Without Sound

Both photos taken by me -View of my Street from the Great Highway along Ocean Beach

The wind caresses my face while I follow cotton candy clouds dancing against blue skies. Seagulls gracefully swirl above while black hawks hover over sand dunes. The pounding of waves against the shore reverberate in a familiar echo as an aquatic symphony permeates the salt air. I breath and inhale the refreshing sounds in a moment of sheer joy.



When all of a sudden, the silence interrupts. The birds mute, the wind quietly slapping my cheeks without even a whisper and the waves lost. Heavy footsteps, my own, are all I can hear amongst the dead solitude despite the colors of life surrounding me. For a moment, the deafness brings me to a place of relentless despair. A place where complete quiet resides and my ears no longer exist. Sounds escape me and I am lost in a world without life.

Carla Cried by Cheryl Oertli

I'd like to thank my dear friend Chey for her beautiful poetry. This is a guest post by Cheylinn. You can find more about Chey on her Facebook page and her Myspace page.

Carla Cried

Inside she felt her world begin to crumble,
Yet she put on her public face, stoic and strong;
She needed to honor her mother's memory,
To behave otherwise for her was wrong.

Mourners sat respectfully, each in their seats,
The memorial service was beautifully done;
As the pastor read her mother's verse,
One felt the loss of this precious one.

Her mother would have been so proud,
As she smiled down from heaven above;
And to the many who were left behind,
She'd left forever her legacy of love.

One by one the mourners went to their cars,
To begin the procession to the graveside;
Where there was said their last good bye,
Only then, could her tears no longer be denied.

The Light by Mitch Marcus

I'd like to thank Mitch Marcus over at The Argus for this guest post.

The Light

There are things they say

that can't be seen,

can't be held and can't be dreamed.

There are worlds of wise-men

dead men too,

some too kind, and some too cruel.

There are tiny places

we all hide,

the caustic evils we store inside.

There are great big valleys

and hidden seas,

elemental genius and the Pharasees'.

Time marches forward

time stands still,

Time slides backwards, always will.

Lost in shadows

mired by night

Then comes guidance then comes Light.

A Writer At Heart

A Writer At Heart

Words
emotional expressions
inherent deep within spirit.
Passion are these words
undeniably expressed,
shared, proclaimed
in stanzaic precision.

The writer
sensitive, intuitive
feelings arise, awaken
born from within
depths of the soul.
A soul unknown
if not for their words.

Ego revisited
firmly understood
and happily embraced.
The writer paints words
with a knowing
of authentic self
creatively expressed.

Memories, dreams
parade the mind
as streaming videos.
These visual scenarios
breathe life into the heart
and have no choice
but to be reborn.

Reflections
a glimpse into the heart
where the writer resides
words a mirror to the soul.
A soul which lives
within the mind
without fear.

The heart
pumps words
through the veins
never missing a beat.
And the writer writes
to a different beat
only he hears.