Even the smallest thing will wait a lifetime for the passing shadow of love.

Once, a doorstop was thrilled at a visit from The Queen.

In the room where it was stationed, the little thing was smitten— changed forever.

From that day, it thought Only of its Liege and Braced the door for her the rest of its days.

As sunrises passed It dreamed of that Next chance For service.

She never Passed that Way Again.

Some loves though, Are enough, Some loves endure— Even unanswered.

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#artofmiggy #sketchbook #sketchbook64 #WYST #penandink #sxs #poetry #100daystooffset #writing

The heart is not written down on any map; true places never are.

[Intro 20 seconds]

Verse 1 Saint Elmo’s fire on the mast, Storm winds rise, blowing fast. We stand our ground, we stay, Hold true till break of day.

Chorus No tomorrow, no past remains, Only her voice in the wind and rain. Love is the tide, the helm, the flame, And I sail by her name.

Verse 2 Mighty keel below me lies, Silent strength that never dies. No man cheers her, none recall, Still she bears it, through it all.

Chorus No tomorrow, no past remains, Only her voice in the wind and rain. Love is the tide, the helm, the flame, And I sail by her name.

Verse 3 Plank by plank, her frame is bound, silent walls where love resounds. Called by none, yet fierce and true, she shelters all the ocean’s blue.

Chorus No tomorrow, no past remains, Only her voice in the wind and rain. Love is the tide, the helm, the flame, And I sail by her name.

Verse 4 Saint Elmo’s tide, carry me forth, Through the storm, through eternity. Singing of love keeping us near, Love that silences all the fear.

Chorus No tomorrow, no past remains, Only her voice in the wind and rain. Love is the tide, the helm, the flame, And I sail by her name.

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Writing and producing these songs is like a drug. Look, I know they aren't very good in the big scheme of things, but you have to understand: I'm no musician. I have a very nice piano and I can find middle c, I know some very basic chords. But never in a million years could i sit down and score and sing a song in a day. Well, I guess in a million years I could. But I am most definitely a decade away from any manner of proficiency. AI is letting me cheat HARD.

And it's a hell of a thrill.

This was SUPPOSED to be a sea-chanty version of A Soldier's Job. But being able to write lyrics and being able to write the RIGHT lyrics is vast chasm. Even for Anchor of Stars, these aren't very good. They are serviceable, but not impressive.

I STILL want to write a sea chanty along the lines of Nathan Evans. He blows me away.

So Anchor of Stars went from rousing chant for the crew to work, to a prog-rocky ballad that's part ode to sailing vessels and part longing declaration to make it home through the storm.

Where the heart is.

Love always,

Wolf.

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#poetry #100daystooffset #writing #sxs #WYST #song #music

Watch out for those sparks, big fires start small.

Verse 1 Flirt, flirt, flirt— like sparks in the dark, I’m chasing the fire, I’m chasing the mark.

Chorus If I’m goin’ to hell, I’ll go in style— with a laugh on my lips, and a kiss worth the while. Oh, heaven can wait, I’m glory-bound, raising the roof just foolin’ around.

Verse 2 Lipstick and whiskey, a halo of smoke, the joke’s on the devil— I love every joke.

Chorus If I’m goin’ to hell, I’ll go in style— with a laugh on my lips, and a kiss worth the while. Oh, heaven can wait, I’m glory-bound, raising the roof just foolin’ around.

Bridge Love ain’t a saint, desire ain’t a priest, we’re holy in hunger, we’re holy in heat.

Final Chorus If I’m goin’ to hell, I’ll go in style— with a laugh on my lips, and a kiss worth the while. So strike up the band, let’s shake the ground, heaven or hell— I’m foolin’ around.

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A while back, curiosity got the Wolf to poke his head in to an American Legion, which is a social space catering to veterans. They usually have an event space and a bar. I was interested in the bar. I learned two things:

1. Drinks are laughably cheap. Ludicrously.
2. Drunk people are entertaining, confined to a small space they are INFINITELY entertaining.

This song/poem grew out of what I saw.

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#poetry #100daystooffset #writing #sxs #WYST #song #music

Absence is a wind to love: small things extinguished; great things inflamed.

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Listen to this Story

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My life—our lives—are all rhythm and chaos. We dream them to be peace and reliability, but we drink and we dance in the fire of our hearts and have to acknowledge that none of us know what the hell we're doing.

We imagine our lives are like Yo-Yo Ma: centered, focused and ultimately about harmony and control. But reality, we're Brittany-dancing-with-knives.

I mean, what the actual frick is going on in that video? Who cares, it's fascinating and I want to see more. Just like my life. I have neither the time nor the inclination to develop my Yo-Yo Ma-ness. But I got two butcher knives and a bikini.

Go get my camera.

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In the journal page I included here, at the bottom is a drawing of the illustrious John Domont. John is an artist who moved to Dust Meridian from Indiana some time ago.

He is an interesting guy. Kooky in that glorious I'm-an-artist sort of way. Typically cliche with his eastern mysticism and yoga/meditation mat and chanting-monk sounds as soon as you step into his studio.

In spite of his very clear credentials, the art-uminati in Dust Meridian don't get him. Which, for the first time in my life I think I understand that the creative community here has long been the girl version of the good-old-boys club. If you don't fit the paradigm, you get a nod and a smile and then ignored.

John gloriously just doesn't give a single ef.

As a human being who has some kind of unofficial diagnosis that everyone must love me, it is exciting to know that you can be a good person and not always accepted.

This is probably the way you find your tribe. When you tell everyone your favorite color is blue, other people who like blue are drawn to that. As opposed to just stating, I love all colors. That's nice and all, but you aren't going to connect with anyone.

I love doing portraits in ink. they are a thrill to tackle—demanding a likeness without the ability to edit. This is the definition of aliveness. You get one shot, give it your best. Art Imbued with the cosmic energy in each of us.

And—being ready to be wrong. Pen and ink portraits always end up snatching some tiny glimpse of the subject, even if they ultimately don't work.

Usually they do—for me if no one else.

It is like an electric charge to the soul. Then I hate it, and myself for being such a failure. Then, the next day, I'm suddenly smitten with what an absolute genius I am.

That’s what I’m trying to do with these portraits—state my blue, risk being wrong, and see who shows up.

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#artofmiggy #sketchbook #sketchbook64 #WYST #penandink #sxs

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#poetry #100daystooffset #writing