Posted in Poems

The Thresh

I passed an unborn threshold
Into a place unheard
It left a mark untold
And made my vision blurred
Almost like a blindfold
Or a broken, sightless bird
I sat with eyes controlled
And a face made absurd
Once I sat here freely
Not yet had I crossed that line
Yet the words were light and breezy
Simple, known, and confined
I once would walk with wonder
Through a world of my design
Yet now I sit in blunders
Searching for the sublime
In a world gone mad with madness
A world concerned with time
I looked for a final meaning
A sensible, final rhyme
But now the story wanders
At least in this world of mine
For I crossed that unborn threshold
That lacks to self-define
Once I wrote with fury
Knowing my way throughout
Yet the future is all but blurry
And I’ve no idea what it’s about
So if you are writer
A being of unsaid words
Don’t make your work a cypher
Don’t make your dialogue slurred
Allow yourself to wonder
At the time and place you’re in
For before you even know it
The story, it will end

Posted in Poems


I used again last night
I started and turned up the light
For the world in which I reside
Is much too dark for drug lit eyes
I inhaled, took it in
Like it was nothing but air
I sipped, I gulped
Like I had plenty to spare
I poked, I prodded
I raised myself high
I smiled and nodded
And burst through the sky
It flowed through my blood
As this poem does now
It made up a flood
Of revelations somehow
It made its way through
Every crack of my brain
Until my eyes opened
To look out at the rain
Leaning forward, I saw
Though with much strain
A young woman who stood there
In the midst of the rain
She wore a black dress
And stared with disdain
Wondering if
My hands I’d restrain
And the rain, it poured
In buckets and jugs
Like a joker who plays
With aces and clubs
But the woman, she stood
Like a tree in the ground
Planted with might
By a heart once made sound
The rain, it would part
Of this I was sure
But the woman would not
She’d stand and endure
From forest to forest
The world it would change
And there she would stand
Lost and estranged
But for now, we both eyed
As we froze, wet with rain
The bodies we denied
And that pleasurable pain
Together, we were torn
But in one mighty sweep
The effects, they were worn
And I awoke from a sleep
Now perhaps this all
Took place in a dream
Erupting from
Some midnight scene
But as I laid there
Trying to breathe
I saw her walk in
A beauty unforeseen

Posted in Blogs

My Cure to Writer’s Block

I’ll be honest. I had literally no idea what to say when I started writing this. Ever since my “It’s Been Awhile…” blog (an article in which I promised to do my best to post a blog every Monday and a poem every Friday) I’ve been racking my brain attempting to come up with an idea for this very blog you read now. And although I still had no ideas as to what to say or, more accurately, what to write, I felt a necessary compulsion to sit down and write anyway. When I began writing, I had no idea what to say, so I rambled on as best as I could without making this blog a superfluous one. But suddenly, as I sat there in my super comfortable yet weird looking writer’s perch, I, in a flash of realization, realized that I was demonstrating something that I myself have talked about many times.

Many of us have encountered that terrible thing known as “writer’s block”. We sit down with our pens poised and keyboards ready only to stare at a blank piece of paper or a blinking cursor. We attempt to write, but everything we scribble down is nothing more than a mess of uninspired, formless words. And so we walk away, hoping that in time, the paperweight we call “writer’s block”, will disappear. This is the sad story of many. We wait, sometimes for months, for our brains to allow us to create. All the while, there we sit, our imaginations collecting dust. This is something I have experienced on more than one occasion and it seemed to haunt me much more then it should. It would absolutely torture me when I couldn’t sit and express the things inside. I talked to other fellow writers, and for them, it wasn’t as much of a bother. Sure, they found it annoying, but they’d simply wait it out patiently. But whenever a case of writer’s block would overcome me, I’d become highly strung and emotional. My feelings would be like a ball of yarn being tangled by a cat. In result, every other area of my life reflected this inner chaos. During these times, I’d searched desperately for a means or method that would dismantle that evil block and after several years of going through these phases stumped by writer’s block, I stumbled upon a cure. As I said before, many of the people I know simply wait out their writer’s block. They allow their minds time to reset, and while it is important to have a well-rested mind, I found that approach to be lazy and stupid. And here’s why.

You see, when I first started writing this blog, I had no idea what to say. For days I had pondered what to write, but nothing would come to me. Yet all the while, I felt a necessary compulsion to sit down and just type. And so I did. At first, I was just rambling on. But as I further rambled on, an idea for a topic began to form. And as I continued writing, the wording and end result of what I wanted to say become more and more vividly clear. Finally, I reached a point where I sat there completely confident in my abilities to deliver an article of quality. But I only came to discover this idea when I sat down and wrote, even though I had nothing to say. Writer’s block is nothing more than a concrete wall that keeps us from a vibrant, unexplored world. Concrete walls, my friend, only crumble under two circumstances. One, with time as they are weathered and worn down and two, with brute force. When I sat down to write, I stood in front of a concrete wall. Then, with my words, however insignificant and pointless they may have been, I began to break that wall down. Think of your ramblings as sledgehammers. The more you write, the more you break through that wall. Even if you’re writing the same word over and over again, you are continuing to strengthen the connections in your brain that allow you to be creative. The only way in which you can ever become truly strong is to¬†exercise the muscles you’ve been given. When in doubt, write. Dismantling writer’s block, is to me, that simple. When I first embarked in this, it was nowhere as cut and dry as I make it sound now. I would often time find myself rewriting the same piece over and over. But the more I persistently treated writer’s block with this attitude, the easier it came to move past that concrete wall. When I sat down to write this blog, I found myself stumped, yet within minutes, I had begun exploring that vibrant world that lies just beyond that deadweight paperweight. So the next time you find yourself cursed with the ever so evil writer’s block, just remember that you are the creator, not the block. What happens with and in your writings is completely up to you. Don’t just sit there and allow a mindless block of concrete to prevent you from constructing works of art. Write. Keep on writing. Even if you’re writing mindless dribble, keep pushing past that wall. Eventually, I swear, that wall will be broken down and you’ll discover the most amazing world you’ve ever seen.


Twisty Ceives
Posted in Poems


Turn your glasses upside down
You’ll see a smile, not a frown
Walk through the woods of clouds and doom
And see what lies beneath the gloom
The glass you filled the other day
It’s not empty or full, it’s just halfway
The friend that you just turned away
Loves much more than words would say
So take these glasses
Turn them ’round
See the truths
That you had drowned
The world that you refuse to see
Is a world unhinged by you and me
The fate you hate, that destiny
It won’t upheave your reality
Just take those glasses
Flip them upside down
And see the masses

Posted in Blogs

It’s Been A While…

Hey everyone, it’s Twisty here saying it’s been a long while… It’s been a long while since what, you may ask? Well, it’s been a long while since I’ve gotten in touch with my subscribers and honestly, there’s no good reason as to the why. Of course, by “no good reason”, I mean “a reason which is not good but instead bad which is also known as an excuse”. That’s right, I’ve got nothing but excuses to make up for my lack of absence. Now while it is true that I’ve been posting poetry consistently (every Friday) for quite some time and even have been posting an occasional short story, I’ve more or less disregarded my following and for that, I am truly sorry. I suppose I’ve been so focused on creating better content that I began to neglect my loyal WordPress/email subscribers which leads me back to why I’m writing this slightly out-of-nowhere blog. For those of you who have been apart of this since the beginning (which equals out to several years), you’ll remember that in the origin of this, I posted more blogs and less poetry until I began to really flow in the poetic. And since the day I clicked “Publish Site” all those years ago, this website has undergone such drastic changes that only¬†one word could sum up the somewhat chaotic journey of this blog; evolution. By this, I mean, the nature of what I write currently compared to what I wrote in the creation of this site has clearly and concisely evolved along with my own personal life. So if you come to this website and find yourself confused and disoriented by the new layout and somewhat different content while “Someone That I Used To Know” plays through your device’s speakers, don’t be afraid to feel right at home. Just because the layout and direction have changed, doesn’t mean the blog has changed. This website is still, and will remain to be, centered around the beauty of words and what they can create.


This isn’t all on you. This is mainly on me. I’m sure that just like me, you miss certain aspects of the old and that’s something I can change. Who’s to say that I can’t post a blog every now and again talking about random s**t? So I guess that this out-of-nowhere blog is also an announcement. An announcement that I am going to make more of an effort to keep my more-then-fantastic subscribers in the loop. After all, the most important part of any relationship is communication. So when can you expect this to take effect? Well, considering that I’m generally attempting to post poetry or short stories on Fridays, I think I’ll choose… Monday, as my blogging day. Now, obviously, I won’t be able to post every Monday and sometime I’ll miss my poem on Friday, but from now on, I am going to do my best to pick up blogging again. So as my five hundred forty-seven word blog comes to an end, I’d like to take one last moment to thank each and every one of you for sticking around thus far and that I can’t wait to see what happens next.

Not Sure What to Say in Closing,
Twisty Ceives

Posted in Poems


Last night was an interesting one
If a night deserved a description
I’d describe it as burnt and overdone
Like a work of overused fiction
The night was dark, just like any other night would be
But in the shadows, I saw
A man who looked like me
But his hands were charred to a crisp
And his eyes, they could not see
So I remained a quiet one
Observing from behind a tree
He did not stumble
Through the woods that darkness plagued
He seemed filled up with confidence
As if he clearly knew the way
He depended not on his senses
Which is sensible, I suppose
For the senses only show us
What’s right in front of our nose
He walked this way and that
He was searching, looking for what?
Then distinctly I heard him mutter
“Dear god, where is my chestnut?”
So this man who looked like me
This man who could not see
He was looking for a chestnut, apparently
So he’d scrounge about in the leaves
Then look behind a tree
While I stood there just watching
Watching the man who looked like me
The woods, they were not eerie
This is important, you must understand
That the forest was not scary
It was instead, oddly out of hand
Almost like an orange grove
That hasn’t been pruned in ages
Yes, the oranges may taste delicious
But the grove, my god, how outrageous
And that’s how this forest felt
It was decrepit, lost, and old
It hadn’t been seen in centuries
It was hidden, quiet, untold
Only two men had touched it
A man and his apparent clone
A clone with severely charred hands
And eyes that were burned at the cone
And so he continued his search
And I, being bored, moved along
Never once knowing the lurch
Of the man who once belonged
So I guess that’s who he was
He was a small sliver of me
A sliver that once knew love
And was burned by his own inward burning
And I guess he’ll keep on looking
For the chestnut for which he had a need
For when your eyes are blinded
The symbolism, you cannot see

Posted in Poems


Don’t tell me I should live
Until you have a reason
Don’t save this worn down skin
Until you’ve seen the demon
Don’t look within my inwards
Until you’ve read the warning
It’s written in tears of blood
From a time of unseen mourning
Don’t ask those simple questions
Those ones that I detest
For it is the simple questions
That makes a heart possessed
Discontinue your reading
Of the poem you now recite
For this poem will self-destruct
Just as your means of sight