Puddled Musings

In a puddle I ponder

Of love, hope and wonder

If I could wash away my innocence

In muddy puddles of rain

Would it make me any more insane?

If I could drink an ounce of joy

And love that tramp for who he is

Would I know all the answers to the next quiz?

If I could cheat the wealth of an obstinate fool

After counting each blessed sin

Would I be allowed to evil grin?

If I could measure darkness

Of an empty room

Would hearts be filled with that much gloom?

If I could confide in a summer ray

And anchor hope on bashful pride

Would you bother to choose a side?

If I could thread sparked thought on a spindle

And weave enough to make a skirt

Would I still be dreaming here on earth?

Dream on

We can grow to the extent of our dreams.
Anything outside of this realm seems unreal, unME!
There's a reason we're told to dream big, reach for the stars.
Tonight, there's a song called DREAM that refuses to leave my playlisted head.
It reminds me of this poem I made up in the eight grade. Five years after it was written, two lines got published in the school magazine.

Dream of the world the way you see it
Make the world the way you dream it

And year before last it was mutilated and added as a quote to the month of April in a corporate calendar. Since then I have given up on a list of dreams. I have cut and proportioned myself to look like the person I thought I should be. On the way, giving up many of the pleasures of dreaming. I once thought of becoming a beautician so that I could punish little girls with horrendous haircuts similar to the ones I was forced to have during my preteens.

May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young

It seems only the young are allowed such dreams. Such altering states of imagined achievement in our little heads. Now they're labeled fantasies, analyzed my men called Sigmond and discarded as minor infractions in normal thought process. As an adult,I'm not allowed to envision long lustfully gorgeous hair swaying in the breeze as I, the trapeze artist, sway from one silk ladder to the next. Sigh!

I was a little girl alone in my little world who dreamed of a little home for me.
I played pretend between the trees, and fed my houseguests bark and leaves, and laughed in my pretty bed of green.

I had a dream
That I could fly from the highest swing.
I had a dream.

Long walks in the dark through woods grown behind the park, I asked God who I'm supposed to be.
The stars smiled down on me, God answered in silent reverie. I said a prayer and fell asleep.

I had a dream
That I could fly from the highest tree.
I had a dream.

Now I'm old and feeling grey. I don't know what's left to say about this life I'm willing to leave.
I lived it full and I lived it well, there's many tales I've lived to tell. I'm ready now, I'm ready now, I'm ready now to fly from the highest wing.

I had a dream

THANK YOU PRESCILLA AHN :) I shall be humming this tune for days to come.

Brown to Basics!

So I don't believe in deleting an old blog to start a new one. This whole rebirth business need not be Phoenician in every possible way!
I acknowledge that my old blog was getting kinda boring and pathetically personal. I had got so cozy with it and its readers, I forgot how to write professionally. So, here's another try at the internet writing world. I hear it's rapidly growing industry and very acceptable in the media world! And what can I say, I'm part of this attention-craving generation after all!

The template I just chose in the less-than-60-seconds setup is called Scribe. It was the one I first used in that amazingly creative MiDDAY office. I owe my blogger existence to my internship there.

Background music-(I sing to my blog pretty often. Get used to it!)-Six Pence None the Richer

There she goes,
there she goes again,
racing through my brain
And I just can't contain
This feeling that remains

Refusing to rise from ashes, the Muddled Mind just dusts off the filth that college life spewed on her. She chooses a familiar comfort blanket while denying herself the protection that last years' shreds of intellect offered. Her alter egos, suppressed and expressed at intervals, are silenced for the time being.
Her new avtar chooses to be discreet, amazingly so, considering her inate need for sincerity. Puddled won't just allow any and everyone to step into her tearful self. You get the picture!
Her arrogant ignorance shall be hidden.
Today someone called me Pari and acoustic poem-ed it into Poetic Arrogance Raises Interest. The only change I would make in describing myself is Poetic Arrogance Requires Interest :)
I've been on poetbay for 4 years now with 3 different accounts! And I'm proud of it!
I take random pictures of all my adorable friends and put them online! I'm proud of my uploading speed!
I download music and never listen to it! My media library is presently 4859 song strong! and I'm mighty proud of it! I choose to hear familiar tunes and use them in my world of writing.
I believe MUSIC IS LITERATURE. It just hasn't been explored as the best form of media communication! Yeah, there you go.
Song change: There goes the neighbourhood-Sheryl Crow
Aim & Objective of Puddled Mind: Hypothetesize this whole music industry with close attention to rock music and it's influence on the young mind.
Aha! I'm organised! Help yourself!
Will return with PostScripts.
Night!