Hello.

My name is Travis Morgan.

Welcome to my online portfolio. Here you will find a variety of my works including art, music, and poetry.
You might also like to see my instagrams.

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The Sweetest Kiss

While searching for the sweetest kiss,
I found you in a moon.
You drugged me in your liqueur lips,
fed by sugar spoon.

Mesmerized by your buxom peaches,
exchanging oral mist,
I’ve known no drug as sweet as this,
this nectar in your kiss.

I traced the lines of your lips with mine
like a detective traces clues.
Curvatures so moist and warm,
formed in fevered hues.

These irresistible, kissable, kissing tips
embrace me like sunshine beams.
The eternal kiss that you charm,
creates the sweetest midnight dreams.

You Make a Difference

You make more difference then you know.
You create the spark,
which grows into a flame,
that then flickers and spreads,
eventually turning into deep burning coals,
kindling the world.

Empty Your Cup

Have a problem handling the truth?
Take it down with a cup of understanding.

Don’t understand?
Then empty your cup.

Now you’ve made a mess.
Clean it up.

Now go wash your hands.

Now go.
You are ready.

There is no within or without when one understands ones oneness.
Complexity can only exist through simplicity.

Time Travel Dream

October-16-06, I dreamt that I time traveled. I was in the Marines again; I think it was boot camp. I knew I was back in time, as I was aware of the present (my wife, kids, etc…) I was in search of a building, which I knew had this time traveling device, a time traveling device that resembled a colorful cup of some kind. I was familiar with the building and the cup I was looking for as if I had been in the building and used the cup before.

Read more…

Snowflakes in October

The winter snow fell in fall.
Dry snowflakes,
landing on my tongue
slipping into the darkness
scraping their corners against the back of my throat on the way down.

Yes,
these evil little grits,
disguised as soft and cuddly snowflakes
forced winters sandpaper down my central cavity
turning me into a sore trumpet.

I often remain silent, for words representations and counseling to and from the truth are rarely if ever adequate delegates.