concert day

my oldest son is playin’ violin

on campus today

meetin’ extended family there

listening to music played by children

in concert

from the newest musicians

to more experienced

they save the best for last

this is my sons third year 

his first concert with Papa’s violin

from my father, to my son

passed hand to hand

skipping a generation

that boy has music

in his heart and soul

I catch him humming

and playing air violin 

after practicing

lookin’ forward to a toe tappin’

heart swelling with love

kind of day

it’s concert day

© Turquoise Tangles

next time

had a bad dream

made myself wake up

rested some

couldn’t sleep

anymore

got up way too early

met the cat in the hallway

laptop on lap

Tumblr open

trying to “catch up”

on two days of posts

not read

yet

100 pages later…

and more reblogs

than I probably should of…

I’ve decided Never Try To “Catch Up” On Tumblr Again

though my heart squeezed in hurt

and soared in joy

as I read your wonderful words

glowing back at me

from my silver laptop screen

next time

I may use that time

to write posts of my own

instead

live and learn

and write

about it

© Turquoise Tangles

Shall I Dance?

splintersandmilkshakes:

Memories dance in my head as I sleep,

not a waltz or a slow jam,

but a frenzied slam.

A synergy  

of angst and foreboding fused,

a dizzying symmetry,

leaving me lost and confused.

Dreams can bring realities to the forefront

with a colorful array of musical schemes.

I hope to connect with my own rhythm,

and not be afraid to dance within my dreams.

thread of revelation: This is how I write

justanothermemphisgirl:

I do not use pens
Pens are for those who
Assume they will not
Be making mistakes
I always use a pencil
No. 2, razor sharp
Not the soft lead
I like it hard
The pencil lies gently
Between my right thumb
And my first two fingers
They do not overlap
I learned to loosen my grip
Because the lead is…

I still write with pencils too. Unpainted, natural wood pencils are my favorite…it’s the texture of them, a different kind of smooth than painted ones, and also, I don’t eat paint when I clamp ‘em between my teeth. Though I’m not particular and also write with ink and markers and crayons and about anything that’ll make a mark when necessary. 

thread of revelation: This is how I write

Taking Stock…The Things That Matter Most: when you’re losing someone no when you’re losing THE one you feel like…

takingstockofwhatmattersmost:

when you’re losing someone

no

when you’re losing THE one

you feel like you’re dying on the inside

and falling apart on the outside

in Heaven one day

in Hell the next

and all you can do is

nothing

you can’t fight

who the hell do you fight

when that person doesn’t fight back

Writing and breathing are the same thing sometimes, aren’t they? As both are necessary to life?

Taking Stock…The Things That Matter Most: when you’re losing someone no when you’re losing THE one you feel like…

You are not your bra-size, nor are you the width of your waist, nor are you the slenderness of your calves. You are not your hair color, your skin color, nor are you a shade of lipstick. Your shoe-size is of no consequence. You are not defined by the amount of attention you get from males, females, or any combination thereof. You are not the number of sit-ups you can do, nor are you the number of calories in a day. You are not your mustache. You are not the hair on your legs. You are not a little red dress. You are no amalgam of these things. You are the content of your character. You are the ambitions that drive you. You are the goals that you set. You are the things that you laugh at and the words that you say. You are the thoughts you think and the things you wonder. You are beautiful and desirable not for the clique you attend, but for the spark of life within you that compels you to make your life a full and meaningful one. You are beautiful not for the shape of the vessel, but for the volume of the soul it carries

Unknown (via oblivio)

What is poetry?

learnthewaysoflonely:

It is life and death

It is the good, bad, beauty, and ugly

It is nature, it is artifical

It is original, it is repetive

It is bliss, it is pain

It is love, it is hate

It is funny, it is boring

It is blood, guts, and tears

It is pen, it is paper

It is hell, it is heaven

It is fake, it is real

It is you, it is me

It is every little detail

That happens to fall

In between