Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire; you will what you imagine; and at last you create what you will. - George Bernard Shaw
When you were a child, were you ever told that something was "all in your imagination"? Maybe you were scared of the monster you were convinced was under the bed, or you saw something and made up a story about it that just grew and grew in the telling. Well, now that you're all grown up, I've got news for you. Everything is in your imagination. If you can imagine it, you can create it. And if you can activate your imagination in a positive way, you'll go a long ways toward turning your dreams into reality.
Too often, as adults, we use our imaginations to picture our fears. How many times have you imagined all the things that could go wrong in a given situation? You end up with a sense of paralysis or doubts before you've even started. I know that feeling myself. So instead of using your imagination negatively, turn it around and imagine a positive outcome.
If your imagination seems a bit rusty, here are some simple steps to help you kick-start those creative juices.
1. Think about what you want to happen. Decide exactly on the outcome you want.
2. Picture it in your mind. What happens? What do you do? See all of the details — what you're wearing, where it takes place, who is there.
3. Hear what you and others are saying. Think the thoughts and experience the feelings you would have in these circumstances.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Free Write (08Jan09 09:02) - Musing About the Future by Looking Into the Past
I can see it… dusty light filtered in through a grease stained window, illuminating the cracks and crevices worn into the faded linoleum by class after class of hormonal teenagers, each trying to carve his/her own niche out of the cold, unfeeling concrete walls of the high school.
I can hear it… the muffled sneakers of some ne’er-do-well running down the hall, away from the fire alarm he just pulled to get everyone out of class, his laughter wrapped around him like a warm blanket. On the stairs, a couple is hidden from view, tucked into that space under the stairs – dreaming and discussing a possible future that neither of them will realise because they will be broken up in a week.
I can smell it… lunch time fare sent to tantalise and tease your appetite – more likely to tease your gag reflex into vomiting before you could choke down one bite. Sweat, stale and acrid, wafts up from the carpeting and floorboards – sweat shed in the pursuit of knowledge… the pursuit of life… the pursuit of love.
Fast-forward… the sights and smells have changed. The grease stained windows have been replaced by elevators and pool tables. The dusty light is now filtered through tiny portals to the outside world instead of large gateways. Traipsing over faded linoleum to get to class has been replaced with hikes through the trees and snow, uphill and down, to try and make it to a 10:20 lecture.
No longer do the ne’er-do-wells run down sun lit hallways into the annals of infamy. Now they have all night drinking binges, their laughter replaced by slurred words and the sounds of vomiting at 2 in the morning. Slurred words are gradually replaced by the groaning and cursing at the effects of a hangover.
The smells – ahhh, how they tug at your heart, reminding you of a simpler time. Those smells of the hallowed concrete halls would be welcome as the foul smells of the dimly light commons assault your nose and stomach. The bland food and days’ old grease would cause your stomach to somersault like you’d been on a rollercoaster for years.
I can hear it… the muffled sneakers of some ne’er-do-well running down the hall, away from the fire alarm he just pulled to get everyone out of class, his laughter wrapped around him like a warm blanket. On the stairs, a couple is hidden from view, tucked into that space under the stairs – dreaming and discussing a possible future that neither of them will realise because they will be broken up in a week.
I can smell it… lunch time fare sent to tantalise and tease your appetite – more likely to tease your gag reflex into vomiting before you could choke down one bite. Sweat, stale and acrid, wafts up from the carpeting and floorboards – sweat shed in the pursuit of knowledge… the pursuit of life… the pursuit of love.
Fast-forward… the sights and smells have changed. The grease stained windows have been replaced by elevators and pool tables. The dusty light is now filtered through tiny portals to the outside world instead of large gateways. Traipsing over faded linoleum to get to class has been replaced with hikes through the trees and snow, uphill and down, to try and make it to a 10:20 lecture.
No longer do the ne’er-do-wells run down sun lit hallways into the annals of infamy. Now they have all night drinking binges, their laughter replaced by slurred words and the sounds of vomiting at 2 in the morning. Slurred words are gradually replaced by the groaning and cursing at the effects of a hangover.
The smells – ahhh, how they tug at your heart, reminding you of a simpler time. Those smells of the hallowed concrete halls would be welcome as the foul smells of the dimly light commons assault your nose and stomach. The bland food and days’ old grease would cause your stomach to somersault like you’d been on a rollercoaster for years.
Free Write (08Jan09 02:58) - Rollerskating
I hadn't wanted to go. Roller skating was for the young, and besides - I hadn't been on a pair of skates in years. But, it was eighties night at the roller rink, and my friend had pulled me out of the house. She said it was because I needed to get out more, but I knew she just didn't want to look foolish by herself.
We arrived just after things had gotten underway. She paid our ways in, and we headed towards the skate counter. I chose skates over rollerblades because I just never got the hang of those damn blades. Finding a secluded corner, I watched the skate floor as I began to change into the skates.
The colourful lights, revolving disco ball, and music was like a time machine. Suddenly, it was 1984 and I was ten years old again. I sat there, letting the sounds of Raydio's You Can't Change That wash over me like a piece of watered silk and decided I had to get it over with.
Upon unsteady ankles, I skated my way to the floor. I took one tentative step and then another out onto the hard, polished wood... and immediately fell on my ass. Laughing to myself and glad to have gotten the night's first humiliation over with that quickly, I got up and brushed myself off. I hugged the wall for a bit until it started coming back and then made my way for the main floor area.
It was exhilarating - out there on the skate floor again, a gentle breeze flowing through my hair. And the music!!! I hadn't heard most of these songs since I was in elementary school. They were well loved old friends - ones that had whetted my taste for music as a young child and got me interested in all types of sound.
She waved at me from across the rink, already having found this cute blonde to skate with her. He was holding her steady, trying to keep her from falling, and they were laughing. Oh ho, I thought. She had an ulterior motive for wanting to come out tonight. Then I laughed because I would have done the same thing.
We had probably been there for forty-five minutes when the first slow song made an appearance. I was about to go sit down and take a breather when I saw you across the floor. You had this slightly puzzled look on your face, as if not quite sure how you had wound up at a roller rink on a Friday night.
I liked what I saw. Dark hair, tall but not too tall - nice body. I was intrigued but ignored the urge to go ask you to skate. Instead, I made my way to the snack bar. Buying a bottled water, I sat down in a horrid plastic seat and watched the cozy couples out on the floor. I sat there, waiting for the moment a faster song would come on and I could make my way to the floor again, but there was the most unsettling feeling of being watched from across the rink. I glanced about, but all I could see was you. Surely you weren't watching me, I told myself. Must just be my imagination.
Finally, Bon Jovi's You Give Love A Bad Name came on, and I skated out to the floor again, grateful that the romantic music was over with. Time seemed to fly as I rounded the rink that night, feeling like a child again. As Tainted Love began playing, I tripped over my own toe stop and went down on the floor, taking some poor soul along with me accidentally. I assessed my injuries, concluded all I had hurt was my pride, and went to get up. A hand appeared in front of me, and I accepted the offer of help. As I got up off the floor, I looked up at my rescuer - right into your eyes. I was stunned. From across the rink, those eyes had been interesting. Up close, they were deadly - the type of eyes you could fall into forever and not care.
"Sorry for the collision," I mumbled, quickly releasing your hand as soon as I was up. "And thanks for the help." Before you could answer, I was off skating again.
I turned on my skates, moving backwards for a bit and watching you out of the corner of my eye. My heart felt as if it was stuck in my throat, and there were butterflies churning in my stomach. Never had one touch so effected my senses. But I didn't even try to work up the courage to talk to you - my friend had always been the pretty one of the two of us. I had accepted that and knew the likelihood of some guy coming up to talk to me while she and I were out together was slim to none.
I kept to myself, skating until another slow number came on. As Double began singing about The Captain of Her Heart, I exited the floor and retired once again to the snack bar. I watched her out there on the floor with the blonde and felt a pang of jealousy that it wasn't me out there with you.
The music changed. Air Supply's Even The Nights Are Better - that definitive skating slow song - came on, and I looked up to find you. You had disappeared, and I sighed softly.
A hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my gloom. "Excuse me, but would you like to skate?"
I looked up in surprise - and it was you, smiling at me. That smile filled those eyes, making me want to just stare into them all night.
"Huh? Me?" Yeah, real smooth, I told myself. "Uh, sure."
I took your hand, and we made our way to the floor. Getting out onto that rink, I felt as if my heart would slam right out of my chest. My palms were a little sweaty, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to stay up on all eight wheels.
My friend saw us and winked at me.
We skated out there to that slow, sappy song - skated as if everyone else had disappeared into the night. I was reluctant to release your hand when the song ended. My grip began to relax, and you looked at me. "Want to go somewhere and talk," you asked.
I looked into those eyes and couldn't say no. We exited the floor and found this little corner away from the speakers. We introduced ourselves and began talking. We talked the rest of the skate session, never quite making it out on the rink again. After the session had ended, we left for this little coffee place to continue our talk. Grabbing a table in the back, we drank coffee and talked the rest of the night. It was almost as if we had known each other for years.
As the sun came up, you drove me back to my place. We exchanged phone numbers and sat there, neither one of us knowing what to do next. I moved my hand to open the door, meaning to get out and go inside the small house I was renting. Throwing caution to the wind, I leaned over and kissed you - a soft first kiss in the pre-dawn blush of a steely sky.
"Call me later," I said and got out of the car. Smiling to myself and humming that Air Supply song, I let myself into the house and closed the door, collapsing against the back of it - a huge smile plastered on my face.
We arrived just after things had gotten underway. She paid our ways in, and we headed towards the skate counter. I chose skates over rollerblades because I just never got the hang of those damn blades. Finding a secluded corner, I watched the skate floor as I began to change into the skates.
The colourful lights, revolving disco ball, and music was like a time machine. Suddenly, it was 1984 and I was ten years old again. I sat there, letting the sounds of Raydio's You Can't Change That wash over me like a piece of watered silk and decided I had to get it over with.
Upon unsteady ankles, I skated my way to the floor. I took one tentative step and then another out onto the hard, polished wood... and immediately fell on my ass. Laughing to myself and glad to have gotten the night's first humiliation over with that quickly, I got up and brushed myself off. I hugged the wall for a bit until it started coming back and then made my way for the main floor area.
It was exhilarating - out there on the skate floor again, a gentle breeze flowing through my hair. And the music!!! I hadn't heard most of these songs since I was in elementary school. They were well loved old friends - ones that had whetted my taste for music as a young child and got me interested in all types of sound.
She waved at me from across the rink, already having found this cute blonde to skate with her. He was holding her steady, trying to keep her from falling, and they were laughing. Oh ho, I thought. She had an ulterior motive for wanting to come out tonight. Then I laughed because I would have done the same thing.
We had probably been there for forty-five minutes when the first slow song made an appearance. I was about to go sit down and take a breather when I saw you across the floor. You had this slightly puzzled look on your face, as if not quite sure how you had wound up at a roller rink on a Friday night.
I liked what I saw. Dark hair, tall but not too tall - nice body. I was intrigued but ignored the urge to go ask you to skate. Instead, I made my way to the snack bar. Buying a bottled water, I sat down in a horrid plastic seat and watched the cozy couples out on the floor. I sat there, waiting for the moment a faster song would come on and I could make my way to the floor again, but there was the most unsettling feeling of being watched from across the rink. I glanced about, but all I could see was you. Surely you weren't watching me, I told myself. Must just be my imagination.
Finally, Bon Jovi's You Give Love A Bad Name came on, and I skated out to the floor again, grateful that the romantic music was over with. Time seemed to fly as I rounded the rink that night, feeling like a child again. As Tainted Love began playing, I tripped over my own toe stop and went down on the floor, taking some poor soul along with me accidentally. I assessed my injuries, concluded all I had hurt was my pride, and went to get up. A hand appeared in front of me, and I accepted the offer of help. As I got up off the floor, I looked up at my rescuer - right into your eyes. I was stunned. From across the rink, those eyes had been interesting. Up close, they were deadly - the type of eyes you could fall into forever and not care.
"Sorry for the collision," I mumbled, quickly releasing your hand as soon as I was up. "And thanks for the help." Before you could answer, I was off skating again.
I turned on my skates, moving backwards for a bit and watching you out of the corner of my eye. My heart felt as if it was stuck in my throat, and there were butterflies churning in my stomach. Never had one touch so effected my senses. But I didn't even try to work up the courage to talk to you - my friend had always been the pretty one of the two of us. I had accepted that and knew the likelihood of some guy coming up to talk to me while she and I were out together was slim to none.
I kept to myself, skating until another slow number came on. As Double began singing about The Captain of Her Heart, I exited the floor and retired once again to the snack bar. I watched her out there on the floor with the blonde and felt a pang of jealousy that it wasn't me out there with you.
The music changed. Air Supply's Even The Nights Are Better - that definitive skating slow song - came on, and I looked up to find you. You had disappeared, and I sighed softly.
A hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my gloom. "Excuse me, but would you like to skate?"
I looked up in surprise - and it was you, smiling at me. That smile filled those eyes, making me want to just stare into them all night.
"Huh? Me?" Yeah, real smooth, I told myself. "Uh, sure."
I took your hand, and we made our way to the floor. Getting out onto that rink, I felt as if my heart would slam right out of my chest. My palms were a little sweaty, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to stay up on all eight wheels.
My friend saw us and winked at me.
We skated out there to that slow, sappy song - skated as if everyone else had disappeared into the night. I was reluctant to release your hand when the song ended. My grip began to relax, and you looked at me. "Want to go somewhere and talk," you asked.
I looked into those eyes and couldn't say no. We exited the floor and found this little corner away from the speakers. We introduced ourselves and began talking. We talked the rest of the skate session, never quite making it out on the rink again. After the session had ended, we left for this little coffee place to continue our talk. Grabbing a table in the back, we drank coffee and talked the rest of the night. It was almost as if we had known each other for years.
As the sun came up, you drove me back to my place. We exchanged phone numbers and sat there, neither one of us knowing what to do next. I moved my hand to open the door, meaning to get out and go inside the small house I was renting. Throwing caution to the wind, I leaned over and kissed you - a soft first kiss in the pre-dawn blush of a steely sky.
"Call me later," I said and got out of the car. Smiling to myself and humming that Air Supply song, I let myself into the house and closed the door, collapsing against the back of it - a huge smile plastered on my face.
Passion Storm
Midnight. The sky is overcast, and the wind is howling wildly. The skeletal birch at my window taps an eerie rhythm on the glass.
My skin tingles, alive with the electricity in the air. There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling of an impending unknown, and I know I must move before I am consumed in the charged atmosphere.
I run from my room, robe flowing behind me, to the door. I throw it open just in time to see a lightning bolt, white-hot and alive, rip through the dark – charring the very edges of the night.
Running into the dark, a cacophonic crash of thunder deafens me, and my skin crawls with the electricity flowing all around me. I continue to run into the darkness, embracing the wildness and the aroma of fresh earth kicked up by my bare feet.
The sky opens up, and a torrent of warm autumnal rain washes over my body. I lift my face to the heavens, and my hair falls back, exposing what skin the robe does not cover. The stinging little drops pelt my face, neck, and chest, and I drop my robe to the cool ground.
Another flash of lightning brightens the dark, and I can see a meadow in the brief flash. I run across the wet grass to the meadow and stare up at the turbulent sky. The clouds are gun metal gray and thundering through the sky at their own pace. The wind picks up and blows an eerie, haunting scream through the trees, and my body responds to the charged air. I begin to dance and sway, letting the rain wash over my body.
Lightning tears through the sky again, and, across the meadow, I can see you. You are out, driven into the rain to revel in the electricity and power of the storm. You’re watching my rain dance with a gleam I’ve seen before. I cross to you, and, as thunder booms deep into the earth, we kiss. Lightning flashes again, and the intensity of the kiss grows, as if we are trying to devour one another.
We drop to the ground, the coolness of the rain-soaked earth yielding to our bodies as the rain threatens to drown us. Thunder booms and the only light is the lightning streaking across the sky. The fresh smell of the soil mingles with
the passion ignited by the electricity arching between our bodies.
As the storm intensifies, we make love – hard and fast – matching the rhythm set by nature’s cacophonic symphony. The frenzy builds and builds until the storm is right above us, tearing through the night like a demolition crew, urging us on and on.
At last, as the storm crescendos, our bodies join truly as one, riding wave after wave of electric passion. Our cries are drowned by the thunderous growls of mother nature, and, in that moment, our souls join – creating one where there once was two.
As suddenly as it began, the storm subsides. Clouds move on in the distance, revealing the perfection of a starry sky. Our bodies come down from this most natural of highs, and we lay there, wrapped in the embrace that only comes from the true joining of two people.
My skin tingles, alive with the electricity in the air. There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling of an impending unknown, and I know I must move before I am consumed in the charged atmosphere.
I run from my room, robe flowing behind me, to the door. I throw it open just in time to see a lightning bolt, white-hot and alive, rip through the dark – charring the very edges of the night.
Running into the dark, a cacophonic crash of thunder deafens me, and my skin crawls with the electricity flowing all around me. I continue to run into the darkness, embracing the wildness and the aroma of fresh earth kicked up by my bare feet.
The sky opens up, and a torrent of warm autumnal rain washes over my body. I lift my face to the heavens, and my hair falls back, exposing what skin the robe does not cover. The stinging little drops pelt my face, neck, and chest, and I drop my robe to the cool ground.
Another flash of lightning brightens the dark, and I can see a meadow in the brief flash. I run across the wet grass to the meadow and stare up at the turbulent sky. The clouds are gun metal gray and thundering through the sky at their own pace. The wind picks up and blows an eerie, haunting scream through the trees, and my body responds to the charged air. I begin to dance and sway, letting the rain wash over my body.
Lightning tears through the sky again, and, across the meadow, I can see you. You are out, driven into the rain to revel in the electricity and power of the storm. You’re watching my rain dance with a gleam I’ve seen before. I cross to you, and, as thunder booms deep into the earth, we kiss. Lightning flashes again, and the intensity of the kiss grows, as if we are trying to devour one another.
We drop to the ground, the coolness of the rain-soaked earth yielding to our bodies as the rain threatens to drown us. Thunder booms and the only light is the lightning streaking across the sky. The fresh smell of the soil mingles with
the passion ignited by the electricity arching between our bodies.
As the storm intensifies, we make love – hard and fast – matching the rhythm set by nature’s cacophonic symphony. The frenzy builds and builds until the storm is right above us, tearing through the night like a demolition crew, urging us on and on.
At last, as the storm crescendos, our bodies join truly as one, riding wave after wave of electric passion. Our cries are drowned by the thunderous growls of mother nature, and, in that moment, our souls join – creating one where there once was two.
As suddenly as it began, the storm subsides. Clouds move on in the distance, revealing the perfection of a starry sky. Our bodies come down from this most natural of highs, and we lay there, wrapped in the embrace that only comes from the true joining of two people.
From Where Do You Draw Inspiration?
The other night I wrote a blog, asking from where you draw inspiration. I wanted to address that topic again, but from another view - from where I personally draw inspiration.I honestly draw inspiration from everything around me - things I see, do, hear, feel, taste, touch, experience. A book I'm reading could yield a new way of looking at a tired old topic or offer up some delictable phrase to use somewhere else. A song could evoke a powerful emotion, one overpowering enough that I have to write about it before the memory is gone like the fluttering of a butterfly. A scent could bring to mind a scene, remembered or imagined, that strikes me as pivotal in someway and begs to be written about. I don't draw upon just a few facets of my life for inspiration.
While I'm writing, however, that's at different story. If you've read enough magazine articles about writing or read a book by a so-called "expert" on how to strengthen your writing (or even if you've ever read Stephen King's The Dark Half) you know most authoers have pecularities when it comes to working their craft. Whether it's writing everything out in long hand first or having a particular spot that they can only write in, there is some quirk. In Stephen King's Misery, Paul had a certain room in a certain hotel in Denver and a certain ritual he had to fulfill when finishing a manuscript.
For me, it's no different. How I create my masterpiece is flexible - I can use a word processor or computer, or I can write the thing out long hand (these days, age makes me prefer the computer - less harsh on fingers who have seen their fair share of tragedy), but my surroundings - that's a different story altogether.
Don't think you'll ever catch me sitting at a desk while I write. I've tried that - it's too stiff and formal. The ideas seem to be cut off by the impersonal nature of the hard wood and clutter. You can find me curled up on the couch or stretched out on my bed when the muse grabs me most oftenly - I will only sit at a desk if I have no other choice.
And music - some people can have music, some people can't. I must have music. Very emotional music, at that. The sadder or more emotional evoking the music is, the better. I went through and put together a playlist last night to listen to while I was writing. I finished the foreward, part of the prologue, and wrote a few other things. I took a break from writing but did not switch off the music... and I ended up, collapsed in a heap on the floor - crying like a baby. The emotions pulled to the surface in just three or four songs were enough to make me want to die - to bury myself and hide away from the mean, cruel world.
Sounds strange, doesn't it? To listen to romantic, emotional music when writing things as dark and disjointed as I do? I had never understood it until today - when a very insightful friend of mine (thank you, Matt) said, "you seem like a person whose emotions drag your conscious mind down a path. and then they're dragging you down another one before you even figure out the first" (or something like that - it was a few years' ago) - and it all clicked. Writing is a very emotional process - even writing an essay, you have emotions bubble up to the surface (for most people, it's thinking about how much they hate writing essays, but it's still an emotion.) Writing exposes those emotions - raw, angry, fresh emotional wounds that you try to get down on paper as best as you can.
For me, the music must act as a catalyst for the process - to get the emotions flowing enough that I am dragged down whatever path the muse wishes to lead me. Well, even if it doesn't make sense to you, it does make sense to me now.
So, quit looking for something which inspires you. You may be missing it completely by looking. Embrace the strange creature of habit that lives within your breast, and just write. You may be surprised with what happens.
The Insidious Mr. Frost
Icy fingers surf the emissions and warmth
In search of that innermost part of your soul...
Reaching, moving ever closer,
Aching to slide down your throat as easily as
Lemonade on a hot summer's day.
Icy fingers wiggle and squirm as
They begin their descent into your body,
Touching you in places - secret places -
Places you've never been touched before...
Hoping to take root in your heart.
Icy fingers dig in with sharp, biting nails...
Grabbing and tearing at your soul,
Leaving you breathless and frozen to the core
And dreading the moment you must battle
Jack Frost again.
In search of that innermost part of your soul...
Reaching, moving ever closer,
Aching to slide down your throat as easily as
Lemonade on a hot summer's day.
Icy fingers wiggle and squirm as
They begin their descent into your body,
Touching you in places - secret places -
Places you've never been touched before...
Hoping to take root in your heart.
Icy fingers dig in with sharp, biting nails...
Grabbing and tearing at your soul,
Leaving you breathless and frozen to the core
And dreading the moment you must battle
Jack Frost again.
Witching Hour
‘tis the witching hour, boys and girls—
a time to be aware.
ghosts and goblins travel about,
hoping to give you a scare.
they’ll hide behind your door
and grab you while you sleep.
why, they’re so spooky and devious
they’ve even made dracula weep.
so beware, children,
as the witching hour is here.
these ghouls all await the chance to meet you
for they want to feed on your fear.
a time to be aware.
ghosts and goblins travel about,
hoping to give you a scare.
they’ll hide behind your door
and grab you while you sleep.
why, they’re so spooky and devious
they’ve even made dracula weep.
so beware, children,
as the witching hour is here.
these ghouls all await the chance to meet you
for they want to feed on your fear.
Victory
when your energy’s fresh
and the day is brand new,
you feel as if
there is nothing you can’t do.
you keep moving along
with each step that you take,
but those wins and achievements
get harder to make.
feeling dejected—
your spirit terribly low—
you don’t know how much further
you’ll be able to go.
taking a break,
giving your body a rest,
seems to revive you and
make you feel your best.
you start again on your journey,
for you know the only way to get there
is bit by little triumphant bit.
determined not to quit
and the day is brand new,
you feel as if
there is nothing you can’t do.
you keep moving along
with each step that you take,
but those wins and achievements
get harder to make.
feeling dejected—
your spirit terribly low—
you don’t know how much further
you’ll be able to go.
taking a break,
giving your body a rest,
seems to revive you and
make you feel your best.
you start again on your journey,
for you know the only way to get there
is bit by little triumphant bit.
determined not to quit
Time
time is in the air tonight.
what does time smell like?
dust, clocks, people.
what does time sound like?
water running in a dark cave;
voices crying;
dirt dropping silently
upon hollow box lids;
rain.
what does time look like?
snow falling in a black room;
a silent film in an ancient theater;
one billion faces falling
like those New Year's balloons,
down, down into nothing.
tonight, you could almost touch time.
what does time smell like?
dust, clocks, people.
what does time sound like?
water running in a dark cave;
voices crying;
dirt dropping silently
upon hollow box lids;
rain.
what does time look like?
snow falling in a black room;
a silent film in an ancient theater;
one billion faces falling
like those New Year's balloons,
down, down into nothing.
tonight, you could almost touch time.
Time
time is in the air tonight.
what does time smell like?
dust, clocks, people.
what does time sound like?
water running in a dark cave;
voices crying;
dirt dropping silently
upon hollow box lids;
rain.
what does time look like?
snow falling in a black room;
a silent film in an ancient theater;
one billion faces falling
like those New Year's balloons,
down, down into nothing.
tonight, you could almost touch time.
what does time smell like?
dust, clocks, people.
what does time sound like?
water running in a dark cave;
voices crying;
dirt dropping silently
upon hollow box lids;
rain.
what does time look like?
snow falling in a black room;
a silent film in an ancient theater;
one billion faces falling
like those New Year's balloons,
down, down into nothing.
tonight, you could almost touch time.
Storm
storm clouds—
thick, inky, and ominous—
blot out the sun,
turning day to night.
the wind—
fierce and unforgiving—
howls as its bitterly cold teeth
nip at your hands and ears.
the thunder—
loud and booming—
destroys the silence with
its rumbling cacophony.
the lightning—
swift and bright—
cuts through the darkness like
a surgeon’s scalpel.
the clouds—
saturated to bursting—
unleash with an unnatural fury,
drenching everything in sight.
the rain—
cold and stinging—
leaves the Earth
hungering for sunlight.
the clouds—
fluffy and fleeting—
part to reveal a brilliant sun,
a reminder that heaven does exist.
thick, inky, and ominous—
blot out the sun,
turning day to night.
the wind—
fierce and unforgiving—
howls as its bitterly cold teeth
nip at your hands and ears.
the thunder—
loud and booming—
destroys the silence with
its rumbling cacophony.
the lightning—
swift and bright—
cuts through the darkness like
a surgeon’s scalpel.
the clouds—
saturated to bursting—
unleash with an unnatural fury,
drenching everything in sight.
the rain—
cold and stinging—
leaves the Earth
hungering for sunlight.
the clouds—
fluffy and fleeting—
part to reveal a brilliant sun,
a reminder that heaven does exist.
A Normal Day's Work
like a sunrise at dawn,
the screen’s harsh white glow
ends the night and begins
my day thus so:
turn on the router;
make them some coffee;
turn on the printers;
that’s just the start for me.
forward a message
from an answered phone call;
help out a student—
but wait! that’s not all!
update their files,
every last one;
teach lots of classes—
fun, fun, fun, fun!
sneak in some lunch—
finally time alone.
make a quick phone—
gotta check in at home.
lunch hour’s over—
it’s back to the lab.
a co-worker stops by
wanting to gab.
more questions, more answers,
more work to be done.
look out the window just in time
to see the setting sun.
finally time to go home.
i race to the door,
knowing as i do that the sun
will bring this once more.
the screen’s harsh white glow
ends the night and begins
my day thus so:
turn on the router;
make them some coffee;
turn on the printers;
that’s just the start for me.
forward a message
from an answered phone call;
help out a student—
but wait! that’s not all!
update their files,
every last one;
teach lots of classes—
fun, fun, fun, fun!
sneak in some lunch—
finally time alone.
make a quick phone—
gotta check in at home.
lunch hour’s over—
it’s back to the lab.
a co-worker stops by
wanting to gab.
more questions, more answers,
more work to be done.
look out the window just in time
to see the setting sun.
finally time to go home.
i race to the door,
knowing as i do that the sun
will bring this once more.
Night Music
she stood on the hill,
looking out at the breathtaking vista
laying quietly above.
the deep blue blackness of the night sky
looked to be made of rich velvet,
and the stars were perfect diamonds
hung from invisible threads.
never noticing the sheer beauty
of the midnight landscape,
she sat down in the cool grass
and watched as the constellations
made their trek home.
looking out at the breathtaking vista
laying quietly above.
the deep blue blackness of the night sky
looked to be made of rich velvet,
and the stars were perfect diamonds
hung from invisible threads.
never noticing the sheer beauty
of the midnight landscape,
she sat down in the cool grass
and watched as the constellations
made their trek home.
My Messy Room
clothes are piled three feet deep.
the odor’s so bad I cannot sleep.
pizza covered with penicillin and cheese
is stuck to the animal covered in fleas.
a glass of liquid, moldy and green
is atop my dresser, waiting to be seen.
a cockroach, full of pride,
just crawled across the pile and died.
yes, this is my room, and no, it’s not clean.
bedrooms should be heard from and never seen.
so, if you want a surprise horrid and scary,
just pop your head in my room but be weary.
if something grabs you by a limb,
that’s just the monster—his name is jim.
the odor’s so bad I cannot sleep.
pizza covered with penicillin and cheese
is stuck to the animal covered in fleas.
a glass of liquid, moldy and green
is atop my dresser, waiting to be seen.
a cockroach, full of pride,
just crawled across the pile and died.
yes, this is my room, and no, it’s not clean.
bedrooms should be heard from and never seen.
so, if you want a surprise horrid and scary,
just pop your head in my room but be weary.
if something grabs you by a limb,
that’s just the monster—his name is jim.
Musing About Muses
rough grit sandpaper tears as
you blink through the madness
try as you may, your addled brain
will not let you fall mercifully into sleep
just one more, it whispers…
just one more to slake the thirst
because the muse has awakened,
ravenous, lascivious, untiring…
you try to comply, do the best that you can –
you create all the magic of which you’re able
but nothing can stave off this unholy desire –
this desire to pour out your soul,
wrench out your heart and put it on paper –
to make them feel your pain and despair
and you sit, those tiny grains of sand
blasting away your eyeballs as you
fight for coherence in this world in
which sleep would be a mercy –
a mercy which never comes because
you cannot slake this thirst,
this powerful, lustful thirst,
of your muse…
you blink through the madness
try as you may, your addled brain
will not let you fall mercifully into sleep
just one more, it whispers…
just one more to slake the thirst
because the muse has awakened,
ravenous, lascivious, untiring…
you try to comply, do the best that you can –
you create all the magic of which you’re able
but nothing can stave off this unholy desire –
this desire to pour out your soul,
wrench out your heart and put it on paper –
to make them feel your pain and despair
and you sit, those tiny grains of sand
blasting away your eyeballs as you
fight for coherence in this world in
which sleep would be a mercy –
a mercy which never comes because
you cannot slake this thirst,
this powerful, lustful thirst,
of your muse…
Lullaby
lay your head down, baby.
rest your weary eyes.
drift right off to sleep, my dear.
think of a grand surprise.
lay your head down, baby.
close those precious eyes.
you’ll be safe ‘til morning breaks,
and I’ll be close by your side.
rest your weary eyes.
drift right off to sleep, my dear.
think of a grand surprise.
lay your head down, baby.
close those precious eyes.
you’ll be safe ‘til morning breaks,
and I’ll be close by your side.
A Lovely Dream
smoky lights highlight the loneliness of the floor
an unearthly tune plays out from a jukebox –
an eerie jukebox unseen by human eyes.
staring out through the crowd milling about the floor,
i feel the uncomfortable weight of a voyeur and
the heavy heartedness of being alone.
a slow, melodic tune fills the air and
couples come from nowhere to dance –
dance to a tune of love’s true nature
i stand there, shifting back and forth,
uncomfortable in this voyeur’s role
life has resigned me to.
the smoke clears and the dancers leave,
leaving a path across the floor
clear as the mountain lake.
there he is, across the room, shifting
uncomfortably as i, desperately trying
not to intrude on another’s happiness.
i watch him – the angles of his face,
the posture of his frame, the sparkle of his eyes –
and i know him like no other.
my soul cries out in exhilaration –
it sings, “we have found him,” –
and pushes me forward onto the floor.
compelled to move and unable to stop,
i continue forward – achingly slow,
hesitantly, unsure of how to approach.
i approach – more unsure with each
step – feeling my heart race and
my pulse pound through my veins.
nervous, i stop in front of him,
not speaking, not moving –
just watching.
he looks up and our eyes meet –
a look that would consume entire crowds
leaps from face to face.
the song changes to a tune as old as time,
and we move to the dance floor,
never looking away from one another’s face.
he takes my hand and we come together,
locked in a dance that speaks of the forbidden,
and the world just falls away.
staring into his eyes is like staring back –
staring back into the depths of my soul –
and finally understanding… but what?
we press against one another and dance –
dance as if it is the only thing that will
keep us from being consumed in flames.
as the song fades, slowly and hauntingly,
so does he – fades back into the
obscurity of the dance floor spectators.
but before he is truly gone, one kiss is
given – a kiss that speaks volumes –
and he presents a lilac rose.
dawn arrives and i stretch from sleep,
not sure what is real and what was the dream,
and i sit up to greet the day.
across the room, ever so gently muted
against the darkness of the furniture,
stands the lilac rose.
an unearthly tune plays out from a jukebox –
an eerie jukebox unseen by human eyes.
staring out through the crowd milling about the floor,
i feel the uncomfortable weight of a voyeur and
the heavy heartedness of being alone.
a slow, melodic tune fills the air and
couples come from nowhere to dance –
dance to a tune of love’s true nature
i stand there, shifting back and forth,
uncomfortable in this voyeur’s role
life has resigned me to.
the smoke clears and the dancers leave,
leaving a path across the floor
clear as the mountain lake.
there he is, across the room, shifting
uncomfortably as i, desperately trying
not to intrude on another’s happiness.
i watch him – the angles of his face,
the posture of his frame, the sparkle of his eyes –
and i know him like no other.
my soul cries out in exhilaration –
it sings, “we have found him,” –
and pushes me forward onto the floor.
compelled to move and unable to stop,
i continue forward – achingly slow,
hesitantly, unsure of how to approach.
i approach – more unsure with each
step – feeling my heart race and
my pulse pound through my veins.
nervous, i stop in front of him,
not speaking, not moving –
just watching.
he looks up and our eyes meet –
a look that would consume entire crowds
leaps from face to face.
the song changes to a tune as old as time,
and we move to the dance floor,
never looking away from one another’s face.
he takes my hand and we come together,
locked in a dance that speaks of the forbidden,
and the world just falls away.
staring into his eyes is like staring back –
staring back into the depths of my soul –
and finally understanding… but what?
we press against one another and dance –
dance as if it is the only thing that will
keep us from being consumed in flames.
as the song fades, slowly and hauntingly,
so does he – fades back into the
obscurity of the dance floor spectators.
but before he is truly gone, one kiss is
given – a kiss that speaks volumes –
and he presents a lilac rose.
dawn arrives and i stretch from sleep,
not sure what is real and what was the dream,
and i sit up to greet the day.
across the room, ever so gently muted
against the darkness of the furniture,
stands the lilac rose.
Kidnapped
she opened the door to
her apartment very slowly,
suddenly very alarmed.
cigarette smoke?
she hadn’t smoked in over
ten years.
she reached for her cell phone
to dial 911
just as the hand touched her.
she opened her mouth to scream,
but another meaty hand clamped
over it, muffling the sound.
“don’t make a move,”
the stranger hissed into her ear,
“or i’ll slit your throat.”
her apartment very slowly,
suddenly very alarmed.
cigarette smoke?
she hadn’t smoked in over
ten years.
she reached for her cell phone
to dial 911
just as the hand touched her.
she opened her mouth to scream,
but another meaty hand clamped
over it, muffling the sound.
“don’t make a move,”
the stranger hissed into her ear,
“or i’ll slit your throat.”
Innocence Lost
tackled to the ground and held in place
while tears of fear streamed down your face,
this fellow – had you actually called him friend? –
now determined for your youth to end…
the tearing clothes, the musty smell,
his breath reminiscent of the bowels of hell –
he takes you there, in the open air,
and as your soul flees, he does not care
afterwards, the usual song –
“tell anyone and you’ll be gone” –
and you flee that place you once loved –
flee the senses wrapped around you like a glove.
you try to wash the dirt away –
but it also seems to come back the next day.
you break your nerve, tell a friend –
hoping this nightmare will soon come to an end –
but they laugh and point and say,
“that’s not how he told it the other day!”
you hide your shame and swallow your disgrace,
just praying for the day you can flee this place…
for you know that should you not,
your life may end with a hangman’s knot.
for now your soul does not have a home…
in search of truth, it eternally does roam…
and one day soon, when the time is here,
one day soon, when he comes near,
as sudden as the soul was broken
is the burden from your shoulders taken…
in relief you heave a sigh
and in grief you begin to cry –
cry for innocence lost on a summer’s day…
innocence lost because of an act you pray
never befalls another youth’s soul…
an act for whom, truly, the bell does toll.
while tears of fear streamed down your face,
this fellow – had you actually called him friend? –
now determined for your youth to end…
the tearing clothes, the musty smell,
his breath reminiscent of the bowels of hell –
he takes you there, in the open air,
and as your soul flees, he does not care
afterwards, the usual song –
“tell anyone and you’ll be gone” –
and you flee that place you once loved –
flee the senses wrapped around you like a glove.
you try to wash the dirt away –
but it also seems to come back the next day.
you break your nerve, tell a friend –
hoping this nightmare will soon come to an end –
but they laugh and point and say,
“that’s not how he told it the other day!”
you hide your shame and swallow your disgrace,
just praying for the day you can flee this place…
for you know that should you not,
your life may end with a hangman’s knot.
for now your soul does not have a home…
in search of truth, it eternally does roam…
and one day soon, when the time is here,
one day soon, when he comes near,
as sudden as the soul was broken
is the burden from your shoulders taken…
in relief you heave a sigh
and in grief you begin to cry –
cry for innocence lost on a summer’s day…
innocence lost because of an act you pray
never befalls another youth’s soul…
an act for whom, truly, the bell does toll.
Greasy Spoon
you know the place.
it’s that old dive
on the outskirts of town
that only locals frequent—
that old diner with the
faded checkerboard linoleum,
and the pest strip with
two dozen flies hanging on it.
it’s that type of place
you walk into,
expecting to hear,
“scorch a long one and
drag it through the garden,”
as you seat yourself
at the counter and
wait for your waitress.
after you order your burger,
you spin around on your stool
to have a good look around.
past the crude bumper stickers
and the couple making out
in the far corner,
you can almost see them—
the ghosts of decades past.
it’s that old dive
on the outskirts of town
that only locals frequent—
that old diner with the
faded checkerboard linoleum,
and the pest strip with
two dozen flies hanging on it.
it’s that type of place
you walk into,
expecting to hear,
“scorch a long one and
drag it through the garden,”
as you seat yourself
at the counter and
wait for your waitress.
after you order your burger,
you spin around on your stool
to have a good look around.
past the crude bumper stickers
and the couple making out
in the far corner,
you can almost see them—
the ghosts of decades past.
Flight
the ground below and
around us blue sky.
the sight is so beautiful
it brings a tear to my eye.
we pass through a cloud,
fluffy and white,
the zoom by a mountain!
far out! outta sight!
time to go home,
and I start wondering when
we can come back to this place
and go flying again.
around us blue sky.
the sight is so beautiful
it brings a tear to my eye.
we pass through a cloud,
fluffy and white,
the zoom by a mountain!
far out! outta sight!
time to go home,
and I start wondering when
we can come back to this place
and go flying again.
Fishing Pole
she moved her hips and
drew him close,
feeling him come alive.
her lips brushed his ear
as she drew him to her,
her manner promising no jive.
“if you want to fish
with me, dear boy,”
she told him with a purr.
“your pole must be long,
and your line must go deep,”
her voice taking a soft Southern burr.
“that pole must be straight,
and it must be strong,”
she continued, her volume low.
“and you must take your time,
dear, sweet boy,
because this fish likes things slow.”
drew him close,
feeling him come alive.
her lips brushed his ear
as she drew him to her,
her manner promising no jive.
“if you want to fish
with me, dear boy,”
she told him with a purr.
“your pole must be long,
and your line must go deep,”
her voice taking a soft Southern burr.
“that pole must be straight,
and it must be strong,”
she continued, her volume low.
“and you must take your time,
dear, sweet boy,
because this fish likes things slow.”
Drink with Me
drink with me to days gone by,
to life, to love, to laughs.
drink with me to romance,
to lovers slipped from within our grasp.
drink with me to what might have been,
to what is now, and to what could be.
drink with me to life and health...
to many years ahead for you and me.
drink with me for loneliness,
to those nights of endless tears.
and drink with me in remembrance,
to friends lost over the years.
drink with me, my friend, I beg
raise your glass in toast
and when you tip your glass to drink,
remember your friends the most.
for life and love ebbs and flows
from one point into the next,
but it's our friends who cherish us
upon whose wings we crest.
so drink a glass or two –
raise your voices high.
then live your life to the fullest
before those days pass you by.
to life, to love, to laughs.
drink with me to romance,
to lovers slipped from within our grasp.
drink with me to what might have been,
to what is now, and to what could be.
drink with me to life and health...
to many years ahead for you and me.
drink with me for loneliness,
to those nights of endless tears.
and drink with me in remembrance,
to friends lost over the years.
drink with me, my friend, I beg
raise your glass in toast
and when you tip your glass to drink,
remember your friends the most.
for life and love ebbs and flows
from one point into the next,
but it's our friends who cherish us
upon whose wings we crest.
so drink a glass or two –
raise your voices high.
then live your life to the fullest
before those days pass you by.
Daffodil
a warm golden sun surrounds
spring’s first glorious trumpet,
perched high upon a
sturdy green magic wand.
its silent appearance heralds in
the warmth of a vernal equinox
and fills young minds and hearts
with fanciful thoughts of love.
its golden radiance turns up,
embracing the light of day and
shimmering in the early morning dew.
renewing the soul with
hope for a fresh, new beginning,
this delicate little daffodil
gives us a glimpse at the
wonder lying ahead.
spring’s first glorious trumpet,
perched high upon a
sturdy green magic wand.
its silent appearance heralds in
the warmth of a vernal equinox
and fills young minds and hearts
with fanciful thoughts of love.
its golden radiance turns up,
embracing the light of day and
shimmering in the early morning dew.
renewing the soul with
hope for a fresh, new beginning,
this delicate little daffodil
gives us a glimpse at the
wonder lying ahead.
Curse of a Diet
you gaze in despair at
the last lonely slice of cake
your body is craving for.
you hurriedly glance the other way
and try to put it out of your mind,
but continually you turn to it once more.
as your soul aches with longing,
you summon all your will
to bolster your strength to fight.
you read a book; do a puzzle;
you try to stay completely busy –
anything that distracts is all right.
the temptation grows stronger
as your craving gets worse,
and you feel your resolve go weak.
finally broken and uncaring,
you give into the overwhelming desire
and something sweet you actively seek.
cutting into that last slice of cake,
you slowly take a moist, satisfying bite
and savour every last bit.
disgusted with yourself
for being unable to resist,
you vow tomorrow to stick to your diet.
the last lonely slice of cake
your body is craving for.
you hurriedly glance the other way
and try to put it out of your mind,
but continually you turn to it once more.
as your soul aches with longing,
you summon all your will
to bolster your strength to fight.
you read a book; do a puzzle;
you try to stay completely busy –
anything that distracts is all right.
the temptation grows stronger
as your craving gets worse,
and you feel your resolve go weak.
finally broken and uncaring,
you give into the overwhelming desire
and something sweet you actively seek.
cutting into that last slice of cake,
you slowly take a moist, satisfying bite
and savour every last bit.
disgusted with yourself
for being unable to resist,
you vow tomorrow to stick to your diet.
Untitled Poem #3
Staring down from the endless night,
He watched and waited, filled with wanting desire
She sat under the canopy, staring back,
Alone with the thoughts in her head
Reaching down through the mire and muck
With a hand burning as hot as a banked coal,
He plucked her from her prison –
From this sentence of hell and misery –
To tiptoe amongst the embers
Lighting their way through forever night
Dancing along the ethereal white-green ribbon
Across the universe to a haven –
A warm harbor in the midst of
The freezing stinging bite of loneliness –
And he embraced her,
Protecting her from the pain of humanity…
Until she awakened
Tears staining her pillowcase
In memory of the paradise she’ll never have.
He watched and waited, filled with wanting desire
She sat under the canopy, staring back,
Alone with the thoughts in her head
Reaching down through the mire and muck
With a hand burning as hot as a banked coal,
He plucked her from her prison –
From this sentence of hell and misery –
To tiptoe amongst the embers
Lighting their way through forever night
Dancing along the ethereal white-green ribbon
Across the universe to a haven –
A warm harbor in the midst of
The freezing stinging bite of loneliness –
And he embraced her,
Protecting her from the pain of humanity…
Until she awakened
Tears staining her pillowcase
In memory of the paradise she’ll never have.
Free Write - 08Jan08; 0022
Peacefulness. A feeling of complete contentment and total peace washes over me as I pull up to the door. It’s been a long day, and I need the comfort of a home that’s never been a reality before now.
I walk through the door, and you’re there. Just one smile from you, and the evils of the world melt to nothingness. I cross the floor, and we embrace – passionately, but one meant to soothe the soul.
After dinner, we retire to the bedroom. We crawl under the covers and just lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking… sharing with one another… dreaming.
Out the window, the sky is painted hues of red, orange, and purple. The wind is blowing through the trees and creating a symphony of its own.
As hour after hour pass, the sky slowly fades from its prismatic hues to deep inky black. Stars, far too many to see all of them, twinkle and shine through the window – showcasing their powerful beauty and gentle grace.
As evening turns to night and night turns to morning, we talk until sleep can no longer be staved off. Then, still wrapped in one another’s arms, we drift off to dream … dream of waking up with one another to maybe repeat the mystical feeling of truly knowing another’s soul again.
I walk through the door, and you’re there. Just one smile from you, and the evils of the world melt to nothingness. I cross the floor, and we embrace – passionately, but one meant to soothe the soul.
After dinner, we retire to the bedroom. We crawl under the covers and just lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking… sharing with one another… dreaming.
Out the window, the sky is painted hues of red, orange, and purple. The wind is blowing through the trees and creating a symphony of its own.
As hour after hour pass, the sky slowly fades from its prismatic hues to deep inky black. Stars, far too many to see all of them, twinkle and shine through the window – showcasing their powerful beauty and gentle grace.
As evening turns to night and night turns to morning, we talk until sleep can no longer be staved off. Then, still wrapped in one another’s arms, we drift off to dream … dream of waking up with one another to maybe repeat the mystical feeling of truly knowing another’s soul again.
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