Creatively Written

Wishing for Impossibilites

2011-09-23T14:21:00.000-07:00

This life, emotions

Could you have guessed that it would lead to this?

I didn't, I couldn't

I'm a sinner, does that make me bad?

I've hurt you, I feel bad about that, the unintended consequence of my own misery.

What do you say to someone, when you know you've said it all before

when you know you can't give them what they need

when the words run out?

It's hard

The heartaches of living

the mysteries of the soul

the sad misunderstandings

Even when you know that you shouldn't

sometimes you try to work things out

So no one's hurting

but yourself

and then even your truths are lies

all seems wrong

love, a burden

the only recourse, silence

I wish it were not so

Statue

2011-08-10T11:56:00.000-07:00

Gazing out the window as though gazing at the dark foreboding sea
Cursed be her thoughts
Cursed be her heart
For cursed is she

A silent thoughtfulness on her face as passerbys scrutinize her face
nothing is revealed save the darkness in her eyes
no nothing can be conveyed but the darkness

Still she stands, as a statue, on watch for the dawn
she stands a martyr to her fate
her words as venom in her heart, a betrayal of her own

Unknowing the power of her words condemn her
knowingly she prays
silence answers
for the inner voice is gone

Abba

2011-07-25T22:04:00.000-07:00

Where have I been?

ABBA

My father?

Where have I been?

Torn away from myself, torn apart, torn by life, torn by love

Oh Abba, Abba why is life so hard?

I've failed myself, I've failed you, and all those who love me too.

Abba, Abba, ABBA! My Father!!

Right here, you've been right here
when the silent of the night falls I have held you as you selpt
and the Angels wept as you struggled to stand.

Right here, you've been right here
In my heart, in my soul, I love you

Your voice is not silenced, your silence is heard
daughter, allow yourself to be whole
allow me to heal you

You've done that before, and I faltered Lord, fell

Stand again, I will hold you

but I don't trust myself

Stand and walk I will be right there

Always

Power

2011-07-25T17:47:00.000-07:00

For Meaghan...

The power is in her hand
she gasps as she grasps at the pain.

Her palm bleeds
yet she cannot let go.

Who holds the power?
An illusion of the obvious.

A vice tightening
her breath relinquished
her fate sealed.

A gentle kiss from her lovers death.

In the distance the call of a better day
and oft in the distance simplicity looms unaware

In her hand she holds the key, to unlock the pains of with-drawl
she shudders when happiness nears
for tomorrow, tomorrow she'll pay

She cannot say no, she dare not say yes

She grasps with her hand the thorn, the illusory power within
and tries to let go
but cannot.

Let go
The power is yours

Let go of the thorns

Let go
We stand around you, your support.

Let go...

Silent Truths

2011-07-06T23:17:00.000-07:00

It's not often that the night time finds me here, an observer of the obvious, full of obtuse absurdities
along the road the differences shine, minutia in the moonlight
how stifled it feels
here in my box of silence
the box of indecision
of decisions preemptively made
silent words
spoken only yesterday
signposts to the truth
a truth which may never be revealed.

The Psychology of the Animals

2011-06-07T23:13:00.000-07:00

Animals that pick on other animals, homeless, mangy animals
the way that they see the myopic strangeness of now
yet often cannot see the obvious
how often they guard and protect
how often they run
how often they cry

they cry because they cannot see

they cry, they cannot see

there is another side

a side you cannot see

Harsh, harsh hurtful infliction

Puncture, wound, maim

Lash out

they say he is insane

and yet they cannot see the wounds, the silence, the wounds

and then the end, the pathos, the end

Silence, lonesome

a howl in the night

pathos denied

the criminal is dead

The others rejoice, he is no more!

gloating silence, he is no more

Ha

and then they see the emptiness

the depths of sorrow they had missed

the silence echos
a refrain of the empty life.

George Michael - Faith

2011-05-21T09:53:00.000-07:00

Because the Playlist version went splunk, here is the You Tube video of one of my favorites.

Understanding

2011-05-11T16:59:00.000-07:00

Fell the light leaves, each leaf joined the earth
yet searching the rains could not quench

Poured out were the waters, waters of hope
hope sprung forth from the ground

Shadows hide the sight of the moon
brief ephemeral beauty

Sight unseen fallow ground
brings forth hope from hopelessness

Short Breaths

2011-05-10T22:03:00.000-07:00

Fussy fussy night noises, I cannot discern one thought from another, I am left to wonder at the irritation felt just beneath the surface of my nerves

My daughter shifting on the bed, turning upside down
clapping
Scratching at the pillow

There at the tip of my tongue
the thought I want to convey

Snatched as though grasped by mocking demons, laughing at my desires of expression

Tears come to my eyes, frustration, desire

I wish to be alone

yet ironically I know this is all

a breath of my life

Greek Tragedy

2011-04-23T23:18:00.000-07:00

In that fashion, not quite unknown to me, yet like a foreign language a burden on my tongue, I shall try to write this bit of poetry.

It is as if the ancient Greeks have dressed me with false masks of emotions

I stand before the stage about to appear

trembling in the anticipation of the tragedy before me.

An act! A farce!

The falsity of silence behind the curtain.
Yet I can feel the emotions newly starting behind closed eyes.

Behold the Heroin! Bright shining star!

Behold her now

Through trembling lips I give the confession
a condemnation of reality

Priestess! Now pauper

Silence greets me

a haunting reminder of the truth.

Life, As She Dances

2011-04-08T15:40:00.000-07:00

Roxie, mature young lady with a baby heart
laughing as the popcorn falls, like Niagara
Springing curls, bouncing step, curiosity
Speak with the tongue
elder than thy lisping lilting toddlers heart
dancing through the kitchen.
I miss you as you grow.

Living Life

2011-02-16T14:19:00.000-08:00

I'm listening

Someday I will hear and understand

I'm seeing

Someday I will comprehend

I'm doing

Someday I will know how

I'm cleaning

All that I clean will be unclean again

All that I see will someday be altered

All that I hear is the harmony of everything that once was and what is

I'm dreaming

Dreams are realities yet to be born

Life is living

Grounded

2011-01-26T23:31:00.000-08:00

As I lie, the shackles fall, these humble walls can't hold me

Sacred memories, sainted sites, blessed past enfold me

Stars glitter in the night

Lilting melodious wind in flight

Take me up among the leaves

Share my soul among the trees

My breath is part of you

Ancient drops you know me, right

Don't leave me to these shackles

Leave me to lie here

Grounded

Someday

2010-12-22T22:08:00.001-08:00

Someday will come

like the mists that shroud the mountains in the orange glow of a winters night

and water off dripping gutters, into overfull puddles

broken emblems of the cracked cement

Someday

the mists of time will hang gently

like a shroud

in the orange glow

of gentle light

and your thoughts will be dropped

broken emblems

in empty pools.

Wandering ramblings

2010-12-11T21:39:00.000-08:00

Contemplate what motivates man

To live to die

to thrive to wither in the ennobling-degrading silence of peculiarity

A man walks down the street

choices led him there

he is there

alone

The pricks and prisms of everyday life drove him quietly to it

his choices led him there and there he stays

he will live and die on that obscure stage

body and soul, wandering

Wandering, whether this way or that

sometimes we think were headed somewhere

often we end up where we never thought we'd be.

Gems

2010-12-03T23:22:00.000-08:00

Ironic, that the emerald could be packaged in such a way, that gleaming sparkling gem, dark and green, a cold capulation of summers fair bounties and yet is it not summer? It is not

Mysterious the sparks of steel and flint, the rough edges smoothed away, burned by fire, cut by steel, shined by a soft doe cloth until all is buffed, gleaming.

The glint is alluring

Yet each gem lies in it's own deep chasm, which cannot be bridged.

Shift the Blame

2010-10-26T17:53:00.000-07:00

On the edge of reason morally

Can't grasp hold of this reality

Inaction sends the spiral down

around

around

SEND JUSTIFICATION

Silence

All I can say is that it's ignorance

ignorance

and I didn't know what mattered

I couldn't grasp hold of it anyway.

What Life Gives You

2010-10-23T14:20:00.000-07:00

It has to given me

and given

and given

Yet all I see is what I wish I had

and blast if it had only given what I had asked for

then

then I would have happiness, right?

Only then

I'm stubborn on this point, I'M MAD!! Life's so unfair...

Yet, I don't know what I want... I don't even remember what I was asking for

I've been drowning in the sea

the darkness and the depth so unfathomable

like the words to an aching soulful song

I've been resenting what I've been asked to do, I DON'T WANT TO DO IT ANYMORE

No MORE

No MORE

No MORE

WAIT!!

What can I do?

What?

I see it, the light so faint and distant... what I want right? Yeah, I see it

Then it comes to me... I've been scared... AH scared

Blast!

That's it

I've gotta create who I'm going to be, and hold myself accountable for it...

Well, who else is going to do it?

Coal To Ashes

2010-09-24T21:22:00.000-07:00

Coal to ashes, flame to darkened pitch,
burned embers left charred unattended in my heart.

You were to me the radiant sun,
you were to me life, bounty, hope

Together a spark became a flame leaping,
joyously higher, such pure radiant light.

Our hearts were bound together, a link,
forged steel in the brightest flame.

Fate though would not leave the link to be,

If I hold my silence you must understand
that a fool I was and a fool I am!

My heart, soul, sorrows,
poured into the minute details of the past,
folded in a letter which I gave, an explanation.

Bound from the beginning to another.

Foolish attraction, we mixed our souls together,
laughing,
fate tossed us about, evil fate.

For all that I loved you I was mocked,
each word that was spoken a simple fools repetition,
a broken record,

we cannot be together, fate has not decreed it to be so,

endless sighs and goodbyes till I gaged on the words,
sour words in my mouth, bitter lexicon,
gall encompassed until the collapse of everything,
this endless guilt, penance for the audacity of tempting fate.

Silence, silence I have held, silence reigns.

You once so beautiful,
angry now at our broken connection,
reverberating silence in the hollows of your heart.

You are still trying to grasp the reality,
of broken links, links not sanctioned by fate.

So am I, I still cannot truly explain why
all I know is that,

Dust we are,
to dust we shall return, dust,

Once a fire burned,
coal to ashes, flame to darkened pitch.

Frustrations

2010-08-11T21:42:00.000-07:00

I stand here at this crossroads and I can see so many ways to turn. In some ways I am bound, not because of physical chains but by limitations. If only I could somehow grasp everything that I need to do all at once, grasp and know it all and then rest, oh how I need to rest!

I'm on a cycle, study, stumble, walk a bit and then I fall down. How pathetic I feel sometimes... and yet that is not the entire story either, I'm determined... at least to keep going. Really, no one's going to be able to tell me how great I am, that's not what I want to hear. I want stare up at the stars at night and wonder, "what's out there?" When I am alone I want to be able to hear my own thoughts, be guided by the wisdom of the universe.

I want to feel new, excited and clean again!

I want to look at a beautiful painting and to say "I like that!" or not. To feel that life if mostly undiscovered and that I have time to discover it... yet I am trapped in the expediency of concentration, though I can't concentrate, and lamintation... though really, what is there to lament? Yet I do, and I wonder what next? If all I can do is wind around in circles trying to catch my tail than what good is all of this anyway?

Yet what else can I do? What else? Give up?

For the sake of all goodness, don't give me any advice... I already know that I can do it. I'm just tired...

Leper

2010-08-11T21:24:00.000-07:00

Into the farthest reaches of my soul a leper lies there, not whole

a leper, an outcast, a symbol

and there I find my uncleanliness

and there I find that I lie in pieces

a broken heart

afraid to dream.

For all I dream
and all I know has
fallen
fallen around me

Yet I wish to be whole, I wish to be whole

to stand in the open, baring my soul

and cleansing rain will fall on my head

and cleansing tears will fall from my eyes

and I can see who I am again

I can be renewed

and the mirror will be my friend.

Fleeting

2010-08-07T20:05:00.000-07:00

There is a moment where in weariness you look out at the world and plead, plead for a taste of fresh forgotten youth. Or is it home that you are longing for?

Either way it comes to me in the midst of the night as I'm bumping about the house hoping to catch a moment of the past lurking in the corner.

I catch a bit of it here, a bit there

Sometimes though I wonder what happened to the wonder

Little potato bugs rolled up in a ball, water skeeters, the flow of a sudden stream in the gutter off into the unknown regions of tomorrow.

Remember watching leaves and sticks flow away in the current? Life is like that

Swiftly passing by, headless of the obstacles

You cannot grasp onto the stationary semblances of the past, the current is too strong

Hopefully though, I will be like the rough cut stone, which when tossed about will become a shining gem.

The Beginning and The End

2010-08-01T22:35:00.000-07:00

History of the world,

Streams of information formulating infinitely minute changes

changes gradually made over the course of a lifetime

a lifetime which never ends

reflections of a generation

an exploration of change

a melding molding morphing infinity

for one minute second

I breathed.

Microburst

2010-07-06T23:13:00.000-07:00

Candles, the air had been pregnant with moisture for day's and now eairily the air felt dry, like the moisture had fled, retreated into the soft underbelly of the clouds. Now we sat in the dark, surrounded by candles and flashlights held up to our faces in jest. I don't know when the last time was that we all sat around on the living room floor in the dark, with the TV off. The mood is forcefully light, though we are all a bit nervous, for the winds are howling around us, you can hear the banging of the screen door, the crashing of the things left outside, left in haste. Then the rain starts, it comes in sheets, pouring out, lashing out. Then the angry sound of hail and we open the door to stare out in amazement and smell the scent of wet earth and perhaps nitrogen released from the lightening and thunder hitting the ground. Venturing out into the storm we somehow each need to feel the wildness a bit, the hail beats down and we try to catch it. Drenched, we all decide to get back in the house. A window shatters upstairs and the sound of branches hitting the house reverberates throughout. Running upstairs we find that the great old chinese elm tree that grew about 50 feet away had fallen on top of the house. My bed is ruined for the night...

That's as far as I have gotten...

Contending with Confusion

2010-06-26T21:02:00.000-07:00

I feel pushed to the corner, the corner of what I know not and I hate it.

Yet where else could I go?

I had talent yes? No?

It slowly leaked out as I walked slowly dripping down into the cement

fueled by distraction it left

I felt ignorance enter like a stone

a weight

and there it stayed, a broken thing taking flight

who can contend with that?

So I retreated, to the corner, where it was safe.

Though the shadows crept over me, they couldn't hurt me there.

Yet in reality I was soaking up pain, hurts and frustration.

I couldn't say a word, they were snatched from my mouth

and rearranged

a bundle of confusion

I would speak

but the words had left me.

How could I contend with that?

Silent Answers

2010-06-12T09:47:00.000-07:00

For Ajey

He never knew it would end this way with the present of friendly banter and comradarie, yet there he lay to rise no more, no more

a procession of days of years of minutes, the seconds passed by at that moment; helpless as the thick red blood slowly dripped from the wound, all in the name of hatred, of love.

Yet they were mistaken,

every one

They knew not that they killed their brother

their brother, a friend

all out of hatred, of love

The numbing shock, the swallowing grief were emblems remaining of violence. The questions remained, the questions became the formless void unrelenting.

In the silence lay the answer, the stillness of the heart

who will reveal it? Who?

Only you

Grains of Sand

2010-06-05T14:22:00.000-07:00

There is a certain frustration when running in sand

the progress when doing such is slow

each step you take is heavy

HEAVY with every little grain

each minisule bit

Yet the goal is to reach the top, isn't it?

So you try different things

taking large slow steps

picking up speed and trying to stay above the bits

the little bits, the grains of sand

Eventually you realize that going straight up the hill is futile.

What about approaching at an angle?

Surely going up the slope at an angle is better.

The summit is right there...

just out of grasp.

Futile steps

lie down

Then angrily you storm the hill, how dare it keep you there, you want to reach the top!

All of your energy! All of it!

Is spent fighting against those little bits

the little bits, the grains of sand.

As they go...

2010-06-03T19:16:00.000-07:00

I'd better write now for time is fleeting, fleeting away like the day
around and around my thoughts are retreating, I forgot what I wanted to say

I've tried and I've tried, I've fought and I've died
yes I've died along the deep bay

The bay of confusion the bay of regret the bay of not knowing what needs to have met

and my words they keep drifting away and away, my words they keep drifting away.

Silence

2010-06-02T21:19:00.000-07:00

The silence haunts me,

after so much noise.

It is deafening!

All I can do is clunk around in my room,

turn on the fan

lie down,

and listen to echos.

Echos

Echos of what?

Echos

Echos of possibilities, fleeting as they are

Echos

Echos of happiness, of pain

and I cry, laughing at the absurdity

Unsure of what I should do...

with silence.

Crows

2010-05-25T21:40:00.001-07:00

Something I wrote a while ago but have never gotten around to again...

Crows
Alone on a clock tower stood a fine little crow scanning the ground below him, where a little stream flowed off of the main tributary. He was watching and listening with his head cocked, waiting for the signal. The tower on which he stood, a black metal framework with a clock on each of the four sides, chimed the midnight hour. A sudden caw, caw of another crow made him cock his head in the other direction. This he knew was not the signal, and was yet another sign of delay. So he closed his eyes and hunkered down, head into wings. The wind ruffled his feathers a bit so he shook them out and shifted his position. He was thinking of the last council, all of the bickering that had occurred. Many had left then, off to the high mountain pines, bah! Let them go and good riddance! That day had been oppressive, the seasons had been shifting from summer to fall. The air dusty here and there from the crackling dryness and the mischievous whirlwinds. The clouds up above were foreboding, gathering all of the moisture into their greedy depths, giving the earth an eerie incandescent glow. The leaves had been drifting on the ground aimlessly, like they were driven along by silent ghosts, held aloft by the spirits. That day, she had walked past. The crows, too numerous to count, all standing around in groups of varying sizes, were pecking at the ground and hoping around to jockey for position. He had looked into her eyes. She knew, he felt she must have been ashamed at their bickering, but had been too polite to reproach them. Instead she gazed at the dancing leaves and grabbed for her father’s hand. He lifted her up and she skipped along, glanced back at the crows as she passed.

A Different Kind of War - Circa 1995

2010-05-24T19:17:00.000-07:00

The heat in the night was ruthless,

unforgiving.

As I felt the heavy tanks thundering across the land

I thought of how this bloody shed of life is to our mothers

who have made this miracle of life.

The war is not of nations and guns

but of hearts and souls.

The mothers tender heart breaks with each of her dying children,

she weeps a million tears until her heart is hard,

solid

and can weep no more.

Irony

2010-05-22T01:00:00.000-07:00

Do you know what I'm guilty of?

Irony

Ha

Bitter Irony

and why?

Because of the cycle...

snatched from youth

to raise youth

to give it all...

though young still

to be considered old

and why?

Because my young are old

and I

I

am ironic

Some generally un-profound thoughts...

2010-05-20T17:26:00.000-07:00

Interesting, how life ebbs and flows

a swirling, maniacal mass of information

drifting into your fuzzy awareness

as you awaken each day

to do just about the same thing that you did as the day before,

yet somehow each day

there is just a little shift

a change so minute that the passage of such an event goes unoticed

and one day you awaken to realise

that all of the minute details

are the essence of life

you may curse yourself for having let it all slip by

or

you may live in a nostalgic awareness of a life well lived

you may not even notice at all

until it's over

Existentialism

2010-05-13T22:22:00.000-07:00

Existentialism by definition an encapsulation of existence.

Creation of eternity

a brief glance at all

and yet nothing

Here in this form, this identity

yet everywhere

all at once

supremely unaware of the awareness

of creation

of divinity

of everything

Yet

If unaware, then does anyone truly exist at all?

Not to me

hunger draft

2010-02-24T21:18:00.000-08:00

(This was inspired by Charles Dickens "A Tale of Two Cities)

She was fair, had a certain air, walked every where, strove to care,

yet the hunger lay in the streets, yes the hunger lay in the streets.

New faces, new places, they travel each day, searching for redemption, revival, anything.

They have left the land of no hope, for the American dream so fair, a sure thing you bet, they have left, they have left with a hope and a dare.

yet the hunger lay in the streets, yes the hunger lay in the streets.

Onward citizens, onward, search for the elusive medal, nugget, hope, hope!

Faces of gaunt children, hair receding hope retreating. Down at the bank, down at the store, there is hunger.

hunger in the streets, yes the hunger that lay in the streets.

Then a cry, faint in its beginning faint who would have guessed the ignominy that they suffer, as their hopes fail them. Stark reality, freedoms tossed as they do what they must to survive.

Ho then congressman! Ho then tax man! We have no bread to tax, take pity!

They lay, corpses in their chairs, their lives have ceased as they stare out the window, glossy eyed.

Who will give them breath again? Breath, sigh, their children cry,

On you we rely!

Yet words and tears fall on deaf ears, silent fears, wasted years.

Yearning rising, yearning boom, fought for and paid on the backs of laborers, searching, searching for newer and better.

Onward upward bless this house. Stretch forth and cry, enemies of my heart!

I will fight for the freedom of singing in the streets.

Many generations have passed, they knew and took for granted upward progression.

Ignominy they thought could never last, all deserve 15 min. of fame, so they say.

Nameless faceless masses stand
crying hallelujah let us live!

But

How do you carry forward the waters of life, when it is slowly leaking away? Your shelter was built, your life was planned, yet now you have no place to stay.

You wander in hunger, for heaven to send, redemption for what you have done, your fears, your tears and all of the years, you have worked and you've bled on the throne.

The throne of deception, the throne of desire you added more to it and your hopes they rose higher. So you worked and you planned and all of your dreams, they were dashed in the sand on the streets,

where hunger lay in wait, yes the hunger lay there.

Hearts have stilled with the news,

In the streets there is a hunger, a preponderance of insanity as lies are told and swallowed, there is nothing to fear.

No one has listened, who knows what the silence means yet it lingers.

A presence is felt the grim reaper himself, Charon awaits, there is hunger in the streets it is there.

With each stone that falls from the foundation, unheeded, each step in the sand an illusion. Each stone that falls from the walls as you walk down the streets of desertion. Your grasping for something, grasping, grasping...

and the children they cry in the streets, yes their children they cry in the streets.

Cowboy Camelot

2010-02-02T11:12:00.000-08:00

*One of my favorite pieces, my Great Grandpa was a "Cow Puncher" which I suppose meant that he broke in horses. Plus my Uncle Mo is a dyed in the wool cow boy, owns a cafe up the hill from here with his girlfriend.

There is a once upon a time, that exists in my heart.

I can see the daylight breaking over the horizon, crackling morning campfires, and blue hazy smoke curling lazily in the air.

Morning in a Cowboy's Camelot

Biscuits and bacon eaten with appreciation while sitting round the campfire balancing plates on knees.

Listening to the dawn chorus of the birds. How do's and mornin's spoken with drawling tongue and twinkling eye, amusement about life in general.

Cowboys with their leather and beads, their feathers and weaves, a tip of the hat, a bit of a tease.

I can smell oiled leather and smoke in the western store. Hear boots on the wooden floors, bells tinkling on swinging doors.

See the barrels and bins full of horseshoes and pins. Rough hemp rope curled on the ground, sand and dust all around. Saddles and deer heads hanging, country music playing.

A cowboys haven

There is still something within me that recalls, swirling fires in the dessert, dusty tumble weeds over a hot trail, sand and sage, dry dessert air, nickering horses, snakes rustling through tall grasses, the coursing of streams down high mountain passes.

Out on the trail with the cowboy

Whisky and whiskers, old spice and pomade, reclining against a log as melancholy chords are strummed, the pick of the banjo, harmonicas drone, chaps and spurs golden in the firelight, comfortable as the red and azure blues fade from the sky in the west.

The cowboys evening salute to the stars

Dusty Tomes

2010-01-08T21:40:00.000-08:00

It is the constant din that makes me lose myself

concentric circular staircase, winding towards heaven

winding into eternity

oblivion

a ruse

Ever, ever, ever I carry my soul

Searching

for release

an opening of my mind

buried in dusty tomes

touched lightly

by fear

I cry as I read

Awakening with the Sunrise

2010-01-06T12:58:00.000-08:00

Tears

inevitable as a heartbeat

fall in silence, fall in waves

Ask me where I find the strength

It is gathered from burdens fought for, revealed

a path illuminated by the starlight

and answers gathered like the dew

hidden in the firelight

flickering in the darkness

answers

You kiss the corners of my heart, easing the tension in my face

gentle heartbeats sooth me as I awaken in the early dawn

sunbeams dispel the darkness

I blush with the sunrise

Hunger (Changed)

2010-01-04T21:43:00.000-08:00

She was fair, had a certain air, walked every where, strove to care,

yet the hunger it lay in the streets, yes the hunger lay in the streets.

New faces, new places, they travel each day, searching for redemption, revival, anything.

They have left the land of no hope, the lands of lost hope so it seems, they have dreams.

yet the hunger it lay in the streets, yes the hunger lay in the streets.

Onward citizens, onward, search for the elusive medal, nugget, hope, hope!

Faces of gaunt children, hair receding hope retreating. Down at the bank, down at the store, there is hunger.

hunger in the streets, yes the hunger that lay in the streets.

Then a cry, faint in its beginning faint who would have guessed the ignominy that they suffer, as their hopes fail them. Stark reality, freedoms tossed as they do what they must to survive.

Ho then congressman! Ho then tax man! We have no bread to tax, take pity!

They lay, corpses in their chairs, their lives have ceased as they stare out the window, glossy eyed.

Who will give them breath again? Breath, sigh, their children cry,

On you we rely!

Yet words and tears fall deaf ears, silent fears, wasted years.

Yearning rising, yearning boom, fought for and paid on the backs of laborers, searching, searching for newer and better.

Onward upward bless this house. Stretch forth and cry, enemies of my heart!

I will fight for the freedom of singing in the streets.

Many generations have passed, they knew and took for granted upward progression.

Ignominy they thought could never last, all deserve 15 min. of fame, so they say.

Nameless faceless masses stand
crying hallelujah let us live!

But

How do you carry forward the waters of life, when it is slowly leaking away? Your shelter was built, your life was planned, yet now you have no place to stay.

You wander in hunger, for heaven to send, redemption for what you have done, your fears, your tears and all of the years, you have worked and you've bled on the throne.

The throne of deception, the throne of desire you added more to it and your hopes they rose higher. So you worked and you planned and all of your dreams, they were dashed in the sand on the streets,

where hunger lay in wait, yes the hunger lay there.

Hearts have stilled with the news,

In the streets there is a hunger, a preponderance of insanity as lies are told and swallowed, there is nothing to fear.

No one has listened, who knows what the silence means yet it lingers.

A presence is felt the grim reaper himself, Charon awaits, there is hunger in the streets it is there.

With each stone that falls from the foundation, unheeded, each step in the sand an illusion. Each stone that falls from the walls as you walk down the streets of desertion. Your grasping for something, grasping, grasping...

and the children they cry in the streets, yes their children they cry in the streets.

Fables and Fairy Land

2009-12-25T13:19:00.000-08:00

The details were not important to Millie, she loved being alive and so no matter where she lived, she was a fairy or an undiscovered genuine princess. She lived and breathed the world, the lady bugs delight, friend of the fuzzy caterpillars, sister of the tree's.

So naturally when she had finished stretching out on the ugly green carpet, moss covered forest lichen to you and me, she skipped outside to say hello to her sister fairies and to find her own little home to curl up in for a while. She was dismayed to find that there must be ogres running around, because who else would leave so much litter here and there? She vowed to come back with her sister fairy Emily, when the matter of the little dwelling was solved, to clean it up.

All around her was forest magic, large bushes of intimidating size shut the way to the enchanted valley and prickly thorn bushes with their bright red berries guarded the path to the calm forest stream. No matter, who cares about bushes and their business anyway.

She turned into the arms of the welcoming tree's. She spied it! Her little home! She knew it would be there, young Chinese elm trees, which grow tall with branches extended towards the sky, were intertwined in a little circular gathering.

There were lovely places to sit, stumps and fallen trees. Someone had prepared the kitchen, the leaves had been strewn rather nicely on the floor and there were two level tree stumps, just the right height for a forest stove top. Tomorrow she would come with some eggs to cook on the stump burner with the circular element.

She felt so happy in her little home, that she hugged the nearest tree with endearing emphasis and knelt on the beautiful brown and white leaves to inspect the ground. She found herself laying on her stomach watching the ants when it suddenly occurred to her that she might not be able to recall the way out again.

Sudden terror gripped her young heart as she remembered the princess who was lost in the woods, surrounded by foreign sounds and creatures. Her friends the tree's looked down on her in their tall way and she shivered a little. Feeling the way that you might if you found yourself surrounded by tall strangers who don't understand skipping princesses.

She edged herself nearer to the little tree friend she had just hugged, she felt this little tree must be near her own age since she too was so very small. As she stood, afraid to move, she heard the call from her sister Emily. "Millie, where are you?" "Millie, dinner is almost ready. I'm hungry and mum said we can't eat without you!"

Suddenly Millie grew angry with her sister, walking in here, bringing the outside world with no respect for tree's and magical pathway's. So she kept silent, her sister grew nearer and nearer. Millie shrunk back into her little home, still silent, until Emily walked past her hiding place and she could hear her walking huffily back towards the house.

She dashed out of her hiding place, afraid that she would be left alone again and grabbed Emily's hand, startling her. "Oh Emily, I am so glad you came for me, I was lost." Emily gave her a look and rolled her eye's. "Come on, let's hurry, I am starving!" She tugged Millie along, unmercifully ignoring the forest, and Millie's tripping little feet until they were back to their home again.

Snow

2009-12-22T09:36:00.000-08:00

The chill of the damp earth

Oblivious as the snow gently lands and dissolves on its' surface

a gentle landing, after a gentle fall

Still, it piles up after a time,

after a time the frozen earth cannot be penetrated

Such little flakes,

such seemingly simple weight,

innocuous

yet when piled high

can crush

Listening For Your Words

2009-12-22T00:33:00.000-08:00

Gently the air moves

a caress

I am standing by the river, and my soul

you feel it

My soul, is yours

Yet frustration, I cannot speak the words which escape as an imitation of the truth

and you cannot speak when you run away

footfalls on the pavement

where your frustrations meet the ground

empty

into pools of water

flowing towards the river

where I stand, listening for your words

Haunted

2009-12-21T20:42:00.000-08:00

Because reality stung too much, I tried to escape

I tried to face it
I tried to run

but I ended up screaming that the miserable little problems created from neglect would leave me alone like I left

Left alone

and I tried to fight, I tried

but I slipped

On the path of redemption, on the path of pretension can I see clear enough to focus?

Can I?

When blind reason leaves me, when following the light and passion a fleeting dance in the night

Consumes me, caresses

entombs me, undresses

and I am left lying, solemn

crying on the floor

The sound of the whistle

a haunting sound

reminds me that I'm alive

I shiver

It is time to decide

I Cry For You

2009-12-20T14:05:00.000-08:00

I am my fathers daughter

as I walk I see your pain

emptiness

Loneliness

Break my heart, I will cry for you

for I cannot touch that which is meant to be hidden

You nurture it slowly

the slow burning within

to purge it you must let it out

yet your tears are held in a jar

on a shelf

up high

and even when you desperately want to

you cannot cry

I am my fathers daughter

I can see your pain

and I cry for you

I cry

A Trickle

2009-12-08T23:33:00.000-08:00

Upon the mountain top lay a pool of sparkling water

the rains came

thunder roared

life was torn asunder.

The water lay stagnant the pool muddied,

dark

until the tear

a tear

Let loose the dam,

let loose the broken debris of a life

let the waters flow

flow

Starting slow, slow, slow

building, churning

a clap of thunder reveals the turmoil

the lightning strikes!

and the trickle

the trickle builds

builds momentum

down the mountain, down

DOWN!

Into the valley, ever gaining, ever widening

filling an immense space

the space between two oceans

and two hearts

Faceless

2009-11-30T17:46:00.000-08:00

I have written so few words to the one I love, for the one I love, for I have not loved like I might have

Alice chased the white rabbit, I chase the illusion of

Happiness, happiness, happiness

it exists, so I've been told, the bundle of mature emotion, immature impulsiveness, the words which are

spoken as the anthem of the living, the silence of the dead

How can I long for the world to reorder, to turn back the clock, to disappear into the endlessness of

selfishness the point of no return

and you just can't stay away, walk away

the river keeps flowing, divergent paths intertwining, folding, churning, caught in the current, drifting away as

the exits begin to fly away, away from the grasp of the desperate tips, the lips pursed in confusion

So says the mad hatter as they take him away

the beveling peckers are laughing, are laughing at nothing,

are laughing at fate

Feel nothing, know nothing

you monkeys, awake

MAD, mad

A pile of rubbish,

endless misogyny

fateless, trajectory

Still the point,

point out the crystal guide, shakily shift it in the sands

Why, why did you treat me this way?

I thought that marriage meant happiness, forever, someone to be there

Did I leave or did I stay? Will you ever go away?

I thought, I had, I have

What is it?

2009-11-04T14:15:00.000-08:00

You've got a moment, use it, before it slips away

yet the indecision, the indirection

haunt

slip past

slip fast

grasp

What is it that I must do...

Asks the young to the old

to make my life full, wonderful, to live?

Tumbling frailness, aching emptiness, a hollow void of direction echo from the chambers of the fading heart, beating frantically, snatching terribly at the last rays of the sun on the horizon. The ship is sailing away, taking along the fits of starts and stops which have lain broken on the shore.

The child

left

confused

As the stick tossed in the stream travels swiftly to the ocean, or moored along the bank, a fascinating demonstration of time passing. Can we freeze time to grasp hold of life again?

Childhood

slips

the wonder of it is

that we used to think that adults knew the answers

As I stand here watching it all, I wonder

can I plunge my hand into the stream of knowledge, and pull out a direction, the script of understanding?

or is it a fathomless void, from which no one can return?

For love of Fall

2009-10-30T22:15:00.000-07:00

The wind, a breeze

Filtering

Through the hazy afternoon

Carrying

The scent of autumnal bonfires.

Awake soul!

The dying embers of the summer sun

Radiate

Warming the top of your head

Soothing caress

you sigh

becoming

a part of the dancing leaves

colorful decorations

of fall.

Pricks

2009-10-17T14:02:00.001-07:00

Minutes, hours

Each moment agony

Ticks

Small pricks

Restless misery

Burning guilty

Little flames

Fagots eat at my heart

Tell me you forgive me

Why?

2009-10-14T14:00:00.000-07:00

Westward the wind blows

Heaven lies shaking in repose

Yet all was well at day break

Wisdom cannot speak

Heathen ever weep

Yesterday is gone

Wishes lies were true

Hasten send forth the pew

Yaweh will judge you now

I shudder as I scream, can I forget

do you regret

Silence now reigns, ask not why

please,

don't lie

Rainbow Lenses

2009-10-14T06:01:00.000-07:00

You need me, reconsider you say

oh restlessly the wind blows

when your faced with eternity

Give time her due, she passes

in nursery rhymes

in troubled times

she passes away

Yet

I remember that day,

the day we first kissed

Fire fell from the sky

and I viewed it from a distance

through rainbow lenses

Don't know where those lenses are now

Rays Upon the Mountains

2009-10-05T10:35:00.001-07:00

Sitting upon the mountain tops,

a ray of light, so fair.

Never am I giving up,

forever will I dare.

Roses

2009-10-05T10:35:00.000-07:00

The young bud a tender bloom,

a full rose bud of sweet perfume,

a rose who's seen a better day,

imparted beauty on its way.

Sacred Kisses

2009-10-05T10:34:00.000-07:00

Sacred, kisses given

Stretching on tiptoe, to hug you around the middle.

My first love

Infinitely sweet, sacred,

little kisses.

Young love

Trusting, timid kisses

stretching my heart, hoping that I am held sacred.

Mature love

Heart Attack

2009-10-05T10:31:00.001-07:00

Order me a heart attack,

heart healthy,

watch the labels.

Care must be taken, shaken,

not stirred.

Into the deep blue bliss,

the extreme sport of,

watching lines on the monitor.

Sure we can talk,

over easy.

Hand me a cup,

of silence, when you

leave.

Building Anticipation

2009-10-05T10:31:00.000-07:00

Scorching heat, dry weeds.

Tall, sparse weeds, some cockle burs that stick to your socks.

A lonely desolate place, though somehow it is a place that speaks softly of expectation, as though at any moment "something" exciting will happen.

Languishing in the sun, following the lines down, further and further as the anticipation builds.

Almost giving up, when...

A low rumbling starts, so faint only vibrations and expectation is felt at first.

In the distance, clickity clack, tickity tack, clickity, tickity, clickity, tickity.

Growing louder and louder, the rumbling as well.

Suddenly a long slow whistle, like a lost soul cries out.

Wooo wooooo

Bursting onto the scene is the rattling train, clickity, tickity, clickity, tickity.

The weeds shiver and the smell of coal dust and steel emanates from the shuttering beast.

Clickity, tickity, clickity, tickity, clickity, tickity on and on it goes.

Until suddenly,

Scorching heat, and dry weeds,

are the only thing you can see.

Short lived fulfillment,

as the anticipation begins to build again.

Secrets

2009-10-05T10:30:00.000-07:00

(Inspired in part by this picture by AC)

Gossamer threads, a shroud.

Gone is the wisdom earned through toil.

Pull from beyond the veil,

threads connecting, binding, pulling, informing,

a face formed from many generations

the manifestation of many nations

formed together, a battle between inclinations.

eyes that hold secrets

secrets yet revealed,

a call

who am I?

Walking Along the River

2009-10-05T10:29:00.000-07:00

Speak in rushing soliloquies,

oh song from the North.

Rush through my veins,

light a candle at my feet,

well wishes.

For the silences between us,

and around us.

Birds speak lines,

a foreign tongue.

lines of love, lines of warning.

Men in motion,

listening to the beat of drums.

A war cry in a box,

round,

with extensions towards your subconscious spirit.

Silent to all, except those who hold the connection.

A bloom, a star shaped wonder,

suspended in mid air,

gossamer threads.

Trying to please you,

I might as well sail on the sea of disappointment.

Solidness

2009-10-05T10:27:00.000-07:00

A presence like a storm, or the ancient woods,

I am held diminutive, within your grasp.

Solid as the mountains, you calm me,

my sweet breath caressing your spirit.

Contentment fills me as I breath,

your essence, musk, cedar, your freshly bathed body.

Tingling, my fingers reach for yours,

to grasp the magnetic tremors between us.

You fill the aching emptiness within me.

Vulnerable Love

2009-10-05T10:26:00.000-07:00

I am in love with you,

the very essence of my heart you hold in your hands.

I gave it to you as a whisper, a gift,

in torrential release from the prison, which held it.

I walk in vulnerability,

my heart aches for the caress of your words.

Words dear to me as jewels,

jewels formed from the elements.

Gathered from the sunlight, star bursts and clouds.

Without you all is cold and the sunlight is gone.

I Am a Woman

2009-10-05T10:23:00.000-07:00

I am a woman.

I hold the essence of life within me, a connection to the divine.

I stand amongst the sunlight,

the spirit of womanhood gathered from the sands of time.

Sands cascading freely as though falling from the sky.

Water washing the tear drops of life from my face,

gathering as pools of knowledge at my feet.

Speak to me in soft whispers, your breath as a breeze against my ear.

Walk with me through the valley of sweet grasses.

Feel the sands beneath your feet,

and wash away your tears in the pools of my heart.

Pulsating with the earth, our hearts beat together as the sigh of the sea.

(This I think is not yet as finished as I want it to be... will work on it later).

Grains of Sand

2009-09-20T19:27:00.000-07:00

Standing in one place the eternities stare,

an eternity, as sand pulling away from the dune,

over time.

Slowly,

slowly,

pulling away from the dune.

How indifferent the wind that plays with the shifting sand,

asking more and more

until the sand is blown away.

away

piled behind a wall

sturdy

as indifferent as the wind once was

blow as it may

the wind cannot pass, but is turned aside.

Evocative Sound

2009-09-19T21:20:00.000-07:00

Hauntingly beautiful sound,

a train whistle.

Evoking a yearning

unexplainable.

Clatter, clatter,

moving forward.

A call to decide.

On Writing

2009-09-19T09:12:00.000-07:00

Nothing like the purity of writing

clarity found,

a simple sound.

communication

Words distilled,

truths revealed,

friendships sealed,

and hearts healed.

Spinning in the Dark

2009-09-11T22:17:00.000-07:00

In the silent sacred corridor, footfall after footfall down the pitch black hall

walking blindly, walking forward towards the neon sign, says "exit," illumination in

the dark. Breath is held in the air of suspense, still, silent night as I reach for

living waters. Renewal at the spigot of faith, renewal in the silence.

Dusk till dawn in the dessert I roam, wandering barefoot in the cool sands.

Silence is eminent, silence surrounds, silence on earth and in heaven abounds.

Brilliant darkness, radiant dark, interspersed with pinpoints of light,

unsteady on the top of the world, I reach for a hand that is not there and stand

spinning, thirsting for still waters.

Silver Lies

2009-09-10T07:49:00.000-07:00

Breathe life into me, for your arms I have ached

my lips have parted for the sweet taste of your silver tongue.

Insanity,

as i tell myself that all is right,

as I hope for things which I haven't seen.

Silent as I lay here in this eerie world of darkness

as I lay awaiting the hope of a new beginning.

The light, how dim it has grown as I walk down the hungry streets.

I have breathed in the air of bitter recourse

after the elation of our love has crashed after these many years.

How could I have known what the silence meant,

the desperation hidden behind veiled eyes.

The Snare

2009-09-08T09:56:00.000-07:00

OH Woman, though ancient goddess of love,

Oh woman, woman, woman

how grief and sorrow meets within your breast,

how joy and pain intertwine.

Oh woman, how thou sufferest for the sake of others sorrows revealed,

servant, healer called forth from the primordial wisdom of reconciliation,

woman thou art an angel, a self effacing saint,

how little you believe such praise,

when you do and have done as women,

through all time and eternity have done,

you have been caught in the net of idealism,

turmoil the vision of glimmering freedom seems a mirage upon the sand.

Numb

2009-09-08T01:30:00.000-07:00

Numb

Numb

Numb, another one

No really, another one?

It has just begun, just begun, it cannot really be another one.

NO, NO, NO

It cannot happen, I will not let it, what can work,

can anything work to stop this? Can it?

I will try It , anything, anything

Bring me herbs, doctors, voodoo magic

Stop, stop, stop this please

Please

Please

Naïve girl

This one

This one

This

Can still happen

Even if

You are numb

*This piece is connected with this piece

http://creativelywritten.blogspot.com/2009/06/missing-angel.html

2009-09-07T21:14:00.000-07:00

Life hangs in the balance, how teneuous the thread.

We live and breathe and die in the waters of life,

swimming blindly we grope for the truth,

into and out of the push and the pull of thought,

confusion, growth, clarity.

The air,

contains the electricity of emotion,

living breath,

breath between souls,

immediate fabled electricity

between man and woman?

A light in the Darkness

2009-09-06T03:32:00.000-07:00

I have been dead

Dead, so long, a product of neglect

burdens unshared

burdens heaped

smothering burdens

a pile of disappointment,

shoved willingly upon my head.

I have been dead

A ray of light shone

shone upon the shadows

illuminating my mind

illuminating my heart

glorious illumination!

The weight has been lifted

from my soul, where

A ray of light shone

Extinguished

2009-09-03T13:59:00.000-07:00

In love, love with the way that you looked at me, how you spoke, the contours of your face, I traced them, memorized them cherished them,

I was so infatuated, the very idea of you, thrills, shivers, fluttering.

How could I have known, how?

Complications, hesitations, reservations, pressure would end things in a heap of flames... silence now reigns?

Love was a spark,

an ember burning in my heart.

Pressure,

pressure, suffocation.

Coal to ashes, fires burned,

fires extinguished.

Flames to dark pitch,

now a silent stone.

Awareness of God

2009-09-01T13:03:00.000-07:00

Can we rely on how we feel at the moment?

All that we have really are vague impressions, sacred hope.

Hope for equality in a better world,

hope that someone, somewhere understands.

That you and I will be seen in the whole and judged accordingly,

each salient breath brings us closer to the end, the unknown.

How ironic that we all eat of death daily; what was once living, breathing, turning towards the sun to grow, is the substance of our lives.

What magic the elements make on our bodies, transforming each thing from its former state into a new state, or the old state, the simple product of chemical reactions.

Dragonfly, leaves, rotting fish, to dust. Dust which in turn blows about, mixed in good measure with rain and the process of photosynthesis to become new again.

All that being said; Where comes the spirit? Where is faith?

It comes from the unexplainable awareness of you,

your thoughts, turned messages in my heart.

Awareness of your presence in my darkest hour.

Awareness as the hushed silence is filled with a new cry.

Awareness that my dear grandmother would die, I knew, though I don't know how I knew.

A deep aching sadness felt at the passing of a loved one, hidden connections between you and the ones that you love.

Tears that come as solemn hymns are sung and truth is spoken.

All evidence to me of the living, breathing reality of God.

Illusion

2009-08-28T18:52:00.000-07:00

There is no reason,
it just happened to begin that way,
a shivering of fantasies up my spine and down again.

So sly, a glance between moments
eyes that linger, savour, caress.

Pinpoint the attraction, I cannot
fill in the meaning between the lines,
is it there?

Brush against me, scent of sanity,
taste the sweetness upon my lips.

Insane

Flowing freedom of silence,
does it mean anything to you?

The darkness and the moon,
snuff out the meaning, an illusion.

Risk everything upon the vision,
you, shimmering in the night.

Practice - Emotions

2009-08-26T07:50:00.000-07:00

There was no stopping her, no reasoning, the clothes had to be washed and hung, baths taken, all before she could quit for the day.

Everyone sat, a pallor on their faces, avoiding the eyes of the others.

Not Hanna, she had scrubbed the floor with a will, beaten the rugs, swept the back porch and was now doing the washing. There was a glint in her unfocused eyes, she blinked, she must focus on the washing.

They couldn't understand her obsession, no one felt up to anything just then.

Minutes ticked away in a slow procession, each one holding up the others, until Ginny May ran through, irreverent. They tried to stop her, Minerva and Uncle Wes, but she was too quick to be caught.

'Charlie, out in the back, was digging up flowers, he had to be stopped or she was gonna hav to take grief again bout bringing home a stray. Oh lordie how she hated to hear them.'

Ginny May was a flash of sunshine, the others looked at each other when she had passed. But Hanna, she kept on working, Jim would need his shirt pressed.

Out the window, she could see Ginny, as she turned each shovel full of dirt. Hanna burned the shirt as she watched each spade full of dirt, filling the hole.

Sleeping

2009-08-23T23:24:00.000-07:00

At this late hour, darkness, like a silent friend awaits, awaits each flip of the switch, each click of the mouse, to turn off the distractions of the universe, to get reacquainted with eternity.

Eternal sleep, silence awaits, as your eyes close in circadian wonder and you are surrounded by the figments of thought that flicker through your mind, sometimes leaving you more confused than peaceful, a world where the sense of sense is senseless and your impassioned speeches are heard, or disregarded as the masses walk or your loved ones flit silently through your mind; each falling victim to your fears or your hopes in the wee small hours in your deepest sleep, remember that your impassioned speech may bring you to tears, but was never heard.

First Stanza From Keats Endymion

2009-08-21T16:53:00.000-07:00

A THING of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

~Keats

Ambiguity

2009-08-20T17:38:00.000-07:00

Can things ever be normal, with all this ambiguity?

ambiguous

thought, silence

ask

Please identify!

please

can you feel the distance in my manner

can you?

restlessness

At least explain the...

silence

(I cannot live with this)

Even after I...

fine

ambiguity

A note about my piece...

2009-08-20T08:05:00.000-07:00

When I first wrote it, about a month ago, I felt uneasy posting it. I wrote it after reading Charles Dickens "A Tale of Two Cities" and wanted to capture a bit of his writing style in a piece.

The French Revolution was very dramatic, Dickens book about it is very vivid and telling. It is fast paced and the events move the book along rather than the plot.

So why feel uneasy posting my piece? Because it is a vivid, telling, and slightly unnerving piece. I think the feelings here in America are of frustration, I am certainly frustrated, yet we are far better off than the people of France leading up to the French revolution. Their injustices were many, they were a repressed people, at their breaking point.

So with that said, I liked the way that the piece helped me bring out a dramatic style, but still, it is a bit unnerving to read (ever spook yourself while telling ghost stories?) ;D

SG

(and Ajey, I don't know how I managed to post a draft and the finished piece but I did... so you all get to see the draft below the "finished" piece.)

Hunger (draft)

2009-08-19T20:59:00.001-07:00

She was fair, had a certain air, walked every where, strove to care,

yet the hunger lay in the streets, yes the hunger lay in the streets.

New faces, new places, they travel each day, searching for redemption, revival, anything. They have left the land of no hope, for the American dream so fair, a sure thing you bet, they have left, they have left with a hope and a dare.

yet the hunger lay in the strees, yes the hunger lay in the streets.

Onward citizens, onward, search for the elusive medal, nugget, hope, hope!

Faces of gaunt children, hair receeding hope retreating. Down at the bank, down at the store, there is hunger.

hunger in the streets, yes the hunger that lay in the streets.

Then a cry, faint in its beginning faint who would have guessed the ignomity that they suffer, as their hopes fail them. Stark reality, freedoms tossed as they do what they must to survive.

Ho then congressman! Ho then tax man! We have no bread to tax, take pity!

They lay, corpses in their chairs, their lives have ceased as they stare out the window, glossy eyed. Who will give them breath again? Their children cry, yet words and tears fall deaf on hearts, frozen in the fray.

Yearning rising, yearning boom, fought for and paid from aching backs of laborers, searching, searching for newer and better. Onward upward bless this house. Stretch forth and cry, enemies of my heart, I will fight for the freedom of singing in the streets.

Many generations have passed, they knew and took for granted upward progression. Ignomity is in the past, all deserve 15 min. of fame, so they say.

Nameless faceless masses stand
crying hallelujah let us live!

How do you carry forward the waters of life, when it is slowly leaking away? Your shelter was built, your life was planned, yet now you have no place to stay.

You wander in hunger, for heaven to send, redeption for what you have done, your fears, your tears and all of the years, you have worked and you've bled on the throne.

The throne of deception, the throne of desire you added more to it and your hopes they rose higher. So you worked and you planned and all of your dreams, they were dashed in the sand on the streets.

the hunger lay in the streets, yes the hunger lay there.

Hearts have stilled with the news,

In the streets there is a hunger, a preponderance of insanity as lies are told and swallowed, there is nothing to fear.

No one has listened, who knows what the silence means yet it lingers.

A presence is felt the grim reaper himself, charon awaits, there is hunger in the streets it is there.

With each stone that falls from the foundations, from the walls as you walk down the streets of desertion. Your grasping for something, grasping, grasping...

and the children they cry in the streets, yes their children they cry in the streets.

Is the house haunted?

2009-08-19T08:24:00.000-07:00

The house was abandoned, sitting desolately upon a high foundation, set back in the yard surrounded by white picket fence.

The fence and the yard were charming, well maintained, somehow only making the charred remains of the old house seem more startling.

There was a sign on the door "Danger, Keep Out!" I couldn't fathom who would want to go in. With walls eaten by fire, standing as they were, maintaining almost the resemblance of the ornate Gothic style which had made it a beautiful home before.

It was creepy to look at, a chimney; white brick, wide on the bottom, tapering into a thin column, standing naked in what used to be the front room. The roof and half of the walls were completely exposed, as if a wild, mad giant had cut the house clumsily in half.

A lone crow stood on the fence near the house, staring imperiously at any who dared pass.

Thus stood the old house, I shivered and passed by it. Seeing it brought to mind people, stuck in there with no escape. The image was too grotesque so I tried to think of something else. I wondered why I hadn't noticed it before, it seemed as if it had been standing there for ages, ready to crumble. Afterwards whenever I walked to the store, I avoided that back road, taking the long way around.

Imagine my surprise when told that the house was to be restored, that someone wanted to live there. I thought "Crazy!! Madness!!," the house seemed sinister and evil to me.

Not long afterwards, my father came to me and asked if I would babysit for the new owners of the house. It had indeed been rebuilt and painted a mint green color with black trim, it was, to me, as if a facade had been erected over the bones of the old ghost house. I could still see the blackened remains in my minds eye, and the people...

So braving my fears I walked in to find pleasant wood floors and a congenial atmosphere. Though it felt odd to be walking in the door that had once warned of danger.

I watched as the children I was to babysit scampered down the hallway and into the dark, and I looked at the fireplace and shivered.

The kitchen was off the main room to the left, we walked in there and I saw that you could look out another doorway leading back to the hall again. I remembered the wall that blocked it off from the living room, the way it had looked in the ruins. It was white brick and so had stood above the other walls that had been burned. As the flying toe headed kids ran through it and back out again, I wondered why there were no doors, were they ghosts?

In the back of the kitchen was a short hallway that led to the back door. Someone was out there banging around, I wondered who it was until the lady explained that it was the neighbors.

More and more I was starting to wonder if I was up for this job. I Surreptitiously checked the walls, the fireplace, expecting any minute that the facade would fall, not only that of the walls, but that of the people walking around.

I hadn't known these people before, where had they come from? It was my father who had set me up with the job, was he deluded!?

These people were mad, they were walking skeletons, clothed by flesh, about to abandon me to their wild skeleton children. I kept near the counter in the island of the kitchen, as the lady was explaining things to me.

I was only half aware that she was pointing out telephone numbers to call in case of an emergency, "we will be back late, will you be alright?" I nodded my head, she seemed unconcerned by my panic stricken countenance, my clinging to the island in the kitchen, she seemed unconcerned... why?

Then they left, the lady and her husband who had been hanging back near the door, I was alone with the wild children. I let go of the counter and opened the refrigerator, surely that would be calming, to see the normalcy of the families fridge. They had jars and jars of stacked unfamiliar items, not reassuring, so I closed the fridge and backed away into the hall.

I heard the cry of a little baby, so I walked down the sparsely decorated hallway, into the shadows, to find the source. Glancing briefly at the wall to see if I could find a switch, I was moved to urgency by the babies cry.

No light entered the room as I opened the door, so I turned one on and found the baby nestled in a beautifully appointed nursery. It was a very young baby indeed, maybe only a couple of months old. I had not held a baby like that before, it made me nervous, so I gingerly picked the baby up.

I didn't know which kind of baby it was, blue or pink, so I glanced around the room looking at the colors, green and yellow, that told me nothing.

It felt rather strange to be holding the fragile infant who was squirming and fussing in my arms. Panic stuck me again!! What do I do, I had never cared for a baby before!! The realisation that this was indeed no doll, and that I had no bottle at hand, nor any idea of where it's diapers might be was burning through my brain.

So I sat in the rocking chair ready almost to despair, the baby was rooting around on my shoulder and I thought ironically of my undeveloped bosom. I heard the couples 4 year old son in the hallway so I put the infant down, still squirming and then howling, and sought out the other children.

The little boy had tousled blond hair, and was in his pajama's, he looked chubby and rosy enough, dispelling my previous impression of wild skeleton children. "Hi" I said shyly to him. "Where's my mommy!?" he shouted back at me. I blinked nervously then put on a brave face. "She left me here to tend you, do you know where the baby's bottles are?" He glanced suspiciously at me then ran off down the hallway to the kitchen, where he climbed up on the counter and started to pull things down from the cupboard.

I ran in to stop him until I realised that he had pulled out the bottles for the baby. I handled the unfamiliar objects as if they were part of a scientific experiment, lining them up on the counter from the largest bottle to the smallest and then the nipples as well.

I thought of the milk in the fridge and pulled it out. The four year old looked at me solemnly and shook his head, reaching for the formula can that had been sitting by his little bottom on the counter. This new curiosity was also handled with solemn attention as I read the instructions. All of this while the baby was howling and the other unknown child was throwing towels out of the cupboard.

Eventually I got the bottle made. I tested it on my wrist as it showed in the picture and shook it as I walked down the hall and stepped over the towels. I didn't want to know were the other wild child had gotten to.

I told the 4 year old that he should go get his brother to pick up the towels. He ran off with a smirk on his face, I didn't think that it was going to happen.

Finally the gulping, greedy little baby slowed down to a slow slurp and then off to sleep, so I laid him down. I decided it was a him because he had a blue airplane on his pajama's, no parent in their right mind would put that on their little girl, right?

I walked out into the hallway again and the impression of dark spookiness returned again. Agitated I grabbed the four year old who's brother was into the linens, and asked him if there was a light switch around.

He walked further into the dark and found it for me on the far edge of the wall, so I flipped the switch and the light flooded the hallway and my eyes, blinding me for a moment.

Finally the other little boy emerged from his nest of blankets and linens and asked me if there was anything to eat.

I went back to the fridge and found the jars of unknown substances again, and a block of cheese, this I cut up into cubes. Then I found some apples and cut them up too. I laid the fare out for them on the table and they greedily devoured it. They asked me if I could make something else for them. I eyed the gas burners on the stove and thought that I shouldn't use it. So I got the cheese out again and cut up more cubes.

I had the little boys help me with the towels, the blankets and linens. Then I sent them off to bed. It seemed like I had been there for ages, and I was so tired.

So I crept into the living room and sat on the far side of their couch, away from the chimney, and snuggled down trying to get comfortable. They had a large fish tank across from the couch, no TV set. So I stared at the blue and purple water, somehow lit from beneath, and at the exotic fish that swam lazily about.

I closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep. Until finally the mom and dad came home, no longer just owners, but people with howling babies and wild kids. They paid me and the mom offered to drive me home.

I walked out into the starless night, lit only by the orange glow from the street lights and the full moon. I wondered at the solitary crow that flew from the high branches of a nearby pine, seemingly across the moon and I got in the car quickly, shivering as I rode home to finally escape and to fall asleep in my own bed.

the one

2009-08-18T14:21:00.000-07:00

Probe this sadness, probe it with me
in hidden hollows, achiness, release.

Hollows hidden in my heart, sadness
I know not whence it came, whence it will go.

together

Touch upon hidden places,
into and out of the corners.

Achy, pent up reserves of tears,
release them, explore them, taste them on your tongue.

Mourning, weeping, wailing.

Enter Thalia daughter of the goddess,
restore happiness unto me.

Thalia, restore happiness to my breast,
thou deity of old.

Restore my heart, return to me,
limbs torn asunder in the wind, through the storm.

Fresh, life, renew, eternity

The aching building dam of sadness,
awaken, awoken fresh fears.

Dead, you have gone and I am left empty
as though you had died, have you not?

Mourn with me, upon the mount,
thou living God, are you not the one?

I confess to have felt you,
for your arms I have sought.

Explore the depths of my mourning,
probe my heart, we join together,
harmoniously seeking the depths, despair.

Thou hast abandoned me, I am,
alone.

Explore this sadness, probe the depths
enter in, kiss my tears away.

Gasping I release the anger, the pent up tears,
hidden ecstasy, relieve my agony.

Together

Can I live, breath, through you?
Release, relieve, mourning, weeping, wailing.

Fears, deep fears, narrowly escape,
realization denied, Thalia cried

she had died.

Tread lightly, in the shadows
relieve the burden, upon my soul.

and on the third day was restored.

he is the one

Imperfectly Perfect

2009-08-13T14:37:00.000-07:00

The rigours, the means, the might and emotion of being normal.

Normal in a world of flawless beauty,

the chipped vase on the counter,

the dent in the new car,

the flaw that is hidden, yet still there.

Imperfect in proportion, crooked, lopsided,

yet wonder

that I and you together can combine

to create

the tiny fingers that we marvel at in wonder,

the sigh of a new infant

a perfect soul in an imperfect world,

who will grow to become imperfectly perfect.

Kurena

2009-08-10T21:02:00.000-07:00

The dark solemn night, a gentle gust of wind blew, glimmering radiant wings shone, fluttering in the gentle breeze.

Butterfly's in hues of blue, green, bright monarchs, rising upward towards the moon.

A solemn procession of beauty heralding the hopes of a lost world, words uttered in prayer, echoing over the high mountain peaks and concentrated onto the spot where the dawning of a new day had begun.

A child fresh from the womb emerged, her tears cried out to be heard. She was carried by her grandmother, to be hid from the world for three days, a world in which the colors of life had faded, faded like flowers carried many hours.

Sipapu the place of emergence.

Her aunts gathered, braiding the new mothers hair, cleansing her body, restoring her to wholeness. Brightly colored beads were woven into it, signifying her triumph over death.

The baby was bathed and wrapped in a soft doe skin blanket gently nursed at her mothers breast, the life force flowed between them.

On the third day, a meal was prepared, prayers were uttered, and mother emerged with her daughter, stepping out into the hues of the early sunrise, they name her kurena.

Sunrise!
We come at sunrise
to greet you.
We call you
at sunrise.
Father of the clouds
you are beautiful
at sunrise.
Sunrise!

(Native American poetry and some artistic elements found here https://facultystaff.richmond.edu/~rnelson/sunrise.html)

Israel Restored

2009-08-08T23:34:00.000-07:00

Silence, like death in the valley of Israel
awake, restore my strength.

renew, reveal

Silence, from the depths of a broken heart
broken in ignorance, innocence.

promises, hope

The gentle cadence of thy lips upon my own
swallows the lies of my fears.

empty, ignorance

Your voice like a light upon the high mountain
dawn breaking over the horizon.

wise, tears

Lightly I touch my lips in remembrance
of thy sweetness.

heaven, restored

Free the life Within you

2009-08-06T09:55:00.000-07:00

Fresh, new, feral, an instinct for preservation, new life, freedom, being, wholeness, fidelity. life. love. happiness.

Reinvent, make new, become who you have always wanted to be in your wildest dreams, the achingly beautiful specter of freedom, cling to the harmonious bows of the trees as you sway and give way to the breeze.

Laugh, love, dance and become, become, become you have won. It matters not what fickle fate has dealt if you ache for it, reach for it, pull and tug at the hand of destiny.

Where ere you may go, seek for the snow, pure driven beautiful illusion of an image, mirage, focus only on becoming a saint, a martyr. Empty your pockets of delusions of grander, become a swaying goddess in the early morning hours become a temple of beauty to flock unto.

Appoint the place that you dwell with palatial beauty and friendliness. Ache, ache, let your heart be released, let your fears fade away let life and harmony flow through your slender typing hands as you tenderly stroke the soft baby's cheek.

Throbbing with life, growing with life, in tune with the universe, become an angel of deliverance. Hold the precious gift in your hands, tiny, perfect beautiful gift. Womanhood revealed.

Summer Rain, a Mad Dash

2009-08-05T16:26:00.000-07:00

I must go mad as I sit here. I am tearing at the walls, captivity, death.

The rain mocks my plight as it dashes against the window pane,

the scent lingers, it enters, the scent of rain.

I am owned by the earth, the sunlight, the sky,

each bestows upon me its gift.

Drops of dew, large drops, rolling downward to sink into

the ground, enter here, renew me!

It is a call, a call, a maddness, as the branches

sway.

Give way, give way, I must join, I must heed!

I must, I must, don't leave,

don't leave.

The scent lingers, and I am a thirst.

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep (Classic)

2009-08-04T21:25:00.000-07:00

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush.
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

By Mary Elizabeth Frye

Self

2009-08-03T09:07:00.000-07:00

It isn't, it couldn't be, that is me?

No, I refuse to accept that

it is an illusion.

Mud spattered image, a heap on the floor,

the last groveling bit of humanity

Unworthy.

It makes me angry to see that heap,

I would pile it up and kick it,

grab a hold of the mass of ugliness and throw.

I would look in the mirror

to see something else.

A shining bit of polished person,

a bit of worthy matter

to walk around in.

Mists

2009-07-31T18:16:00.000-07:00

Mists, mists surround me the smell thick in the air. Ghostly figures walk, enveloped in the fog, some sit by the fire seeking clarity.

I cling to my father, surprised that this is a cloud, clouds should be fluffy, friendly, not like this.

Pleasant scents of affluence wafted through the air; I was standing on the edge, though my stomach growled, we didn’t stay to eat.

The din of voices, water rushing over cliff face, humming suspension as I step into the tram; we descend, down, drop down into the carnival of people awaiting their turn up the mountain.

Silence now reigns at Bridal Veil Falls, nature leveled all with a mud slide. Still I ache to think of the ghosts at the top.

Mists and chlorine, sweet oil, and sweat. Paradise, an oasis in the desert, a place to squeeze out regrets.

Dry heat, dry wood, steam rises from the towel as I sit to excise my sins in the sauna. Cedar bleached scents, lacking substance and body, aching dryness creeping into my head through the nostrils.

Persistent, the heat licks away at my skin, my hair, my breath, to relieve the dryness I squeeze out the wet strands of my hair and the mists rise, briefly. I imagine I am in Hell, the fagots lick at my feet until I open the door to release me from the inferno.

Overpowering mists that strike at my face, another place, a sauna of steam. Steam rising up to the heavens, white billows where people sit breathing shallowly as they meditate. Reflecting on the pools of water below, as steam cleanses and purifies from within.

Purification or perdition, something to think about as I walk between the two saunas.

Mist surround me as I stand out in the cold. I am waiting, thinking and waiting. The mist is thick, fog surrounds everything, swirling in the orange light cast from the street lamp. I close my eyes and focus, the mist feels right, like my mood.

Shivering I feel as though I am the only one left in the world, a lost world, every sound is muffled in the night. My father pulls up, tires crunch in my ears, in slow motion I open the door to another world.

A world of harsh overhead lamps and heater vents where I warm my fingers as we pull away.

Swirling mists in the bathroom, clinging to me, familiar and thick. I will never dry my hair in the dampness, so I open the window then regret the loss of warmth as goose bumps jump out on my arms. I wrap the towel tighter and rush to dress.

Subtle amounts of steam rise away from the heat of the blow dryer, the dry heat feels good against my scalp.

Mists cling to the forest floor, I walk out savoring the smell. Dew hangs near the ground like a shroud. Spring grasses are glad of it, sparkling green grasses with their diamond jewels.

I long to taste the elusive dew. I catch a drop on my tongue as the sun rises, brighter and brighter. The dew lifts as a brides veil, the mists are gone.

There is mist outside now, I can smell the familiar scent of rain. The night is cold, I wonder if it will snow...

(This is a re-write here is the original for comparison)

Summers with Shannie

2009-07-28T20:17:00.000-07:00

Everything that I always dreamed was possible existed in the carefree summertime when Shannie would come to visit. We would spend our time walking about barefoot, out in the garden, out on the rope swing.

On hot summer days, there was nothing like climbing up to the old tree house and swinging out over the snake pit, so called because we were imaginative youth. Though all the snakes we ever found were harmless garter snakes, and never more than one or so at a time.

Everything was blooming, gardens full of fresh vegetables, bushes brimming with roses, full blossomed roses and spicy hot pink ones. We were blooming along with it all, awakening each day to the newness of life as young women.

Shannie and I liked to walk downtown, wandering in and out of the deserted shops just to get out of the sun which had tanned our skin and bleached our hair. Each air conditioned oasis was a chance to find someone to tease.

Our usual attire, cut offs and t-shirts adorned with natural bead anklets and bracelets, and as many rings as we could fit onto our fingers.

We talked of life, as we walked in the oppressive heat, we talked of becoming fishermen up in Alaska, a lark of an idea we got out of a newspaper ad.

Our favorite place to visit was Ako Ako which we called "The Blue Door" because the name was not conspicuous above it. We socialised with the owners, hippies lost from the 70's still apparently smoking weed and breathing incense as the air. The shop stunk, smoke filled, and perfumed.

It was full of hemp fiber purses, jewelery made from mood stones and crystals, American Indian things such as feathers and pipes, posters of Bob Marley and Jimmy Hendricks, it was eclectic.

The music that wafted down over their large speakers was usually something by "The Doors," "Jimmy Hendricks," "Bob Marley" at times, at times "The Grateful Dead."

It was always a fascinating venture to visit Ako Ako, but they were not always open, so often we found ourselves sitting in a little Chinese place called "The Four Winds Restaurant."

There we would order egg drop soup and some pop because it was cheap. Then as we were waiting we would sit around writing ridiculous songs or singing something from "The Beatles," our favorite group.

We had a favorite waitress, "Jenna," she treated us well though we were just silly kids, we asked her about herself, her life. She wanted to be an accountant, she was only working there during the summers, it was a family business.

Hot summer days often led to cool nights, nights spent out sleeping on the lawn, in the front yard to be conspicuous.

Our neighbors often came over to chat as we sat in our sleeping bags, snuggled up cross legged. We would all gaze up at the stars and discuss music, art, school, philosophy and religion, anything that came to mind.

Shannie and I had our opinions of who we thought was cute out of the neighbor boys, my crush was my best friends brother, he called himself S. He barely seemed to know that I was alive, much to my consternation, yet we were friends, we were all friends.

Friendship oddly defined at this time, friendship newly being explored, trials of adult relationships on innocent flirtations.

One of the wildest celebrations that I ever went to was a church social at the lake, Polynesians really know how to celebrate.

It was a camp out that lasted a week. We were there one night, rather late, the sky held an odd orange glow, everyone was walking around talking to everyone.

Shannie went for a walk with S around the lake, he said he had something to talk about with her, it drove me crazy.

I was sitting there drumming my fingers on the metal top of the park service picnic tables when a Tongan guy came up, short, dressed in baggy clothes, with a knitted Jamaican style hat that reached his knees.

I could tell he liked me, though he didn't speak much English, he was trying to talk to me but I was distracted. Finally Shannie returned without S. I asked her what they were talking about but she wouldn't tell me.

So I said goodbye to my new friend and linked my arm through Shannies and we went off in search of something to do. Something presented itself as the kids had all gotten up a game of rolling down a hill around the bend of the lake away from the eyes of our parents.

It was exhilarating, rolling down the hill in the dark, linking our arms together and running down the hill as a chain. It was an atmosphere charged with electricity, bumping up against the boys in the dark, you never knew who you would run into.

The only regret that I had over this was that I lost my hemp and bead anklet, part of a set of anklet, bracelet and necklace, this distressed me but I let it slide as we took off on a midnight walk with S and his brother, teasing them all the way.

We would poke at them, they would hold our wrists and make us squirm, we would jump up on their backs and make them carry us. We all had fun walking around in the dark, the smell of the lake full bodied in the summer air and the stars brilliant overhead the sky darkening after the long drawn out sunset. It was a night of senses, and senselessness.

Our time spent with the neighbors was cut short that year though, we were going to the Grand Canyon for vacation and Shannie was coming with us. The only sadness about that was the fact that we would drop her off in Phoenix after we were through.

We prepared for our trip in usual teenage fashion, packing our clothing and accessories, not to mention toiletries, perfumes, art supplies and of course our extensive CD collection and our journals.

We dreamed, as we sat in the back of the motor home, of meeting some cute guys on the trip, fickle girls. I moaned about my little outbreaks of acne and bought some witch hazel astringent at a gas station to try and get rid of it, but it made it worse.

We stopped off at a little campground on the way, perfect opportunity to get out and meet the locals. Shannie and I got out to explore and found a small stream running through the trees nearby.

Everyone seemed to have one thing on their mind, cooling off, so the crazed campers were all sitting down in the water and scooting along the stream. Shannie and I were no exception, we hopped right in.

After this distraction we got out our cameras and took pictures of the trees and chipmunks.

We moved on reaching the Grand Canyon after many dizzying miles of road and there found ourselves standing in the gift shop, kids in a candy store as we both had money from our parents. Shannie had a hundred dollars, I had a hundred, we thought we were rich!

I shortly found out though that a hundred dollars didn't go far in a gift shop, I bought some sandstone earrings set in gold that set me back a cool twenty. I put the change back into my flat wallet, made of a soft brown leather that I had adorned with scribbles and doodles of flowers and a peace sign.

I felt a little sick at losing part of the hundred, though I liked my earrings, because I knew how long it usually took me to save that much.

Shannie was smart, didn't buy anything there, we went back to the camper to wait together for the others to show up. It was getting rather late, and we were tired from the long drive so we lay down in the bed above the driver seat and read a bit.

Finally we were off, dad found a campground and we set up camp in the twilight, and ate convenience foods like hot dogs and chips since it was too late to set up a camp fire. Though Daniel, my little brother certainly felt like setting one up, he came in blackened from lighting a fire with fire starter and he stunk.

Shannie and I made a fuss about it and dad made him wash up and change his clothes outside, it was very late when we finally got to sleep that night and we planned to go and watch the sunrise over the canyon in the morning so Daniels stunt really irritated me.

We got to sleep and it seemed the next moment that dad was fussing about, waking us up. He has a particularly annoying way of doing this, turning on the light and singing. We got up grumpy and stayed grumpy until we were seated in front of plate sized pancakes and orange juice which tasted horrible together!

We ate what we could, the pancakes were so big, then we left what was left and headed out to the terrace where people were gathering to watch the sunrise.

There, over canyons of unimaginable depth, the sun rose in gradating splendor and we were met standing in front of the hot glory of the bright morning sun.

We had certainly awoken during this moment, standing blinking before it, yet still we yawned from lethargy over the late night. I had a headache to boot. We would have been glad to go back to the motor home to sleep, but dad had other ideas, he marched us out to the trail head and told us we were going to climb up for a few miles.

This elicited groans of protest from all of us, but nevertheless we were there to see the canyon, so the canyon is what we were going to see. We walked past high sandstone walls, beautiful red rock.

Shannie and I found a crevice on the way up that looked like it would be interesting to explore. As the others walked past, we started to climb up into the crevice, but were soon confronted by an angry German guy who told us off for our temerity.

Thus chagrined from our rebellious venture we climbed back down and joined the others as quickly as we could, giggling to ourselves over the incident.

We finally reached the top of the hike and looked out over the canyon, it was impressive, but we were tired. So we took pictures, Shannie and I mocking a fall into the abyss.

We stood with our arms around each other, trying to appreciate what we knew was one of the great wonders of the world. The climb up the trail, had made us hungry, that, combined with the late night made an extended stay up there an uncomfortable idea.

We were rescued by the whines of my little brother, Evan, who was only about four years old at the time. Thus we headed back to the motor home, back down the trail to the unreality of reality as we sat at the Formica table in the motor home to eat.

A sudden rush to leave gripped my dad as things often do for him, and we hurried then to finish and clean up.

We were on our way again, heading west through Indian lands and Indian ways. We stopped off on our way at a rest stop and encountered the hostile stares of the locals for our intrusion, I felt it keenly.

The road side boutiques were interesting affairs, made up of plywood and two by fours. They were attended by mothers sitting behind square tables, fanning themselves in the heat their black hair glistened in their braids.

Hushed children peeked out at us from behind the tables and chairs, unconfined curiosity burned on their dusty faces, as we examined hand wrought silver and turquoise jewelery, leather purses and feathers cunningly hanging from dream catchers tied with leather and sinew.

If anything, I should have spent my money there, yet I was foolish in my judgement and shy as well. I wasn't quite certain if these beautiful pieces of living history could speak the same language as I, and so I said nothing to them as I stood there at a distance, letting my dad converse in his energetic way.

At last we turned again to our reality, and drove along observing the domed adobe houses and dusty arid desert, each absorbed in their own thoughts until we came out of the past and into the future of gas stationed splendor and shopping carts clanging together, full of thoroughly modern food.

We stopped off at a little lake on the way, not sure exactly where, it was there that we were to spend a few days to rest before we reached our destination. It was there where immaturity and maturity blossomed together in our youthful hearts.

The chance to get out and walk was appealing to Shannie and I, though we were forced to stay and help with dinner. Our feet were itching to explore as we ate and we set off as soon as we had finished to wander about.

I had taken to wearing Shannies clothes as my own didn't seem as appealing at the moment. So I had on her green shirt, the fashion of which was to leave untied at the top, laces left loose and her shorts which were a dark denim blue.

She had on her usual favorite one piece jumper, shirt and shorts made of light denim, with a red shirt underneath. She always looked assured, no matter what she was wearing. I was uncomfortable with myself at most times.

On this night we happened upon two boys, sitting on the dock by the lake, working on their fishing boat and cursing.

They looked us up and down as we stood there eyeing them back, and Shannie asked them about what they were doing.

As it turned out, they were fixing the motor on their boat. After a few minutes of conversation they invited us out with them the following morning to go for a ride.

So the next day, we packed a cooler of pop and snacks, nothing substantial, and headed out with them. Heaven only knows why my parents agreed.

We sat out there legs tanning in the sun, bare toes kissed by the wind as we conversed with these strange boys who apparently lived around there. Luckily for me my earlier shyness had burned off with the peek of the morning sun so I didn't feel awkward.

They tried fishing, yet kept reeling in lake bottom and weeds so eventually we called it good and went back.

We decided to swim after this, so we changed and met again. We mostly floated in the shallows of the lake as hands brushed together under murky waters and meaningful glances passed (and chaste little kisses as well).

Eventually we got cold and we all agreed to change then to go for a walk after dinner. So we changed back into our original clothing and ate, mulling things over as we sat, Shannie and I secretly communing with our thoughts.

We went out for our walk and met up, soon we found ourselves sitting, paired off, on a picnic bench gazing off to the purple mountains in the distance. We had been hyper, running off of sugar, and chatting about the moon, the stars, and our "shroom" garden at home. We told them to avoid the dotted red ones because they could make you high, we were giddy from sleepiness and hormones, secretly enjoying running our imaginations wild.

The night grew late, probably eleven or twelve and we had been sitting out there for a while until we were yawning and snoozing as we leaned against each other. We said our good nights, as Shannie and I walked, a bit subdued, to the motor home to rest.

We said goodbye in the morning. They waved to us from the dock, where they sat working at their motor again, and we grinned as we explained my dads rush to leave.

There was a glance that passed from boy to girl, and we left pondering what it meant, that look.

It was only a short time before I was hugging Shannie to say goodbye, another summer had passed. Yet there were summers to come, and memories that would last.

Timidity

2009-07-27T10:39:00.000-07:00

I know no other way,
no truth,
no life.

Except your beating heart, solid against my own,
pulsing throughout my being,
causing blood to course through my veins

I am helpless before you

All this an illusion,
as you walk past.
For exposing my foolish heart,
would be to free the dove of mourning,
forever searching for its mate
or would it mean wholeness?

The Drought

2009-07-23T17:18:00.000-07:00

Kohana walked through the dusty scrub oak, panting slightly from the heat as he went. It had been unseasonably mild, earlier in the year, so the sudden onslaught of heat left him and everyone else surprised.

He scratched his fur against a pine tree trunk, that was conveniently exposed,hoping to get some of the under layers off that had built up over winter and that he had neglected to pull at during the cooler summer months.

Feeling some relief, he set off towards the cool stream that came down from the high mountain peaks. The area was oddly quiet as he approached, there was something wrong. The waters that had flowed as an unbidden torrent just a few short months ago had been slowly fading into a calm steady flow, he expected less water to be running, this he didn't expect.

The dry raised mud of the creek bottom was cracking in the sun, flies hovering just above the surface and thick dark mud showing where only a trickle of water still flowed.

He surveyed his surroundings, taking in the fresh droppings of black bear who liked to roam these parts and the fresh paw prints of Enola who liked to keep to herself in her old age.

He lowered his head and licked from the trickle, frustrated because his tongue kept picking up creek mud. Mud that while good for the creek, was not so pleasant in taste to the tongue.

He eyed upstream to see if there were any obvious reasons that the waters were so low. Then he turned to head back towards his burrow under some large fallen trees to get out of the sun, slightly dissatisfied with the tepid water.

He thought of following the creek upstream, but decided against any lengthy travel during the heat of the day, and buried himself as close to the rock face near the back of his burrow as he could.

At nightfall he emerged and headed back to the stream for another drink of the tepid water. Disgusted with the state of his water supply he set out, following the chirping crickets who always seemed to find their way to water and the soft sounds of the stream trickling past.

He had walked for several minutes in near silence when he heard a hoot from the grey owl. He heard her take flight, wings swooshing through the air, then the sudden eerie sound of her descending body, rustling leaves and shush of wings again. He knew she had caught her dinner, or breakfast, which ever you prefer.

This distraction almost made him miss the sound of twigs breaking nearby, he readied himself and smelled the air, his heart raced until Enola emerged from the thick underbrush.

"Something's wrong," she began without preamble. "It has not rained for many months now and the stream is almost dry." Her image became more clear to him as she approached.

"I know Enola, I feel instinctively that all creatures including wolves have not seen the likes of this for many generations." He said this in earnestness, remembering a lesson that she had once taught him about impertinence. With anyone else he would have made a sarcastic reply, her forceful manner irritated him, he wondered what she wanted with him.

She sensed his mood despite the respectful cover, her tone of voice raised a little "Kohana, wolves are dying out there! I have run across them myself!"

This news startled him, he had always been a careful hunter, burying thick bones full of marrow for leaner times. He had assumed that all wolves did this, or that things were not as bad as the great heat indicated.

"Enola, let us continue on, standing here is doing no good." She conceded this with a nod of her head in the full moon light and they set off each keeping a pace from the other.

They had walked for many miles, drinking from the tepid water at intervals, not finding any clues as the waters decrease.

Each kept to their own thoughts, until they heard a sudden crack and there was black bear, blinking. They had no desire to meet up with him so they crouched where they were and slowly backed into the forest.

The dark had been dissipating away, by unspoken agreement they headed deeper into the forest to find a place to rest. Kohana found a place to burrow and headed in, missing the feel of the cool stone against his hide at home.

The next day they set off again, following the stream, upwards climbing the rocky outcroppings of the cliff face where a tiny waterfall trickled downward. They walked more desperately as the days grew hotter, and the forest animals which were so easy to catch became treats when they caught them, for they too seemed to be disappearing with the water.

Enola had been visibly worsening, her once lustrous fur had lost its sheen and she stepped more clumsily now. Kohana urged her to burrow in and rest, he was swift and sure footed, he would continue on.

Each day grew hotter, and the stream continued to decrease in volume, even the nights were hot, mocking Kohana with thoughts of his home burrow.

He gazed up at the clear blue sky, as the sun brightened in the morning. He searched for thick clouds, clouds that would end his walk and aching thirst. There was no help there, only the tiniest of clouds mocking his longing with its insignificant mass.

He lowered his head to drink, but found no water. NO! It couldn't be! There had always been something, but now the thick mud lay drying in the rising sun. How quickly the stream had gone!

He turned and retreated into the forest to lay, day he grew weaker each day that he lay there. He had even pawed at the stream digging a hole which filled with water he lapped at it hastily, aware of the sun, no longer caring of the taste.

He lay down beside the creek bed, weary, the sun beating on him. He knew if it didn't rain soon that he would perish, he dimly thought of Enola.

Suddenly, he heard the crack of thunder, he smelled moisture gathering in the air. He lifted his head hopefully as thick clouds rolled in, and it started to rain.

It rained in torrents, drenching his weary body and bringing it back to life again, he lapped greedily at the rushing water.

The sound of swiftly moving water caught his attention and the multitude of logs rushing down the stream, near where he lay. Called to action, he leaped from his place onto a nearby rock as sticks and mud were washed away.

He stood there, reflecting for a moment, then turned and headed home.

Out on Highway 89

2009-07-22T11:46:00.000-07:00

It had been fair weather, routine,
things had never been better, or so it seemed.

Somehow we knew something was wrong,
we all knew, the feeling lay thick in the air.

Yet who could say what was hidden behind curtains,
folds of virginal skin so fair?

Therein burned the flame,
the flame of desire, set ablaze from unholy lust.

When we visited her she was quiet withdrawn,
softly cleaning the home she had trust.

A crime had occurred,
restitution to be paid, out on Highway 89 that day.

Brother and sister there in the back,
and he in the front drove away.

Somehow it happened,
the vengeance for sin, somehow.

Hidden in the shadows,
restitution was made for now.

He fell, burning,
his desire unquenched.

She standing,
the tension unclenched.

He, her brother
devoted though insane.

Out on highway 89,
can we say who to blame?

The brother, the martyr, or unholy flame
whatever the cause' the effect was the same.

Where Earth and Heaven Meet

2009-07-21T14:53:00.000-07:00

Cherubim guard the gate where earth and heaven meet,

there is no return.

She has left the garden,

searching where her head my lay.

It is the hour,

solitary in purpose, magnificent, radiant, a hush descends.

The scent is strong here,

the scent of divinity.

Divine breath,

she surrenders to Yahweh.

The forces of heaven gather,

the consecration of power shudders through her body.

she gasps,

she cries,

behold the manifestation of destiny.

Give me Life

2009-07-20T08:36:00.000-07:00

I want to drink the sweet nectar of life.

I am a seeker of thrills, yet I am no fool.

Lay in the emerald grasses, breath in the scent of radiant wildflowers, reds, blues, pink and purple hues.

Run up the hill, to feel my heart beating, the adrenaline pumping, endorphin seeking.

Plunge myself headlong into the cold stream to come up gasping for air.

Crescendo's, staccato, mystical flutes, battles of sound, reverberation all around.

Calypso, voices, pounding on drums

Beautiful cords, harmonica hums.

Rhythm and blues, rock and roll, anything that has some soul.

Vibrant, resonating, beautiful taste.

Strawberries ripened in the sun,

Fresh cool watermelon on my tongue.

Peaches, plums, tangerines, sweet peas, sweet corn, sweet, fresh, devour in haste.

Anything that is full of life and harmony, undiluted, a simple melody.

Life

Come on and feel it, come on and taste it, embrace it. Soak in the sounds, the sights, the textures.

Run your hand over everything, bushes and vines, mosses and twine, rose petals, snails, pick up intricate shells.

Shells with their ridges, ever turning into eternity.

Give me fresh food to eat, give me life so sweet, words and song, humanities throng.

I want to live

Of Dark Matter

2009-07-19T21:13:00.000-07:00

Gaze out over the night sky, as dark as a fathomless pit, yet with a different quality about it. I believe they call it "dark matter."

Not realizing that what they mean is that even in places where darkness reigns, is a matter, so powerful as to let its presence be known.

We all have those dark places, holes left after the brilliant star that was shinning there has burnt out. It may seem like there is nothing there, but the observant know what is left, no insignificant emptiness, no.

A space that will fill with tears as you walk down familiar paths, a memory of something that is no more.

Yet brilliant stars can leave diamonds of memory also, cold after the warmth of the sun, yet no less beautiful.

Do we wish these fragments of memory to be gone? We may, yet without them the brilliance of the star will be forgotten. Without them we cannot feel as deeply as we do now and the joy's in the future would not mean as much to us.

Even matter that is dark is a reflection of something beautiful, made up of brilliant memories.

Odd Celiac Duck

2009-07-18T21:53:00.000-07:00

I am the odd duck

Ugly squawking thing

I ask for help but no one understands because I look fine.

I see that I will have to fend for myself, I am normal after all

So I sift all the messages, yet always seem to be lacking something

I want to but I cannot run

Everything irritates me I am dizzy and uncertain, there are always tears

I feel as though the swirling darkness will swallow me whole, I wish it would

So I borrow the ideals of others to be thin

Success is heady

Yet with each healthy muffin that I eat I find myself disappearing

Healthy?

Then why can I not lift this weight?

Each step becoming heavier than the last, and my tongue feels leaden in my throat.

Yet what could be wrong? I am doing everything right.

I lay down and close my aching eyes.

I am being swallowed up in nothingness, weak light, weak breath

I feel nothing, no pain, nothing

Slipping away I reach for a pen to write a last note to my sister.

I cannot eat, so I don’t

In the morning I awaken

I don’t eat what I usually do, only fruit

Then fruit and vegetables

Fruit, vegetables and meat

Steamed veggies, seared meat, raw milk, and rice

I can breath, I can think, I can feel

I can feel!! I can run!!

The sky is so blue, the mountains so green, it is beautiful

I feel vibrancy, I feel life flowing through me and in me from my head to my feet.

Joy! I am alive!

Secret Longings

2009-07-18T10:30:00.000-07:00

Secret longings

For shadows filtered, resplendent over high peak, emerald hills and azure sky.

Awakening to breathe in the air of humanity, to taste the sweetness of baby’s head on my shoulder, gentle whispers, and the outstretched hand of long ago laughter, now come to drive me home again.

Joy in the flit of the butterfly’s wings, winds over sweet blossoms, a veiled smile upon my face as I remember the invisible drafts that I would float upon in fantasy.

These wide open spaces, wondrous sanity found among evergreen boughs and scented wind.

A silence pregnant with expectation, the possibilities found in the reverberation of strings seeking fingers, whilst this dreamer plays upon the full atmosphere of spirit found amongst the crevices of broken hearts and lonely ears.

To reach out and stroke the soft fur of kittens, an image of sweetness as they have yet to be born, their friendly mother my noonday companion.

Sweet water fresh from the filtered stream, through rugged mountain peaks. A taste left on my tongue, ephemeral sweetness, a reminder that there is soul in everything. Still waters in my cup, somehow missing that wildness.

Longing for friendly darkness, soft grasses to lay upon and gaze out at the stars in wonderment as the fresh wind blows through my hair and the silence of crickets in their hidden hollows reminds me of sweet dreams to find.

Fire and Freedom

2009-07-17T20:07:00.001-07:00

Playing with fire yes, envelope it into you, hold it close, ignore the burn.

Burn of passion, burn like the furnace, bright blazing fireworks across the sky.

You and me, we hold the fire between us and breath, but where does it go, it is leaking like lava from the cracks of my skin, out through the tears that I cry and it hurts.

Whispering shivers, taken into your spine up and down, release of crazy chemical reactions that feed off of my sanity leaving me a shell of idiocy.

Me and you, like a coal in my heart, once burned so brightly, once parked in the dark.

Up from the ashes, up from despair, I walk, I fight and I search for sanity, sanity, sanity.

No force of false freedom can get me to release what I once had lost but now found.

I am a woman, a woman who knows,

and I write.

A Bit of a Strange Dream

2009-07-17T16:27:00.000-07:00

Somehow it is all out of place up here on this balcony, I have been waiting, and I continue to wait.

The wind blows and I am carried away, looking down at myself from above. I am sitting on decorative iron, in front of a decorative table, which has been laid with a small square of white linen.

The breeze rushes through my hair and I slap the tablecloth to keep it from flying away. In the next instant I am snatching my napkin and placing my foot on my purse and the balcony shudders.

The night is so dark, there are no clouds in the sky, each pinpoint of light from the stars shines down clearly. A glow from the restaurant lights up my face, partial shadows pervade, and I wait.

Thirsty I lift up my glass to find that it is full of wriggling creatures, I gasp but drink anyway then ask the waiter for more.

I am above it all, exclusive, privileged to be here, then why does the balcony feel as though it will shudder and fall.

Creaking and swaying, wood rotting away, yet I wait. Then it suddenly becomes clear to me, I am in the wrong place.

Am I really up there in that balcony, why would I be as I walk past I can see that it wouldn't fit a table at all.

I contemplate this as images move past my view, the ocean, stark blue vivid colored fish on the wall. The overhanging shades of the stores on Center St., I ponder these things as I get in my car to drive home.