She is Art (Reader’s Favorite Love Poem)

She is Art by Joe Reid Kirby III

She is a butterfly,
Flying from her waist,
Off her hip,
Beautiful,
And so very hard to catch,
Fragile,
Yet the beat of her brightly colored wings are strong,
Majestic,
As the way she moves is a song.

She is a tree,
A tree of life with no leaves,
Her fruits have fallen,
As she burst through the earth in February of ’91,
Not long before spring,
She is strong & robust,
Her roots are deep in the soil,
Penetrating the skin of the earth,
Yet she knows not how far her roots reach,
The rain from her tears,
Whether joyful or pain,
Soaks every layer of her rich lumber,
Birds find her branches comforting to sleep for a while,
However their true nature often takes them away,
Leaving her there alone in the night,
Finding more of her patience & strength within her slow growth.

She is a rose,
Fully blossomed & gleaming,
Admired by every eye,
The glitter on her petals,
From soaking up the sunlight,
Leaves her multitude of colors beaming,
A single rose,
On an entangled stem of thorns,
Seemingly begging to be held,
Yet insuring all are forewarned,
Bold enough to stand alone,
And unique enough to stand out in a dozen,
Leaves fall from her stem,
“He loves me or he loves me not,”
Is her personal poetic hymn.

She is a dandelion,
Ever affected by the wind,
Every seed blown away from her bud,
Is how she treats her sin,
She is fun,
And doesn’t mind letting go,
Hands are often in the air,
If you show interest in her peculiar ways,
The smallest pieces of her will make you happy for many days,
Yet she is nature,
And if you do not see or notice her she doesn’t care,
But to never witness the goodness she brings,
To any heart isn’t fair.

She is blue,
For to her, “To love a man is to sell your soul,”
And she’s fully sold her soul but twice,
Men to her are now like mice,
She makes them believe in the cheese,
Then their throats she’ll slice,
For she is blue,
Her heart has grown mighty cold too,
Winter days in Alaska’s February is how you could now describe her heat,
Lay your head on her breasts,
As within her you rest,
And you’d swear you heard not a beat,
For her last deal with the devil left her soul depressed,
And her public blues expresses her lack of love,
Though she’ll swear that true unconditional love is what she desires,
From the top of the heavens to the bottoms of her feet,
Yet when that very love comes knocking on that blue door,
She dismisses all feelings & emotion,
And only calls for the meat.

She is art,
For her and the very essence of life is not far apart,
Angles and lines,
Shapes and shades,
Beauty is in the way her pencil behaves,
Color is what brings infinite time to the days,
Only a few special people can appreciate art,
Separating a meaning from a picture for most could seem tart,
For she is odd,
Yet her being makes perfect sense,
She is imperfect,
Yet her Creator sculpted her with perfection in mind,
She is ever changing,
For you can’t lock away a universal meaning of one creative souls thoughts,
She’s thought-provoking,
Ever mind choking,
And keeps people hoping,
Low key stimulating every sense,
Blood, sweat, and tears poured from every pore are nothing too immense,
A story that never ends,
An emotion splattered on a canvas then given a spin,
A feeling,
A thought,
A mind,
Or a heart,
A breath,
A fart,
A mark,
Or a spark,
The seen,
The blind,
A clock,
Or a space without time,
A love,
A hate,
A face,
Or the shadow of something erased,
Above,
And below,
Within,
And without,
All,
And nothing,
She is art …
And art is life.

~ Joe Reid Kirby III 5/3/2014

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© 2017 3CupsOfJoe. All rights reserved.

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Life Catcher’s

Life Catcher’s by Joe Reid Kirby III

How worthless it is to run from life,
To shy away from understanding,
Unconscious to the teachings life has to offer,
Knowledge,
Ideas,
& wisdom,
It is reaching out & personally handing,
Though catching lightning bolts could often times seem scary,
But imagine the pure sense of joy in catching one in your bare hands,
Wrapping it around your left ring finger,
& deciding that feeling to marry,
The thought alone is hard to carry …
Especially in a 3 pound brain,
Anxiety over committing to life …
Without envisioning ball & chain,
All an illusion boxing your mind,
Programming your character’s channels,
Handing over your remote control to others to handle,
& quite possibly scramble,
Instead of writing your own words on the land,
With every stride your legs make & location you stand,
Life Catcher’s …
Catching life by the hand,
Swinging with it in indigenous forests of fun,
Decorated with bioluminescent ornaments with heartbeats,
Those who can look up & see their own feet,
Or look down & see their head,
One with the middle-path of all living beings,
Awareness to the stories in every book,
Every body longing only to be read,
But you must be open to sharing your story,
You harness words that need to be said,
No one though will ever read your mind,
If you fail to plant it in Earth’s garden,
Where rare seeds & fertile soils bed,
& the slightly salted water borrowed from the wells of sadness & laughter,
Soften all that has hardened.

~ Joe Reid Kirby III 2/3/17

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Be sure to check out my very first Spoken Poetry video, featuring this poem, on YouTube! If you like my vibe, please SUBSCRIBE.

© 2017 3CupsOfJoe. All rights reserved.

Don’t Be A Hater All Your Life

Don’t Be A Hater All Your Life by Joe Reid Kirby III

Why don’t we support each other more? There’s enough success to go around for everyone. Celebrity gossip; what we tend to think about the super-rich; and the blatant disrespect to the ultra-successful: are things that are often times preconceived, unsupported opinions. It is us hating on the fact that maybe, just maybe, others did what we were unwilling to do; to get to where they obsessively put into their mind they needed to — absolutely had to, be.

We tend to not be able to see the fact that they are people just like you and me; who opened their eyes, with wide vision, and saw that there were no strings attached. These people ran through life at full speed; and never looked back — other than to appreciate their progress. These unique individuals, of the same human flesh and blood, witnessed in awe the spectacle of the waves of the ocean having no end. So they decided to be those waves. The waves that only a select few would be brave enough to ride; and the roll-tide that generations to come would add to and repetitively revive.

Everyone looks at people like Walt Disney, and have only the desire to praise and work for Disney. I, on the other hand, want to learn from that incredible mind, and to eventually be a Disney. Everyone likes to drink or be associated with Coca Cola; but I want to be my own version of John Pemberton, and create my own worldwide brand as he did. Everyone wants to consume or criticize McDonald’s; and it is a goal of mine to create a product or service, as Ray Kroc once did, that will experience perpetual growth, unrivaled. Are my dreams too big? No, stop being a damn hater all your life; your thoughts are just too small. One can’t fathom the vastness of space; neither can they fathom your mind. Nor, could they ever dream of the things you’re capable of pulling out of it; and adding to this physical reality for them to see, taste, smell, feel, and hear. We’re experiencing a different level of being here. Yet, few talk about this alternate, parallel dimension, that a rare number can make out so clear.

Everyone’s more excited about when you get a job building someone else’s dreams — that those dreamers dreamt about daily, and developed into the multi-billion dollar reality you witness before you — than when you decide to pull one of your own stars out of the sky, & showcase it’s brilliance to the world. Isn’t it interesting that when we see super-successful people, that we identify them as stars? Their ability to be a hundred percent their authentic themselves, brings a certain glow to their skin — and the world becomes wooed by it.

And you are special too! Aren’t you? Were you not too one of the 7 billion to win this lottery, known as human life. How incredible you are. Winning a race against billions, to be here; before you even opened your eyes, could strike you as surprising surprise. How great you are.

Dwell in the serenity of your breath. Be happy that you are here to be. And be just that … a human being creative. You are creative — in your own secret way. Why are you hiding yourself from the world? The thought of everyone else knowing how great you actually are would likely leave you naked to the human habitat, right? Is that not how we came in to it? Someone else first put those clothes on you. Though everyone fails to remember that you came out of your mother utter perfection. Your creators couldn’t see any less than perfection in your hair. Your cry could pull at the heartstrings of any ear that caught the signal. The way you smiled was something they wouldn’t dare. You showed too much care. Your love, so unbelievably genuine and unconditional; a mere touch of your fingers would strike joy into the most hateful heart. Pure perfection.

The people had their way with you though. All in your life are guilty of molding your shape to their personal liking. Adding here, and taking away there, came the destruction of your perfection. You were pointed here, there, and everywhere; which resulted in losing your own since of direction. They may have cracked your compass inside; put strange clothes on your back; and given your brain a wash with the wrong kind of soap — some succumb to the scum; but you are not broken. Your perfection is still there.

Your insides tend to jump out of you when you’re alone. When no ones watching, you can dance and sing just fine. The best thoughts didn’t come forth from you, when you were in a classroom; but while you were in the shower, or taking a poop. Walks in nature feed your soul, and dips in water quenches its’ thirst. The balloon is most firm when it’s about to burst. So why were you told that you were cursed?

Just because you weren’t born with wings, doesn’t mean you’re not destined to fly. When the angel of death comes calling your name, it doesn’t mean you have to say goodbye. Your favorite questions as a child used to start and end with “why?” No matter how many times you’d fail, still again, and again; and again, and again; and again, and again; you’d try, and then try.

Not only are you hating on others, but you’re also hating on yourself. You could never be that beautiful; become that smart; or acquire that much wealth — these are the things you tell yourself?

Don’t do this. You shouldn’t do that. Doubtful sayings, from familiar inner voices, constantly replayed and saved in the mind. You should be scared of this. You can’t do that. What does one expect the result to be from hearing these fruitless words all the damn time?

Unless a Being chooses not to listen to the opinions of the haters, that simply wish they could … and present themselves as genuinely as they absolutely positively should … do they ever achieve the nirvana of absolute freedom. Those though whom don’t follow the systems in place, and decide to make their own, are deemed as ‘bad;’ whether happy or sad, & won’t be left alone. Geniuses are locked away in cells, while idiots are free to roam. It’s not until you realize that your domicile is within, will you ever really reach what is home.

Haters live in the hell they’ve built. Lovers only know their heaven. Everybody is allotted twenty-four hours in a day — every week is equal to seven. One can choose to be a hater all their life, and spend all their time on other’s; or, one can be a creator of life, and enjoy their time as fathers and mothers.

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#3CupsOfJoe … Peace. LOVE. Understanding.

 

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