Free Life Blog

WordPress Problem

By Chris Bunton

I’m a writer. I always have been. So, I started a WordPress blog years ago. This WordPress blog. It’s a free one. I’m not paying for it, but I post my poetry, thoughts and spiritual writings on it. It’s grown over the years.

But, I wanted to create a website for different kinds of writings. I have many interests. I like WordPress so that’s what I decided to use for my new website. This was in 2020.

I created the website. But, WordPress discovered that my new website was by me, so they connected the old blog with the new website.

I did not want it. I contacted WordPress and they said they can’t fix it.

So I have dealt with it. I think it has impacted my growth on my website.

Here’s the problem. It seems that all my emails have my name from my old blog on them. It’s fine for my old blog. But for the new website, it’s confusing I think. It irritates me to death.

Imagine if Mark Zuckerberg had a blog, then created Facebook. And some how the old blog got wrapped up in Facebook. So image that every email or notification said “Mark Zuckerberg; Facebook” instead of just “Facebook”.

Anyway, it’s quite irritating for me. And I think it has hindered my growth. Because it looks unprofessional. It looks like a blog not a website.

I have tried other tricks to fix it but I think it has hurt my growth also. I changed the name to “.”= Period. To hide my name totally. But, now it probably seems shady or looks like spam.

Anyway, I can’t tell if my blog readers get my website posts and emails, or vice versa. And when I like or follow someone on WordPress Reader, I’m not sure they can see who or what I am. This might cause hesitation.

Maybe some of you have a solution or can shed light in the subject. Because I think, killing the personal blog and focusing on the website might be the answer. But. I really like having a place to post my personal stuff.

Thanks.

Bio: Chris Bunton is a writer, poet and blogger from Southern Illinois. He has published in several magazines, and has written a poetry eBook called “Against the Man” and an Addiction Recovery eBook called “Made Free: Overcoming Addiction“ His newest book is called “The Future is Coming” and is a collection of dystopian short stories.

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Read His Spiritual Writings on Blogger: https://chrisbunton.blogspot.com/

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Your Special Life

Encouragement Poem by Chris Bunton

Of all the millions
of tiny sperm cells.
You were the fastest.

You just so happened,
to be strong enough,
to penetrate an egg.

An egg that had
not been shed yet;
on a drunken night.

You survived a thousand
ways to die before life,
and did not get aborted.

You survived a birth
that could have gone bad.
And took your first breath.

You grew up in a world
full of accidents and
creepy freaking people.

To survive and thrive
enough to get by.
Everyday is new to you.

Through all the bad;
through any good.
You’re here still.

You are reading this,
so you’re alive and here.
You’ve made it this far.

You are special,
most don’t make it.
So do something real.

Give of yourself.
Turn to God.
Be the hero you are.

You are here for a purpose. You were created for more. You know this deep inside. Do not squander the time you’ve been given chasing things that will never last, or matter in the end. Love matters. Doing good matters. Memory lasts. The way you’ve treated people will last long past your time in this life. We were sent here to do something. Then, our Creator calls us home. God is our purpose. Now let Him show you the mission.

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Photo by the Poet.

Ever Healed?

A Life Poem by Chris Bunton

Scrolling through Facebook,
when I find a meme.

It’s a video,
of a fishing boat.

Where a daughter
and her daddy.

Are reeling in a fish,
the little girl just caught.

She is so excited,
and squealing loud.

Grab the net! Grab the net!
Daddy! Get the fish!

She jumps up and down,
as her daddy helps.

So happy with daddy,
a memory is made.

And I break,
as I watch this joy.

Will it ever heal?
Will this loss go away?

No more fishing trips,
or learning to ride a bike.

No more zoo trips,
or memories with me made.

Stolen by corrupt courts,
and divorce lawyers.

Ripped away
through archaic laws

Families destroyed,
in children’s best interest

And I’m left,
broken away.

But I rose up;
God dragged me through.

I became better,
than I ever could.

I have overcome,
so many crushing things.

But, none of it matters,
when I break down.

At just a memory,
of the girls I lost.

And my foolish pride,
refusing to die.

It pops up,
at the weirdest times.

And I have to ask,
is it ever healed?

But, maybe it,
keeps my heart soft.

To remember this loss,
and know where I’m from.

Maybe those lost girls,
break my heart and spur me on.

To be the better man,
so they can be proud

To laugh with me,
and call me dad.

At some future time,
I’ll finally find.

Or maybe never.
Maybe it’s done.

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Scarecrow

Spirit Rhyme by Chris Bunton

Out of the hand of that ancient man,
the Raven flew to and fro.

Over a devastated land,
washed clean, for new darkness to grow.

That Crow, that black, black Crow,
devouring seed before new life.

That old Crow sees the Man on the pole.
That old Crow, flies to and fro with spite.

Nowhere to land, where that Man won’t see.
The seed will rise, to fly and dance free!

I’m aware the Raven and Crow are two different birds. But, the symbology often matches. The raven in the Bible released by Noah represents Satan going to and fro upon the earth. A roaring Lion seeking whom he may devour. A trickster who steals from man the most precious things he has. Devouring Truth before it can spring up into Life.
But, the trickster is watched by the One on the pole. Driving him away, so life can grow.

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I Miss The Forest

Nature Poem by Chris Bunton

I miss the forest.
The deep silence,
Hiding sounds in wait.
The watching of life.

Breath being held
By the souls that dwell there
The trees speaking
In that sweet vibration

The squirrel can’t sit still
Too many chores to do.
Here, there, and everywhere
He goes to do his thing.

The wind spirit flows
Using leaves to sing.
Her instrument of love
For all to hear.

The blazing sun shines,
His heart down for life.
Drawing pictures through shade
On the forest floor.

Water nymphs dance
In the nearby creek
Sparkling flash sliding
Down to the deep blue lake.

The smell of the earth gnome
As he sits and watches.
Unmoving like a stone
In an ancient hillside.

A deer moves along,
Eating fronds of green.
Looking around to see
Who is watching her.

The caw caw caw sound
Of the crow calling out.
To let the forest know
That he is there and free.

Chipmunks scurry around
Through leaves on the ground
Barely seen by the eye
Before they are gone.

I miss the forest
And the friends I have there.
Man was born to love it,
And to protect its life.

As he protects his own.

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Can’t Wait For Spring

A Than-Bauk poem by Chris Bunton

Can’t wait for Spring,
with glowing green;
bursting new life.

Song birds in love,
like the dove, from
above, the road.

Shove clouds away,
sunshine day, bring
sweet May, delight.

I have always loved nature. I care for it deeply. But, in my younger days I hated Springtime. Winter was cold and nasty. But, then came the never ending spring full of rain and mud. Month after month it was beautiful on the days I worked, and crappy on my days off. It would warm up and flowers would pop. But then…..Frost. And kill everything.

As I get older, I don’t really let the weather impact me too much anymore. Honestly I have come to look at the seasons as stages of life. Summer is adulthood, fall is old age, moving into the long sleep of winter death, to rise in glory. But, Spring. Spring is like youth. It starts out cold and nasty, then it just doesn’t know what it wants. Then, things start to come alive and grow, while puppy love bursts forth over and over with pain and tears like rain. Turbulent.

I miss youth. I’d change so many things that I regret. I’d be a better person. Course, maybe not. I just don’t like putting up with nonsense, so I might make all the same dumb mistakes.

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Photos by the poet, a flower near a river by Spokane, Washington

The Cafe Terrace At Night

By Chris Bunton

He remembers times with her.
Sharing moments alone in,
the cafe terrace at night.
Not too long ago.

This Dodoitsu poem is about one of my favorite paintings. The Cafe Terrace At Night by Vincent Van Gogh.

When I look at the painting it makes me feel longing for warmth. That I’m out in the darkness, looking into the light where everyone is happy and belongs. A place to sit and relax. Where I can let off steam and have joy with someone I love. Someone who I know truly loves me. It also makes me think of yummy pizza.

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Remembering

Recovery Advice by Chris Bunton

I was walking downtown at night, when I got the strong smell of whiskey in my nose. It was over powering, and brought back memories of puking that stuff up a thousand times. It was Southern Comfort. The smell was so recognizable I could almost taste it.

I have not drank in over 20 years, but it still hits me like that. I can choose to miss it, and desire it, while thinking fond memories. OR I can choose to hate it, remember all the destruction it brought, and be glad for being free. I choose to be free, and happy.

These memories will jump in our minds as we walk in recovery. We must reject them and choose to remember bad memories not good. Those fond memories can lead us back into the bars we walk past or the liquor store on the corner, where they know our name.

I was eating dinner at a German Restaurant. The waitress came out and immediately started telling me all about the beers, and specials. This happens a lot at certain restaurants. I have grown to be able to just move past it and order water. Some of you are not there yet. So, don’t go there. Stay away from places that tempt you.

Everything on the menu was cooked in beer or had some kind of rum, wine or scotch poured on the food, or cooked in the recipe. They say that the cooking process removes the alcohol. But, I remember grilling out in my drinking days and pouring beer on everything. I did this because I was a drunk, not because I was a master chef. Do they really need the booze to make the food taste good? Or do they put booze on the food, because they are drunks?

I’m sure the alcohol is cooked out. That is not my concern. My concern is that I will eat or drink something that will stir a memory in my mind. Then, that memory for that taste of booze will grow and grow again. I am free. I will do nothing to get back in bondage, even if it makes me seem silly. I don’t care. The person who thinks I’m silly, will be the same type of person who ridicules and judges me for failing in my sobriety. Ignore those people.

Stay away from people, places and things that stir up those memories. Just avoid it. Those memories will work on you, and can bring you down. Just don’t go there. Don’t go to that place. Don’t play that music. Don’t eat that food. Your freedom is of more value than all of that. You can overcome.

—–

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Photograph by the author, Pittsburgh at night

Rock Bottom

Recovery Poem By Chris Bunton

There comes a point in a person’s life where things must change.
They have hurt themselves, and others.
They have lost everything they had.
They have even lost their way.
It’s a point,
where the failures and the terrible things of their past rise up to haunt them.
They must change or perish.

Because of what they have allowed to happen,
they find themselves in situations of pain.
Because of choices they’ve made,
they have lost all their friends, and their family.
They must be real with themselves,
and others.
They must forgive themselves,
and others.

There is a place,
where you wake up laying in your own vomit,
or in jail,
or next to someone you hate,
and you decide to live differently.
It is a moment,
when you wake up with clarity.

A person decides to eat right.
They decide to stop using drugs and alcohol.
They decide to exercise more.
They decide to seek spirit and love and God.
They decide to focus on family and being a good person.
They cast off the ideas that have led them down this path.
They seek what is good and solid and sure.

It’s a new birth,
but it’s also a death.
It’s a death of bad relationships that drag them down.
It’s a death of a lifestyle, which has hurt them.
It’s a casting off of that old dead carcass, into a glorious light with hope.
It’s a struggle to finally release.

There is Love, in rock bottom.
It is a place where we find our way, or we perish.
It is a place where we become real.
It is a place where seek to be who we were meant to be.
It is a place where we become new.
It is a place where we cast off what has ruined us.
It is a place where we realize that perishing might not be so bad.

It will happen, eventually.
It happens to people and even nations.
It’s by design.
It’s Time.

Follow Him on Medium: https://chris-bunton.medium.com/

Read His Spiritual Writings on Blogger: https://chrisbunton.blogspot.com/

His Addiction Recovery Page on Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/recoverfreedom2day

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Photo by the Poet. A Cool Door in Washington D. C.

That 80’s Night

Poem by Chris Bunton

It was a dark night
at the end of the 80s

When we partied like fools,
in a demon filled rage.

Young and dumb and alive forever;
flying down back roads like banshees high.

To a place for a burning pyre.

Around the orange flames
we danced.

Where fights occurred
and rumors spread like STDs.

Do you know what I mean?

Metallica, with Guns and Roses
twisted our minds and banged our heads.

A starry night when my daughter
was conceived, on a pile of leaves.

Someone is puking behind a tree.
Just another party night for me.

But years go by and pains will come,
to destroy the life of old.

To awaken to a new way to be.
Where I’m dead, to the old me.

Follow Him on Medium: https://chris-bunton.medium.com/

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If you want advice on writing, blogging, poetry, and self -publishing. Message me at Chris.Bunton@mail.com for pricing.

Photo by the Poet. Inspiration Point, Southern Illinois, Shawnee National Forest.