Just by Chance? by Diamond Dave

Just by chance?

Not too likely.

Just because the reason is now unclear

Doesn’t mean we won’t know

One day,

If we hang in,

And out,

Follow the stream

Right down to the sea,

Look up to see the stars

And really see the sky,

Undeterred                                                     

By conventional-thinking

Shortsighters,

Deaf and blind to the spirit,

Naysayers, killjoys,

Wallbuilders, doorslammers,

Vision-slayers, doom-sayers,

Scribes and Pharisees of science,

Theological engineers,

Lords of the system of things.

New morning,
Spring sap flows,

Fingertips touch, eyes glow.

In the night of the living dead

The poets remain alive,

Walking down that tightrope wire,

Looking out for one another,

Just strolling down

That moonlit path,

That good red road.

Dreamweavers,

Spiritbenders,

Healing the pain,

Soothing the silent screams,

Warriors of the Rainbow

Just singing a freedom song.

It’s about this:

It’s about it be darkest

Just before the dawn,

But when

And where

You least expect it

Help will come along.

Like green shoots

Thrusting through

The damp, dark earth,

Love will spring anew,

Life will spring anew,

Just breaking through

The ice.

No Name by Ryan Rutkoskie

Am I Afraid of Silence?

Honestly

I couldn't be.

Already I've spent so much time wrapped wonderously up in your words and unmentionable time typing wildly to riciprocate but

what do I say to a sigh so lovely it sais everything?

I want words to circle and shape the suns magnitude

but sometimes when your breath trembles in it's own

iambic pentameter all the poetry

just wants to shrink down and listen in wonder

sometimes

it's like I'm tethered to the shattering beauty of that heartbeat

tapdancing 

on the nape of your neck

so words can't be everything all the time

but for right now

I just want them to rise up

and celebrate the silence with

and help us to unravel all that meaning

wound into 

it's every

moment

Welcome Everyone!

This is a blog for artists. My name is Christina Osborn. I'm a songwriter living on the edge of the Mojave Desert in a small town famous for its magnificent red rock canyons. I have often felt that my analog outpouring of ideas was futile, especially in the digital world we now find ourselves in. Scraps of paper with poetry scribbled on them were forgotten in boxes, stacks of unseen paintings built up, fragments of songs remained half in and half out of the ether. My friends and  I spend enough time on our little creations that I wondered what the point was unless someone could see them. I could never have launched such an effort on my own behalf, so I thank the artists that have inspired me here in the desert, the writers and poets and painters and musicians that will appear here on this blog. In the words of my friend Taylor Stucki, 

"Everything flows back to the point from whence it came.

'Til another soul picks up the torch and starts with new name."

This is the beginning. We are under construction and I suppose we always will be. Keep coming back and we shall have new creations up as we create them. Thank you for providing us with a reason to do what we do.

-c