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Hello All,

I want to do something different. When I glance through the reader I see awards that are presented to bloggers from other bloggers. Most of the awards you have to reveal things about yourself answering questions and to me it looks like “homework.”

I came up with my own award that I hope bloggers will use. The only requirement you have to do is actually write why you like their blog with a solid description. Those shows that you are actually reading it and not just hitting the “like” button.

I came up with the title because if you open up the chest you may discover many talented writers if we all take the time to read them. Their work is the “treasure.”

You only have to nominate one person and pass the award around once you receive and accept it.

I nominate Kindra M. Austin. I nominated her because I constantly see her promoting others blogs. It shows she is reading and honing her own craft. Kindra is not afraid to write about politics, religion, and throws in a curse word to display her passion. Kindra’s writing is raw to the core and it’s essence has tough fabric.

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A pile of ancient bricks

stack up against the closet door

A lemon yellow sun hasn’t

heard the shrieks behind

the desolate window

Vanishing clowns snicker

in the obscure corner

Fears subside and twinkle

In the witching hour

the scarecrow yells from

the depths of childhood memories

A ministry of skeptics

preach under the queen size bed

Reciting a sacred testament

of abuse and lacerations

Sobbing whispers live behind

the wretched closet door

Check out my books!

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If I could run away

I’d join a flying circus

Chat with the lions

Chant with the crowd

Joke with the clowns

Dance with the acrobats

Crawl with the trapeze artists

Hide with the magician

Wrestle with the roar of the tiger

Walk with the Bear

Fall in love with the sideshow

Sit between the caramel apples

and the cotton candy

If I could run away

It wouldn’t solve any of my problems

Check out my books!

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The fables between us
Satirical metaphors prance
The ironies bleed pretty white lies
Sarcasm bursts like ejaculation
Covered in Satan’s thick liquid
Storybook pages stick together

The fables between us
Sardonic recitals
Recited by jesters and
Ponies dance in time while
His portal opens to swallow us all

Sadistic hymns
Written by gargoyles and
Unicorns prance in the clocks while
Her throat opens to consume the tale

Sadistic hymns
Hummed at Sunday Mass
Panic the court and
Constable is lighted aflame

Tarnished fairy tales
Scripted by euphoric lovers
Dripping sweat lingers in the air
Scent of religious perfume
Lurks between the satin sheets

Tarnished fairy tales
Playwrights
Tragedians
Star-crossed nothing
But sky
Moonlight paints you
Angel white and me
The daemon

Stonewashed dogma
Doctrines drenched in your spit
Undressed teachings
Relentlessly misinterpreted
Forgotten verses
Lyrics shredded
Constantly concaved
Staring into the phantasm
Sucked in by your gospel

Stonewashed dogma
Canon loaded
Peace be with you…

Kindra – Italics

Check out her blog if you haven’t! It’s always fun to collaborate with Kindra!

Braeden – Non Italics

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I see paradise in your

endearing photograph

Can’t stop looking at you

I see utopia on your

alluring lipstick

Can’t stop looking at you

I see the garden of Eden

in your mystical eyes

Can’t stop looking at you

I see milk and honey

from head to toe

Can’t stop looking at you

I see perfection and

and everlasting desire for you

Never will I stop

looking at you

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Sweet brown sugar
Habenero pepper on her lips
Invigorating serene eyes
Dashing wild smile
Intellectual stimulating
Culturally educated
Admiring her heritage
Embracing her history
to build a brilliant future
Desiring your seductive mind
Appreciating the center
Itching to just be beside you
Absorbing your presence
Thoughts of you are magical

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Gasping for grasping

At the end of the line

Spinning circles

At the end of the rope

Hearing not listening

At the end of the illusion

Unadaptable and difficult

At the end of the mirage

Impenetrable and brick

At the end of the delusion

Sucked in a vicious cycle

At the end of the fabrications

Never ending spiral

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He traded a Jose Canseco

baseball card for a catchers mitt

He gave his best friend twenty bucks

to ask Robin Metzger out for him

He took his graduation money

to purchase a car that lasted 8 months

He took an ounce of weed

to college to bribe his teacher

He asked his cell mate

for a pack of cigarettes

He got out of prison four years later

and had no clue where he was

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I’m caught between syndromes and prescriptions. I’m slipping in the separation of loneliness and sadness. I have fallen in the hands of broken angels and laughing demons. I can feel the down pouring melancholy fill up the emptiness. I sulk in the fields of depression beside wishes and painted dreams. I’m sitting in the middle of insomnia and awakened tear drops. I watched the clown die on the inside. I stood on the outside of the circus and saw the crowd. I will always be on the outside looking in. I’m surrounded by beliefs and stuck in oppression. I’ve dug a grave in my creativity. I wear sensitivity on my sleeve. I can’t remove if I tried. I want a blanket of love that’s never been made. I seek a yearn that doesn’t exist. You will feel the craving when I’m gone. You will be on the inside finally looking in. The puzzle will be complete. I don’t belong on this earth. I want to lay beside Dylan Thomas and Allen Ginsberg. Read between the lines.

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Constantly disoriented

frozen whispers speak to me

A deep hunger

to be understood

An appetite

to be stirred by intimacy

No one cares

No one shows it

Efforts are fallen between

the cracks

No one hears me

No one listens

Distorted perception wakens

This is my canvas

Only a writer, a poet,

will gravitate to my words

To everyone else

I am not here

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No verses can disguise

the barbwire truth

Furious on the inside

Depression settles like dust

A intact plan merges

Ignoring my needs

Methodical and analytical

Reread the chorus

Every day was an opportunity

you threw away to show me

Nothing will prepare you

for what I’m about to do….

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Staring into the

desolate snow globe

watching my brittle

tears howl from the chair

Craving novacane for

my anorexic heart

Gravitating to the infection

that is soaking to

my sensitive past

Refusing to retrace

my footsteps of

Chestnut street

Tangled ghosts weave

through out my

strewed mind

Only to see a glimpse

of a debilitating disease

Concentrating on the

disappearing inner tyke

Becoming a nomad within

Placing my hands in my

ragged and faded jeans

trying to capture the light

of playing hopscotch

No matter how many times

I seek the clarity and purity

of my jagged youth

Chestnut Street is just a sign

on a ten foot pole

*Laurel has asked me to use this street name for the Challenge.