Biography of Paul Cutting
I was two years old when things cam in to focus, standing under my mom as she did the dishes, holding on to the door handles on the bottom cabinets in the kitchen, a women with a solid heart of gold, light skin portages and beautiful inside and out, Dad was some were doing something, a Proud man from the west indies, Island of Barbados, Loved and hated everyone at the same time,
Two Brother older then me, one 15 mouth one 12 years older then me, I was that baby, in 1960 in this majestic and magical would of this poor and proud Family in New Haven CT. Its was a beauty fulled life as I recall looking back to that day from this one, I know that the love that was poured out on me by my Mon and Dad still pours out onto the pages in my poetry, the closest neighbors to our house were all orthodontics Jews, there were days when me and my Brother would have to turn on and off Light, stoves TV's you name it, we flipped the switch on and off, on the very Holy days, I often wondered about my Soul but we did it anyway, so life was good, I had no clue to how poor we were till they foreclosed on our house, but my Dad was good friends with the Mafioso, so had them come to the auction and buy the house and sell it back to us, We had friends from all walks of life everyone loved us, I know there were bad parts but they are not what I dwell on, we all know heartache and pain that life sends our way, to this day I give way to the love I felt from Mon & Dad for my life and its good fortune, Mom and Dad are gone but the love from them cascades on in my words and there healing love I hope you can get a glimpse of in my joy, I have lost hundreds of poem, song, and saying over the years, so I do appreciate poem hunter.com, a place were I can store them for years to come.
Listen to the word's echo from swollen souls, word's stolen from the wisdom of the universal frequency that blows in the ether that disturbs not a leaf, it changes our world's history with new profound belief,
under the radar of what the masses can preserves, distant from no one but still just beyond there reach.
Listen to the word's echo from were no one knows and tell not its wisdom save the thirstiest of souls that crave the knowledge
that open the worm holes that time has stolen from us