natasha Bedingfield, BMG Music Entertainment (UK) Ltd)

I am unwritten, can’t read my mind, I’m undefined
I’m just beginning, the pen’s in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, oh, oh

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We’ve been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can’t live that way

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, yeah, yeah

It’s The “Dad Life”

A friend sent me this video, and it rocks! Das jus’ how I roll…

The Read Write Poem NaPoWriMo Anthology has been published!

Awesome news! The Read Write Poem NaPoWriMo Anthology is live on issuu.com. Please check it out!

You can also find out more information at http://readwritepoem.org

Rhyme on!

A Day In September…(a flash poem of remembrance)

9-11

And still we weep,
We, who are all that’s left,
The mourners and the loved-ones,
Grieving and wondering,
Why?
What “cause” so “holy”,
Could justify that madness?
Wipe away lives of those,
We cared for…
It does not exist.
Not even in memory,
Which is all we have left of them.

Requiescat in Pace

Someone Is Special – Thanks, LovelyAnnie79

Here is a wonderful award I received from LovelyAnnie79:

She said it was For The Special Undead: Tim

Thanks, LovelyAnnie79!

Rhyme on!
(Thus spake the Undead)

Some poetry fun for today…

Please check out the happenings over at the Undead Poets Society (http://undeadpoets.com). They are having a fun Zombie-related poetry challenge today.

Star Wars Trilogy (Lego Style)

Danny Boy (for Margo and Jodi)

A quick and dirty recording for Jodi and Margo, my (undead)peeps…

Listen now

Rainer Maria Rilke on Writing (and Critiquing)

With nothing can one approach a work of art so little as with critical words: they always come down to more or less happy misunderstandings. Things are not all so comprehensible and expressible as one would mostly have us believe; most events are inexpressible, taking place in a realm which no word has ever entered, and more inexpressible than all else are works of art, mysterious existences, the life of which, while ours passes away, endures…

You ask whether your verses are good. You ask me. You have asked others before. You send them to magazines. You compare them with other poems, and you are disturbed when certain editors reject your efforts. Now (since you have allowed me to advise you) I beg you to give up all that. You are looking outwards, and that above all you should not do now. Nobody can counsel and help you, nobody. There is only one single way. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids you write; find out whether it is spreading out its roots in the deepest places of your heart, acknowledge to yourself whether you would have to die if it were denied you to write. This above all—ask yourself in the stillest hour of your night: must I write? Delve into yourself for a deep answer. And if this should be affirmative, if you may meet this earnest question with a strong and simple “I must,” then build your life according to this necessity; your life even into its most indifferent and slightest hour must be a sign of this urge and a testimony to it…Then try…to say what you see and experience and love and lose.

(Excerpted from Letter One of Letters To A Young Poet, by Rainer Maria Rilke (Translation by M.D. Herter Norton)

This pretty much sums up my thoughts on the matter. I recommend reading the rest of the letter (and the collection, as a whole). — Tim Keeton

July 4th (Fib) Happy Birthday USA!

On July 4th, ’76
A country was born
Searching for
Freedom
Found
Within
The people
Who made it their choice
To risk all to begin anew