I’m So Thankful For The Support From My Fiverr Buyers

While you may or may not have heard of the freelance service website Fiverr in the past, chances are you have seem some commercials or web advertising for the site over the last couple of months. Well, I have been offering services on their since the early days of the site (at least 10 years ago) and can’t thank those who have supported me enough. I have one buyer that I’ve worked with for a long time and and so grateful for her reviews, even if they are a little over-the-top. Here is the most recent review from a couple week ago:

If you would like to check out my services, please feel free to stop by my Fiverr profile and look around at what I have to offer.

She Still Stands Strong

Once as red as blood 

As blue as the sky 

And as brilliant white 

As the light from the heaven’s eye

_____

She now has faded 

And her fabric has frayed 

In the echoes of time 

As prices were paid

_____

But do not cry for her 

She still stands strong 

Through the harshest of winds                            

And storms fierce and long

______

She has grown like a child 

And matured into life 

Now mighty in resolve 

Overcoming ages of strife

_____

She’s battled through it all 

And still today she does fly 

Above our fine lands 

Like a bird so high

Days Gone By – Original Audio Poem

Exert from “Molly Manta: The Mystery of the Missing Pearl” By George Snyder

“Molly and her family lived on the seabed, off the coast of Florida in the sea. Molly loved to play fetch with her pet clam Cobalt. They always played fetch with a pearl Cobalt made. Playing fetch is Cobalt’s favorite game to play with others, especially with his favorite pearl. Till one day the pearl disappeared. Molly was sad that Cobalt’s pearl was gone and that they couldn’t play fetch anymore.”

– From Page 1 of a prospective children’s book. Image not part of the prospective work.

Guest blogging/posting – Updated 2021

For those of us who consider ourselves creative people and also try to get the word out there about our creative ambitions, guest posting or guest blogging can be a good opportunity.

With that being said, I’m looking to both guest post for other blogs as well as feature other people’s posts on mine. If you own or run a blog and are interested in in either of these possibilities, please let me know either in the comments section or via e-mail at trcapromo@gmail.com .

What I’ll accept for this blog:

Anything arts related in any way. It must be original work and at least 250 words (unless it’s poetry or a visual submission like photography or a drawing). I’ll provide one backlink per poem or visual submission and up to two per written other form of written post.

What I can provide:

Having worked in journalism as well as the arts, I am up for providing mostly anything. However, if possible I’d like to keep the topics related to:

Poetry and writing

Photography and the visual arts

Movies and video

Music and the performing arts

Goth, emo or punk subcultures

Body modification

Graphic design

Maybe we can make this work out well for everyone!

Your Own Prison (A Poem)

You are in your own prison
You are the warden, you have the key
But you are there by choice
And not by decree

Melodic Waves (A Poem)

Melodic waves

Dance in the sunlight

Presenting a piece of art

From nature’s very core

Ever moving

Not still for even a moment

A new and beautiful pattern

With each second gone by

Blues

And greens

And whites abound

In simple eloquence

Untouched by man

Or jostled by his fingertips

There is no difference

The artist’s project preserves

When artificial noise is silenced

You can hear its simple song

And it resonates in your dreams

And cleanses cool and sweet

Awakened (A Poem)

 

Woke or awakened?
The choice is up to you
To follow in obedience
Or to let your voice through

To cower down to the mobs
And fear their wrath
Or to stand proudly, even alone
And to chart your own path

Don’t let yourself be confused
And fall for the great lie
But rather see through it all
And rise like the sky

The only failure is this
To let truth go untold
We all have it in us
To be strong, to be bold

It’s All Wrong (A Poem)

My newest poem, it’s a bit dark but sometimes we need to get things out.

It’s All Wrong

Loathe everything you are
Because it’s all wrong
Under the instruction
Of the misguided throngs

Judge yourself
Though “you shall not judge”
Encage yourself
In the mind’s own grudge

They say not to bother at all
With the superficial side
But this is the path
On which they stride

Hide your words
Hide your thoughts
Listen only
To what you’ve been taught

Wildebeest By Jennifer Burton

This poem is from the talented artist and writer Jennifer Burton. You can find her on Instagram and check out her shop on Etsy.

 

I’ve been dying for a long time

and I’m not talking about the decaying kind that we are all doing

 

I’m talking about daily dying death

 

Roadkill: The way we feel it until we don’t

 

I’m talking about coloring in the lines

 

I’m talking about how filth is human and a human is filthy but so very blessed with showers and toilets, soap, trash cans and landfills

Dust equals dirt, but dirt was dead skin first, and dead skin was once you and you were once alive

 

I’m talking about how you were once a howling wolf

Then turned jealous of howling wolves

Then turned fearful of howling wolves

Then turned indifferent

 

I’m talking about the death of the wildebeest

Born when you were born, when I was born

Born howling at the moon, scared and angry,

but mostly fierce and shining

Bright

like a firefly

if a firefly was also a sun

 

Now what have we become?

 

I’ve been dying for a long time, and decay is not the worst kind of death

No

The worst kind of death?
is when the beast quits rearing its ferocious, ugly head and you start to think life is a paint by number, that ducks really do belong in a row, that a family belongs in a house and a house belongs in a world made bigger and better-faster-stronger by the dollar and sweat off your back

 

I’m talking about roadkill

Coloring in the lines

streets upon streets empty of wild beasts running, drumming, howling

 

With brass knuckles, celebratory trumpets, gloriously bloody knees

 

You did this to yourself

You breathe in the trees and give all your air to gossip, meaningless lists and plans

You take it all for your stupid lungs and give nothing to anything real or burning

 

Lambs lie down before slaughter

But no one can slaughter the wildebeest

Only beat it into a shadow

that would still roar had it one breath

To breathe