Cooking With Crayons

How wonderful is the moment? Not that we need to try to caress and indulge every moment, but how huge are the tiny bites of life that come to us in a day? It is like a towering plate of food. It is all food we crave. We open our eyes in the morning and look and there is this huge buffet of moments. And, we must bite each one. Do we chew on it? Or do we just gulp it down? Do we savor the wonderful array of colors, hues, and gaze at the full magnitude of its presence? Within each moment is enough grace from God to give Him praise for an eternity. At the moment, we live and breathe, each breath holds enough beauty even flowing within our simple almost insignificant view of the galaxy. Though we could get a telescope and look to heavenly bodies so far away, we are restricted only in that we see the simple movie motion around our bodies. For the most part we only experience such a minute area of the universe and yet in every

Evil has no preferred skin tone There are evil police and evil criminals If evil is going to be defeated we can not Stoop to its level. We can not fight it by being more evil. Hate comes from all shapes of people Every color and every kind If evil and hate are fueled by anger We cannot out anger the two. Our indignation must come in the form of Unwavering prudence, patience, and wisdom determined to stand against it no matter how long the battle lasts.

A Little White Establishment Giving the short end of the stick Right through their teeth. Taking the water right out of me With a Tissue of Tomorrow: In cahoots with my agony-- Pulling my leg, and a fast one at that, because it has none! A business of monkeys making wool for my eyes, I'm hoping it saves me from the dirt thrown in them. I'm being taken for this ride Trying to see past smoke and mirrors. There would have to be something to bend or stretch, But it's been ripped off, yanked Along with my chain. The scales fell off from its eyes, Away from the rug that it speaks like. And it speaks like it breathes, Crying Wolf, As crooked as a bucket of fish tales. Its practice is as sharp as the grain of salt I can take its words for, I am not big enough to throw the establishment, But I can trust it however far that is, It is as full of hot air, blowing smoke from the tombstone that it is.

Cry your Crying into Weeping I cried once It was the first time I cried later to see if it felt the same It didn't. All I needed was someone; Yet, the someone I needed was going to have to solve it. All I needed was everything to never be the same again. That time I cried the first time I had no idea that I would cry so much. Not only did I cry too much that time, I cried too much the next time and the next time. Crying started to feel good I did it so much. I began to think I was crying my way into heaven. If something was trying to get my attention-- I didn't want it. I was by myself, crying. If you could cry away your troubles I would have done it by happenstance. If you could call crying weeping instead, maybe I was weeping. I can't remember the exact day that my crying turned into weeping, But, I can tell you life is a lament. "Life's lament" I would say. And, I felt that clever. I have cried once because I will never be clever ag

A Book Review by Rob J. Blevins of www.cookingwithcrayons.com Demian by Herman Hesse      I couldn't put this down. Most importantly this book was written in 1919 in pre World War 1. In remembering his childhood, the author is examining the realms of good and evil, and within that he hits the age old art of building the character around his psyche and the questioning of moral principle. Since Hesse was thought to be undergoing psychoanalysis at the time of writing--there are many of the foundational qualities of psychology itself. Also, this was an important era in history because Friedrich Nietzsche had just begun decades prior to give account of the pride of nationalism in Germany and the devaluation of morals. Having Hesse as a successor to Beyond Good and Evil , it is refreshing to hear someone dealing with ethics in such a humanitarian and often sectarian light. It is a tale of the admiration of an eccentric friend by a dynamic character who happens to be the

I want to feature your book on my Podcast/Site/and this Blog. I live to read. I live to review your books on Amazon and I love doing it. If you give me your link at amazon, I'll put your book right at the top of the website.  There is a sign up on the website and you will get notifications of when your book will appear on the Podcast/Launch!

The Tears that Wipe the Blood from Our Cheeks They cry out give them books. They cry out give them money. But no one cries out to stop the tears that wipe the blood from our cheeks. They look for the root of the plant. They look for the soil to spring up with never a seed. They can but they don't Stop a single tear. Instead They gaggle and babble They waddle and wade In a non stop pool of ideas Each one more shallow than the last They look for us under a mountain Of their own misgivings, Placed down on our peon minds From a lofty seat of extravagance. Greed rains down and wipes the blood from our cheeks. Dry fountains are filled with our tears. We long for a little light to come We ask for forgiveness Even though we did nothing wrong. They hope to keep us walking In the same direction Towards everything we need. They say we want it, But we can't want what we already need. Nothings and Nobodies There are but few moments we often never cling to, Th

Find the One With Joy Hop down from your post Don't dismay If all it takes is sorrow We'll find another way Make up your tragic ending Before you start to cry Or write another sonnet From teardrops in the sky Give no one all your potion Give no one all your gaze For up upon the mountain Is the maker of the maze Walk once to the end Burst through the wall Over the shadows Into the hall Back after the prize If we shall ever grow Back under the tulips Along with the rose The ships that sink our fears The hollowed harvest now The mark upon our shoulders The furrow in our brow Make not another willow tree Before you count us gone For deep within our numbers The sadness has grown strong We search along our lines of wrath We dig up all our braids And all along each melody A notion hath been laid For on a muddy hill Much farther than we tread We know the One with Joy No longer are we dead Thus Saith the Farthe

Jars of Oil; Sands of Rhyme by Rob J. Blevins The Shattered Earth that Cries Like a Wreck Below How's that? I'm awake. I'm awake. I slept from hearing wants One man wants what another man has One woman wants to be like another man One world of power cries out for more And it's not like darkness doesn't breed itself The power runs the darkness.  How's that? I'm awake I promise. I've heard it all. One man wants to be me. One man wants to be free. The other holds him down and asks for diamonds in his crown. The kings cry out that they are peasants And the peasants will never be a king. The earth is spinning; I had hoped it would. As I had hoped it would, it does not,  But beckon for lust in the night? Of flightless abandon it can not stop crying out for more Of unpleasant anger and disruption I have heard it all. How's that? I've been here. I can't see less than I do,  Or close one eye

Dear Reader/Listener,     My name is Robert Blevins and I'm an author/songwriter/sound engineer who has a lot of creative free time on my hands due to the sad events as of late. On the bright side, this blog is where I will let you know about anything and everything I write, publish, or record. I'm going to get this kicked off by adding our first podcast of 2020. That will be the next blog. In the podcast I'm going to just be tossing some funny thoughts around and playing some of my latest songs. I am creating so much in this social distancing/quarantine that it is necessary to keep a steady log of what I am getting done. This blog is the anchor of it all. So if you haven't followed my music before I encourage you to follow this blog and sign up so you can get notifications. Also, from time to time I will be printing short stories and poetry here so you can have new material to read. For links to my books and music for sale please go to cookingwithcrayons.com . Yours