There is nothing really beautiful about the fall. The glorification is all about the triumph. The victor. The applause that one gets from the thunderous crowd, at last. Perhaps it's all a matter of perspectives, but the tanglement of hair, the bloodied scrapes from asphalt, the collected dirt from fingernails, has its own beauty. We are expected to be beautiful in times from the fall from grace. Keep it together. Lipstick on. Shirts pressed. Muster on from tar pits unscathed, painted face on like nothing happened. There is no need to rely simply on the truths of reality for we even believe the lie ourself: I'm okay. We tell others. Text them. Email. Tweet. Post. Go, share to the world with our painted on glorified face that we are okay. We are not. And it's okay. Where have I convinced myself that the fall cannot be just as beautiful as the eventual walking tall?  Somewhere in my muddied face, I am still me. My soul, my strength, my inner peace. Somewhere in the blood, the ...

I go where my muse takes me. Come along, Pond! Says my Doctor Who like muse Riddled in red fez and swirling with a tangled mop about his head He wants me to fly in the blue police box filled with infinite wonder Sky high to literary heights and pull the lever at the sound of thunder Ripple in time and be the wastebaskets friend filled with wibbly wobbly stuff and stanzas to no end. I go where my muse takes me. Pop the red balloon! Whispers the old lady rocking hush Crocheting with my special hooks designed as pens next to the bowl full of mush. Hear little mice carry on about proper grammar next to the fire Sprinkle a line here and there bunnies playing near the sock as I retire Softly I go into oblivion, resting by the Sandman's ease Goodnight moon, as I write calligraphy in my dreams. I go where my muse takes me. Sip the Earl Grey! Frantically screams the Hatter like idea Tipping to and fro in my Underland ideas Brainstorm to a talking cat, invisible to the ...

Meet me, in an elusive reverie, Dust over swollen eyes enchants the moon over me, Taking your hand in a wisp of spiritual connections My body is yours and I am perfect yet present in imperfections      As I wished to not be awakened from what I see. Enter the dimension, a willingly detainee, Touch this and that; a smile of approval, your guarantee Skin glazed in sweat your affection     Meet me... I dare not disrupt my unconsciousness, I am an escapee Of oversimplified non-indulgence, I challenge reality I am yours in this mutual sublime projection You are mine in your chocolaty sweet confection Engulfed in my arms kisses abundant and I am free---     Meet me...  -b.r.rivera-taylor a Rondeau. 8 of 30 #30in30

I am a simple face in a sea of the crowd Its ocean deep not necessarily still, its ripples a disruption to the ordinary me. I am just me. A little bit of this, A little bit of that. Sprinkle of some sugar Spoonful of lemon juice Glaze of two cakes. and I don't define what is commonality. In other words Who can compare to me? My uniqueness is just like any other's which creates the strong sense that we are all alike in the long run. Average, run of the mill, desperate for attention to separate us from the ravenous pack of wolves, its teeth abundant in oppression. I am a simple face a little mouth a little eyes a little nose a little bit of surprise in an ocean that engulfs all of us. -b.r.rivera-taylor 6 of 30 #30in30

to be a kid again. to have dusty knees celebrated by mud pies and overgrown grass graciously gliding upon the white t-shirts that made mothers angry when scrubbing our stains. to have that look within the eyes when lights are strategically placed to endure the Christmas snow, blizzards within the northeast which one has grown up to adore. to fall with the leaves and dance with golden corn built with bonfires and pumpkins upon a rickety hayride to wonder in a tulip and gaze upon morning dew when flowers begin budding against the frozen ground which was replaced by a new season. to be a kid again. to have no worries, no care no idealizations of the first and fifteenth the gas and electrical energies the over plentiful but once barren pantries and warm socks adorned with special trimming. to be a kid again. to wonder in amazement and find pleasure in double dutch flying bubbles, bicycles, dolls and action figures, playing grown up with play make up; now a blur of ...

There has to be strength within my lungs A beat upon my chest And breath within my mouth Exhaling all negativity Ridding the mass un -harmonic deities that come from the sins which one battles within I fight a good fight Slowly I muster the strength. Gather the muscles to bend and arch in my arm Close within fists and move With the sway of Cassius Clay Jab. Move. Stick and Move swiftly. Swiftly I run And gather my strength Within bodily rhythms and balanced bones I glide upon asphalt and rocks two toned running miles upon wet sand tender muscles and nerves adapt to the freedom in strength which I react Moving closer to wisdom Insight and Positivity Away from the well trodden path Give me strength, Lord Have mercy On me. -b.r.rivera This is for Aunt Shirley & Will. Keep on Keeping on.

This is what makes you smile. The holidays in Atlanta were wonderful as I spent time with my son. He throughly enjoyed opening his presents, as you can see... Trying to keep up with my family tradition from back home, I wanted him to open up just one present on Christmas Eve. I presented him with a beautifully wrapped gift that he promptly began to open as I was getting my camera. The cute little Bambino couldn't even wait! After listening to Christmas carols and telling my son the real meaning of Christmas, I read him Bible stories and watched him smile. He even stayed up late on Christmas Eve to play with his new toy-a little xylophone. He was so happy. I love to see the cute little smile on his face!!! It's all about these little joys, these simple smiles that I begin to see my own present. At Christmas, I did not have tons of presents under the tree for me. I stayed up late to prepare for a nice dinner for the big day. My feet hurt from the shuttling back and forth for comb...