You hear people comment that "it's darkest just before the dawn," and, while that may be true - that everything seems its most desolate just before the dawn breaks through, it seems to me that the most lonely time of day is that time right at sunset. It's that time the world is calming for the night - settling down for a slumber meant to renew and refresh the bleakness of a sun-baked landscape.
It's that moment, when the sun settling into the horizon sets the sky ablaze with a bounty of colors too beautiful to be real, that the realization of how alone you may or may not be sinks in. You watch the canvas as it's being painted, longing for that special someone with whom to share that moment - only to find yourself irrevocably and totally alone. Alone in the majesty of a night symphony that was written for two - and only being played for an audience of one.
Putting pen to paper only soothes the ache that is building in your soul for a short while - soon you're wanting to cry out to the world, denounce just how unfair a hand circumstance has dealt you in that moment. Longing to share that moment - that most intimate of moments - with someone who turns your world upside down... and unable to do so. You continue to put pen to paper, hoping - no, praying - that it will quell the yearning you feel; quench the fires burning within you and feeding your passions.
And does it?
For a while. But it's a temporary fix - a band-aid for the larger problem you face each and every day. What is it about that person that makes you freeze? What is it about him that keeps you unable from finding your voice? What keeps you from singing his name from the rooftops, alerting the media... telling him?
Is it fear? Lord knows we've been hurt before - oh yes, but then what man, woman, or child hasn't? Hurt is a normal part of growing and changing in this life. It's the hurts and disappointments who make us what we are - stronger beings capable of handling the most insane circumstances imaginable.
Is it the finality of it? As if just uttering those words - asking a simple question or making a simple statement - means you can never take them back? Who would want to? Who would choose to take back words so simple, so meaningful - straight from the heart?
So what is it? What dictates this oddity that, if left to paper or screen, the words flow freely... yet remove those media where you are faced with the situation at hand (no defenses, no barriers, nothing left to get in the way) and the words freeze. And, not normally one to allow intimidation (or fear or whatever is keeping you from doing this) to rule your life, you meekly accept it as the norm - you never once question anything aloud, only in your head and in the recesses of your being. You never once say, "Why don't we..." and instead just keep on with the way things are.
So what makes this one act so impossible to perform?
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Wasted Beauty
large, dark eyes stare out of
a once pretty face now
tanned brown and dry as
weather-worn leather.
small, yet foreboding,
she never thought about
the short-lived beauty of
countrywomen –
that is, until her own daughter
flashed a brilliant smile,
revealing her own radiance.
she bore no regret
for the passing of
foolish youth or beauty –
having come through
sickness, poverty, and danger,
the sight of a pretty face
may bring a smile to her lips
but only as a simple reminder
of the truly bountiful life
she now led.
a once pretty face now
tanned brown and dry as
weather-worn leather.
small, yet foreboding,
she never thought about
the short-lived beauty of
countrywomen –
that is, until her own daughter
flashed a brilliant smile,
revealing her own radiance.
she bore no regret
for the passing of
foolish youth or beauty –
having come through
sickness, poverty, and danger,
the sight of a pretty face
may bring a smile to her lips
but only as a simple reminder
of the truly bountiful life
she now led.
Simple Pleasures
a sunlit field and a sense of serenity
washed over him with
the smell of spring drifting daily
to tease his hopes and
to give a shy promise of
a coming radiance.
he settled against the split rail fence
underneath a weeping willow and
comfort poured all through him
with the relaxation of his body
and the clearing of
his work wearied mind.
considered lower class by most,
he felt fortunate as he watched
his children play –
their small white feet pretty against
brown waves of freshly plowed earth
laying sleek and glistening in the sun.
his heart burned with
the lonely ache beauty sometimes
brought him –
the beauty that came from
the contagion of his children’s devotion
to finding the joy in life every day.
washed over him with
the smell of spring drifting daily
to tease his hopes and
to give a shy promise of
a coming radiance.
he settled against the split rail fence
underneath a weeping willow and
comfort poured all through him
with the relaxation of his body
and the clearing of
his work wearied mind.
considered lower class by most,
he felt fortunate as he watched
his children play –
their small white feet pretty against
brown waves of freshly plowed earth
laying sleek and glistening in the sun.
his heart burned with
the lonely ache beauty sometimes
brought him –
the beauty that came from
the contagion of his children’s devotion
to finding the joy in life every day.
Life As A Slave
their stories are written on the water –
the men and women who were
broken in body, soul, and spirit
by that peculiar institution known as
slavery –
men and women whose names are
lost forever to history,
left only to be whispered by
the lakes and rivers of time.
for these people,
death
was better than the degradation and abuse
suffered during a harsh life lived on
a cotton or sugar cane plantation.
Very violent, sudden
uprisings,
where liberty – not malice – was
the motivation for their work,
were an acceptable, welcomed way to die.
and once finally freed,
these men and women crossed
the length and breadth of
a land which had scorned them.
they walked the land in search of
a promise of freedom and
a chance for a life outside the
bonds of slavery –
a promise meant to go unfulfilled.
the men and women who were
broken in body, soul, and spirit
by that peculiar institution known as
slavery –
men and women whose names are
lost forever to history,
left only to be whispered by
the lakes and rivers of time.
for these people,
death
was better than the degradation and abuse
suffered during a harsh life lived on
a cotton or sugar cane plantation.
Very violent, sudden
uprisings,
where liberty – not malice – was
the motivation for their work,
were an acceptable, welcomed way to die.
and once finally freed,
these men and women crossed
the length and breadth of
a land which had scorned them.
they walked the land in search of
a promise of freedom and
a chance for a life outside the
bonds of slavery –
a promise meant to go unfulfilled.
Familial Sacrifice
made to fear somebody above all else,
he was born for another’s benefit -
firstling of the cabin flock and
selected as a meet offering to
a fearful and inexorable demigod,
whose huge image so haunted
his childhood’s imagination.
she kept him kindly ignorant
of dreaded events about to transpire.
upon that long, tiring journey,
she kept sad facts hidden from him.
he was naïve, innocent – helpless!
and she led him along by the hand,
like the spring lamb to slaughter.
and her gaze lowered, resisting all inquiring looks
with the reserve and solemnity of a priestess.
he was born for another’s benefit -
firstling of the cabin flock and
selected as a meet offering to
a fearful and inexorable demigod,
whose huge image so haunted
his childhood’s imagination.
she kept him kindly ignorant
of dreaded events about to transpire.
upon that long, tiring journey,
she kept sad facts hidden from him.
he was naïve, innocent – helpless!
and she led him along by the hand,
like the spring lamb to slaughter.
and her gaze lowered, resisting all inquiring looks
with the reserve and solemnity of a priestess.
Brothers By Blood
brothers and sisters by blood and
made strangers by slavery –
the domestic hearth with
its lessons and precious endearments
abolished when the end is slavery.
hearing the words brothers and sisters
must mean something –
something of import and value –
but slavery robbed these terms
of their true value to man.
she was gone clean out of sight
without a goodbye or such.
as my heart broke and my will died,
wounded by her grave betrayal,
i lay upon the ground, weeping bitter tears.
i sobbed myself to sleep –
to rest upon the healing wings
of an angel, soaring above
the clouds and earth as
i lay there, fitfully slumbering.
that healing balm –
so warm, so inviting –
was never more welcome
to a wounded soul than
that very first night.
brothers and sisters –
sharing the blood of
one loving mother, having
rested beneath her breasts
and been born from her womb.
now strangers, bound by slavery –
entered into bonds so degrading
no man, woman, child, or animal
should ever experience –
let alone live – a life that way.
made strangers by slavery –
the domestic hearth with
its lessons and precious endearments
abolished when the end is slavery.
hearing the words brothers and sisters
must mean something –
something of import and value –
but slavery robbed these terms
of their true value to man.
she was gone clean out of sight
without a goodbye or such.
as my heart broke and my will died,
wounded by her grave betrayal,
i lay upon the ground, weeping bitter tears.
i sobbed myself to sleep –
to rest upon the healing wings
of an angel, soaring above
the clouds and earth as
i lay there, fitfully slumbering.
that healing balm –
so warm, so inviting –
was never more welcome
to a wounded soul than
that very first night.
brothers and sisters –
sharing the blood of
one loving mother, having
rested beneath her breasts
and been born from her womb.
now strangers, bound by slavery –
entered into bonds so degrading
no man, woman, child, or animal
should ever experience –
let alone live – a life that way.
A Cry For Freedom
what heart could be so hard as
not to be pierced with piteous feelings
to see that company –
that peculiar institution which serves
no greater purpose than to
rob the heart of every gentle disposition,
and to harden it, like steel?
you are loosed from your moorings –
you are free!
i am fast in my chains and am a slave!
you move merrily before the
precious, gentle gale, and
I sadly before the bloody whip.
you are freedom’s sweet swift-winged angels
that fly `round this world.
i am confined in bands of iron.
o, that i were free –
nestled in the mane of the
british lion,
protected by his mighty paw…
safe and free from the
talons and beak of the
american eagle.
not to be pierced with piteous feelings
to see that company –
that peculiar institution which serves
no greater purpose than to
rob the heart of every gentle disposition,
and to harden it, like steel?
you are loosed from your moorings –
you are free!
i am fast in my chains and am a slave!
you move merrily before the
precious, gentle gale, and
I sadly before the bloody whip.
you are freedom’s sweet swift-winged angels
that fly `round this world.
i am confined in bands of iron.
o, that i were free –
nestled in the mane of the
british lion,
protected by his mighty paw…
safe and free from the
talons and beak of the
american eagle.
The Nightmare Begins
waking up never seemed like waking up.
in a way, it always seemed like he was asleep,
just moving from one dream to the next.
and this last dream had been a nightmare.
the jet black hearse gleamed in the
glaring desert sun.
sweat poured from his brow and
he looked at the house in front of him.
“it’s my house,” he cried out,
not sure of what was going on
but fairly sure that he
would not like it at all.
“you’re wrong there,”
a booming voice told him.
“the owner of this house is dead…
killed himself months ago.”
he felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder
and cringed at the weight and coldness.
the hand urged him towards the house
and up the stairs to the sun-blasted door.
the figure behind him handed him a
ring of molded, old keys.
the front door key was a twisted mass
of metal with a skull adorning the end.
he started to tremble as he
slid the key into the door’s lock.
as he turned it, he felt the pins
slid into place with a sickening pop.
the door opened with an ear-piercing screech,
and he jumped… inadvertently into the house.
trying to look back at his mysterious guide,
he felt that heavy hand steer his attention forward.
his footsteps fell loudly on the wooden floor,
echoing throughout the empty house.
he glanced around, noticing the lack
of furniture and other household items.
“yes, the previous owner had a breakdown,”
the voice was telling him,
tugging on his shoulder to turn him around.
“he slashed his own throat.”
he turned slowly around towards the voice
and came face to face with… himself,
the flesh from his throat slashed open
and hanging loosely on his neck.
he screamed and tried to run,
but the hand held him still…
trapping him…
and raised his hand.
a straight razor was in his hand,
open and shining in the afternoon sun.
the ghastly image brought the razor down,
barely missing his throat.
he screamed and tried to fight against his foe…
only to find himself in his bed,
trembling, covered in sweat,
and screaming for his life.
in a way, it always seemed like he was asleep,
just moving from one dream to the next.
and this last dream had been a nightmare.
the jet black hearse gleamed in the
glaring desert sun.
sweat poured from his brow and
he looked at the house in front of him.
“it’s my house,” he cried out,
not sure of what was going on
but fairly sure that he
would not like it at all.
“you’re wrong there,”
a booming voice told him.
“the owner of this house is dead…
killed himself months ago.”
he felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder
and cringed at the weight and coldness.
the hand urged him towards the house
and up the stairs to the sun-blasted door.
the figure behind him handed him a
ring of molded, old keys.
the front door key was a twisted mass
of metal with a skull adorning the end.
he started to tremble as he
slid the key into the door’s lock.
as he turned it, he felt the pins
slid into place with a sickening pop.
the door opened with an ear-piercing screech,
and he jumped… inadvertently into the house.
trying to look back at his mysterious guide,
he felt that heavy hand steer his attention forward.
his footsteps fell loudly on the wooden floor,
echoing throughout the empty house.
he glanced around, noticing the lack
of furniture and other household items.
“yes, the previous owner had a breakdown,”
the voice was telling him,
tugging on his shoulder to turn him around.
“he slashed his own throat.”
he turned slowly around towards the voice
and came face to face with… himself,
the flesh from his throat slashed open
and hanging loosely on his neck.
he screamed and tried to run,
but the hand held him still…
trapping him…
and raised his hand.
a straight razor was in his hand,
open and shining in the afternoon sun.
the ghastly image brought the razor down,
barely missing his throat.
he screamed and tried to fight against his foe…
only to find himself in his bed,
trembling, covered in sweat,
and screaming for his life.
Dreamscape
scattered, helter-skelter images
played across his mind
like a black and white movie.
memories danced in and out
of focus in an unorganized,
hap hazard waltz.
these images were so random
that the logic was no apparent.
logic?
the logic was like those clocks
painted by Salvador Dali—
logic gone so soft that it
laid over the branches of trees
like worn, old throw rugs.
he saw her—
pale, cold, distant—
across the ice of the lake.
he heard a sharp crack
and anxiously looked down.
a wide crack had split the ice
and was making its way
towards her feet.
he cried out, “Look out!”
but it was too late.
the ice cracked out
towards her and
opened up to free water,
swallowing her.
he panicked,
looking for a rope,
a branch,
anything he could use
to pull her out of that
icy grave.
not finding anything,
he turned around to
run towards the house.
a scream escaped his lips
as he came face to face
with the woman who’d just
fallen, her fingers cold as twigs
after a hard frost caressing his cheek.
he froze.
was she dead?was this just her ghost?
he tried to run,
but his legs wouldn’t
carry him having turned to jelly.
he tried to push the
apparition away, but
his arms felt too heavy to move.
she reached out again, this time for his throat,
and he thought he was going to die…
until he awoke in his bed.
he shook of the already hazy memory and
sank into the nothingness of good sleep.
played across his mind
like a black and white movie.
memories danced in and out
of focus in an unorganized,
hap hazard waltz.
these images were so random
that the logic was no apparent.
logic?
the logic was like those clocks
painted by Salvador Dali—
logic gone so soft that it
laid over the branches of trees
like worn, old throw rugs.
he saw her—
pale, cold, distant—
across the ice of the lake.
he heard a sharp crack
and anxiously looked down.
a wide crack had split the ice
and was making its way
towards her feet.
he cried out, “Look out!”
but it was too late.
the ice cracked out
towards her and
opened up to free water,
swallowing her.
he panicked,
looking for a rope,
a branch,
anything he could use
to pull her out of that
icy grave.
not finding anything,
he turned around to
run towards the house.
a scream escaped his lips
as he came face to face
with the woman who’d just
fallen, her fingers cold as twigs
after a hard frost caressing his cheek.
he froze.
was she dead?was this just her ghost?
he tried to run,
but his legs wouldn’t
carry him having turned to jelly.
he tried to push the
apparition away, but
his arms felt too heavy to move.
she reached out again, this time for his throat,
and he thought he was going to die…
until he awoke in his bed.
he shook of the already hazy memory and
sank into the nothingness of good sleep.
Dreams
dreams
are the keys
to unlocking the wonder
in a child’s heart.
dreams
are the keys
to unleashing the power
of a man’s imagination.
dreams
are the keys
to unlocking the burning desire
hidden in a woman’s heart.
dreams
are the keys
to deciphering the obscurity
faced in life.
dreams
are the keys
to unlocking the meaning
of this reality.
are the keys
to unlocking the wonder
in a child’s heart.
dreams
are the keys
to unleashing the power
of a man’s imagination.
dreams
are the keys
to unlocking the burning desire
hidden in a woman’s heart.
dreams
are the keys
to deciphering the obscurity
faced in life.
dreams
are the keys
to unlocking the meaning
of this reality.
Dream (a limerick)
at night as i drifted to sleep and dreamed
things were definitely not as they seemed.
an apple was blue and
my love wasn’t true.
very strange things, these i have deemed.
things were definitely not as they seemed.
an apple was blue and
my love wasn’t true.
very strange things, these i have deemed.
Aurora Borealis
a pale painter’s palette
splashed across a midnight canvas—
it twists and writhes,
emulating the erotic undulations of
the serpent hypnotized by
the rhythmic movements of the charmer’s flute.
its beautiful radiance brightens and flares
like a wild fire burning white hot and unattended.
millions come from far and wide
to watch their ethereal waltz
and gaze upon their classic beauty.
hail aurora borealis,
beacon of the northern skies!
may your brilliance and beauty live on forever.
splashed across a midnight canvas—
it twists and writhes,
emulating the erotic undulations of
the serpent hypnotized by
the rhythmic movements of the charmer’s flute.
its beautiful radiance brightens and flares
like a wild fire burning white hot and unattended.
millions come from far and wide
to watch their ethereal waltz
and gaze upon their classic beauty.
hail aurora borealis,
beacon of the northern skies!
may your brilliance and beauty live on forever.
The Alaskan Flag
A midnight field adorned with
Eight stars of shimmering gold
Represents the hopes of
A dying breed.
This flag represents
The dreams of a state—
Dreams of a living in a small home town;
Dreams of exploring your frontier spirit.
This flag represents
A deep, abiding love—
Love of a pristine environment;
Love of exploration and freedom.
This flag also represents
A never-ending hope—
Hope for a prosperous future;
Hope for a happy life.
A midnight field adorned with
Eight stars of shimmering gold—
Just another state flag to some;
A symbol of a way of life to others.
Eight stars of shimmering gold
Represents the hopes of
A dying breed.
This flag represents
The dreams of a state—
Dreams of a living in a small home town;
Dreams of exploring your frontier spirit.
This flag represents
A deep, abiding love—
Love of a pristine environment;
Love of exploration and freedom.
This flag also represents
A never-ending hope—
Hope for a prosperous future;
Hope for a happy life.
A midnight field adorned with
Eight stars of shimmering gold—
Just another state flag to some;
A symbol of a way of life to others.
Mt. McKinley
rugged, rocky, and quite beautiful.
a snowy mountain paradise—
so close, yet so very far away.
you watch it off in the distance,
waiting for you in all its regal majesty
with the sun, moon, and stars above it—
a most befitting crown for such
a noble vista.
as you keep your silent vigil,
you feel drawn toward it
as many before you have.
vowing someday to conquer the beast,
you feel content to just watch and
dream for today.
a snowy mountain paradise—
so close, yet so very far away.
you watch it off in the distance,
waiting for you in all its regal majesty
with the sun, moon, and stars above it—
a most befitting crown for such
a noble vista.
as you keep your silent vigil,
you feel drawn toward it
as many before you have.
vowing someday to conquer the beast,
you feel content to just watch and
dream for today.
If You've Ever...
“are you crazy,”
the looks seem to shout.
“how can you stand
those harsh, cold winters
year after freezing year?”
i just smile at them—
these unknowing fools—
and pause for a moment
before I tell them about
exactly what they’re missing.
if you’ve ever seen
the clear and endless sea of
an electric blue sky
mere moments before
the coming of dawn;
if you’ve ever seen
the awesome beauty of
a cool, steely snow cloud
lit from below with
the fires of sunrise;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe,
then you’ll understand.
if you’ve ever seen
the majestic wonder of
a towering, snow-capped peak,
so close yet so very far away,
glittering in the early morning light;
if you’ve ever felt
the thrilling sting of cold and
glorious, soul-lifting freedom
of the crisp, cool air
as you glide through the sky;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe,
then you’ll understand.
if you’ve ever felt
that exhilarating rush of adrenaline
as you push your machine to go
faster and faster still
over the powdery trails;
if you’ve ever felt
the youthful excitement and
anxious anticipation of
rushing out to play
in the new fallen snow;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe,
then you’ll understand.
if you’ve ever seen
your breath,
moist and hot,
hanging in the sky like
a small, fragile cloud;
if you’ve ever seen
the clouds part after a storm,
giving way to the soft light
of a dazzling sunset that
reaffirms there is a Heaven;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe,
then you’ll understand.
if you’ve ever seen
the mysterious magic of
a fluffy white cloud,
its tail blurred as if
smudged by a large paintbrush;
if you’ve ever felt
the overwhelming awe of
watching the aurora
twist and move to
its own silent music;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe,
then you’ll understand.
if you’ve ever felt
the total peace and satisfaction
of laying back in the snow
and watching the endlessness of
the twinkling night stars;
if you’ve ever felt
the heart-stopping, exciting chill
of inhaling that
sweet, freezing air
into your warm lungs;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty that surrounds us everyday and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe and contentment that touches your heart,
then you’ll understand why so many people love Alaska in winter.
the looks seem to shout.
“how can you stand
those harsh, cold winters
year after freezing year?”
i just smile at them—
these unknowing fools—
and pause for a moment
before I tell them about
exactly what they’re missing.
if you’ve ever seen
the clear and endless sea of
an electric blue sky
mere moments before
the coming of dawn;
if you’ve ever seen
the awesome beauty of
a cool, steely snow cloud
lit from below with
the fires of sunrise;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe,
then you’ll understand.
if you’ve ever seen
the majestic wonder of
a towering, snow-capped peak,
so close yet so very far away,
glittering in the early morning light;
if you’ve ever felt
the thrilling sting of cold and
glorious, soul-lifting freedom
of the crisp, cool air
as you glide through the sky;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe,
then you’ll understand.
if you’ve ever felt
that exhilarating rush of adrenaline
as you push your machine to go
faster and faster still
over the powdery trails;
if you’ve ever felt
the youthful excitement and
anxious anticipation of
rushing out to play
in the new fallen snow;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe,
then you’ll understand.
if you’ve ever seen
your breath,
moist and hot,
hanging in the sky like
a small, fragile cloud;
if you’ve ever seen
the clouds part after a storm,
giving way to the soft light
of a dazzling sunset that
reaffirms there is a Heaven;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe,
then you’ll understand.
if you’ve ever seen
the mysterious magic of
a fluffy white cloud,
its tail blurred as if
smudged by a large paintbrush;
if you’ve ever felt
the overwhelming awe of
watching the aurora
twist and move to
its own silent music;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe,
then you’ll understand.
if you’ve ever felt
the total peace and satisfaction
of laying back in the snow
and watching the endlessness of
the twinkling night stars;
if you’ve ever felt
the heart-stopping, exciting chill
of inhaling that
sweet, freezing air
into your warm lungs;
if you’ve ever seen
the beauty that surrounds us everyday and
if you’ve ever felt
the awe and contentment that touches your heart,
then you’ll understand why so many people love Alaska in winter.
An Alaskan Winter Morning
brrrr!
you shiver involuntarily as
you gaze at the thermometer.
scratch!
the itchy wool scrapes your skin
as you don your hat and gloves.
whoosh!
heat swirls about your feet
in its effort to escape.
crunch!
your feet tread heavily upon
gentle, new-fallen snow.
r-r-r-r-r!
your engine stutters as
it attempts to roar to life.
swish!
your brush and wipers struggle to
clear your car of falling flakes.
squeal!
your heater sounds its protest as
you crank up the heat.
zap!
a spark bigger than your headlight
jumps out at you as you unplug your car.
silence!
an eerie calm surrounds you as
your car stalls and dies.
curse!
once again, you ponder why you continue
to suffer these alaskan winter mornings.
you shiver involuntarily as
you gaze at the thermometer.
scratch!
the itchy wool scrapes your skin
as you don your hat and gloves.
whoosh!
heat swirls about your feet
in its effort to escape.
crunch!
your feet tread heavily upon
gentle, new-fallen snow.
r-r-r-r-r!
your engine stutters as
it attempts to roar to life.
swish!
your brush and wipers struggle to
clear your car of falling flakes.
squeal!
your heater sounds its protest as
you crank up the heat.
zap!
a spark bigger than your headlight
jumps out at you as you unplug your car.
silence!
an eerie calm surrounds you as
your car stalls and dies.
curse!
once again, you ponder why you continue
to suffer these alaskan winter mornings.
Alaskan Winter Cloud Reunion
blown silently in on the whisper
of a warm, westernly wind,
they fill the clear blue sky—
and our imaginations—
with whimsical musings.
they gather closely about
the full winter moon
like moths drawn to a flame.
these clouds—
fluffy, light, and low—
bask in the moon’s friendly glow
as they whisper exciting tales of
far-off travels and
magical adventures to their friends,
the stars in the sky.
so innocent in nature,
these clouds gather to warn of
something far more sinister—
a blinding winter blizzard.
of a warm, westernly wind,
they fill the clear blue sky—
and our imaginations—
with whimsical musings.
they gather closely about
the full winter moon
like moths drawn to a flame.
these clouds—
fluffy, light, and low—
bask in the moon’s friendly glow
as they whisper exciting tales of
far-off travels and
magical adventures to their friends,
the stars in the sky.
so innocent in nature,
these clouds gather to warn of
something far more sinister—
a blinding winter blizzard.
-60 Degrees
you open the door,
and your breath stops in your throat.
you feel the icy fingers of
jack frost tickle the inside of
your throat as
they reach for your lungs.
you step outside and watch as
your breath hangs in the air
like a tiny cloud.
a small plastic toy blocks your path,
and you kick it,
watching it shatter into a hundred pieces.
this is cold like you’ve never seen—
and like you never want to see again.
and your breath stops in your throat.
you feel the icy fingers of
jack frost tickle the inside of
your throat as
they reach for your lungs.
you step outside and watch as
your breath hangs in the air
like a tiny cloud.
a small plastic toy blocks your path,
and you kick it,
watching it shatter into a hundred pieces.
this is cold like you’ve never seen—
and like you never want to see again.
Dreamland
quiet pillowed clouds –
disjointed memory
screams in the night
you're late
incoherence gives way
shocking vivid scene
screams in the night
you're late
misty shadowed hunger
rips through like a knife
screams in the night
you're late
standing there, lustfully
gleaming in his eyes
screams in the night
you're late
passion embraces
sparks fiercely blind
screams in the night
you're late
hurried breathlessness
whispered passions
screams in the night
you're late
twisted tangled frustrations
blinded by harsh reality
screams in the morning
you're late
disjointed memory
screams in the night
you're late
incoherence gives way
shocking vivid scene
screams in the night
you're late
misty shadowed hunger
rips through like a knife
screams in the night
you're late
standing there, lustfully
gleaming in his eyes
screams in the night
you're late
passion embraces
sparks fiercely blind
screams in the night
you're late
hurried breathlessness
whispered passions
screams in the night
you're late
twisted tangled frustrations
blinded by harsh reality
screams in the morning
you're late
Nightmare
awaken with a jolt as the world comes crashing down
i run from the comfort and safety of my sheltered soul
running fast… faster… faster yet…
running from the threat to my quiet complacency
the corner turns and i stop up short,
confronted face to face by my demons.
whirling, thrashing, fighting just to break free –
biting, scratching, hoping to find a soft spot –
praying, pleading, down on my knees
for the madness to fully retreat
wishing for a coherent thought that will
help me escape from this oddity.
a gentle shake, a soft caress, a feather of a whisper –
these seem out of place in this cruel house of horror;
i tremble, fearing the next touch to be pain.
yet, the next touch is soft, compassionate –
a voice pulling me from the depths –
out of the blinding nightmare that’s captured me.
i run from the comfort and safety of my sheltered soul
running fast… faster… faster yet…
running from the threat to my quiet complacency
the corner turns and i stop up short,
confronted face to face by my demons.
whirling, thrashing, fighting just to break free –
biting, scratching, hoping to find a soft spot –
praying, pleading, down on my knees
for the madness to fully retreat
wishing for a coherent thought that will
help me escape from this oddity.
a gentle shake, a soft caress, a feather of a whisper –
these seem out of place in this cruel house of horror;
i tremble, fearing the next touch to be pain.
yet, the next touch is soft, compassionate –
a voice pulling me from the depths –
out of the blinding nightmare that’s captured me.
Scales
the hard yellow skin now covered
most of his chest and
all of his belly.
it was as ugly and
thickly humped up
as burned tissue.
cracks zigged and zagged
every which way,
deep and black,
shading down to a pinkish-red
deep down there you most definitely
did not want to look.
at first thought,
the cracks were as random
as those in a bomb crater.
after a moment or two,
your helpless eyes
reported a different story.
at each edge,
the hard flesh rose a bit more.
scales –
that was the only thing
to call them.
not fish scales but
great rough reptile scales
like those on a lizard,
'gator or iguana.
most of his chest and
all of his belly.
it was as ugly and
thickly humped up
as burned tissue.
cracks zigged and zagged
every which way,
deep and black,
shading down to a pinkish-red
deep down there you most definitely
did not want to look.
at first thought,
the cracks were as random
as those in a bomb crater.
after a moment or two,
your helpless eyes
reported a different story.
at each edge,
the hard flesh rose a bit more.
scales –
that was the only thing
to call them.
not fish scales but
great rough reptile scales
like those on a lizard,
'gator or iguana.
Shall We Dance...
she glanced across the room and
she saw him standing there...
alone, by the door,
and about to leave.
shall we dance, she wondered?
by the door, all alone,
and dressed to kill,
he caught her eye, and
she softly sighed...
shall we dance, she wondered?
he crossed the room,
moving ever so slow,
stopping here and there
to say hello to someone...
shall we dance, she wondered?
the dj called, "last song,"
and he hadn't approached her yet...
so she demurely sighed and moved
towards the door...
shall we ever dance, she wondered?
stumbling through the crowd,
she ran into someone and
made her excuses,
feeling like a fool
shall we never dance, she wondered?
"excuse me, please,"
a deep voice said from the air above,
"i've seen you from across the room,
and i wanted to ask you..."
shall we dance, she wondered?
she looked up at this stranger –
it was him, the one
she'd seen standing by the door –
holding out his hand to her...
shall we dance, he asked.
she saw him standing there...
alone, by the door,
and about to leave.
shall we dance, she wondered?
by the door, all alone,
and dressed to kill,
he caught her eye, and
she softly sighed...
shall we dance, she wondered?
he crossed the room,
moving ever so slow,
stopping here and there
to say hello to someone...
shall we dance, she wondered?
the dj called, "last song,"
and he hadn't approached her yet...
so she demurely sighed and moved
towards the door...
shall we ever dance, she wondered?
stumbling through the crowd,
she ran into someone and
made her excuses,
feeling like a fool
shall we never dance, she wondered?
"excuse me, please,"
a deep voice said from the air above,
"i've seen you from across the room,
and i wanted to ask you..."
shall we dance, she wondered?
she looked up at this stranger –
it was him, the one
she'd seen standing by the door –
holding out his hand to her...
shall we dance, he asked.
Mentirosa
Glances exchanged across the room,
Fanning the flame of mystery.
Your eyes and lips made promises of tomorrow…
Promises never meant for me.
A whisper in the dark that hovered –
That whisper that warmed my soul –
A whisper of deceit was all it was,
One that carried a heavy toll
In the back of my mind, I’m thinking
This isn’t happening, this can’t be right
But I kept my mouth shut,
Hoping and praying night after night
Alone in a fragment of nothingness
Destroyed by the power of your lies
A fear beyond the possibility of comfort
Unmasks the truth behind your eyes
Took me into your arms with that caress –
Surrounded me in the warmth of your eyes.
Twisted every word until I was possessed
Possessed by the poison of your lies.
Now you’re walking out that door,
Your new lover on your arm,
And I’m left with the pieces of our life –
Your lying did nothing but harm.
In the back of my mind, I’m thinking
This isn’t happening, this can’t be right
But I kept my mouth shut,
Hoping and praying night after night
Alone in a fragment of nothingness
Destroyed by the power of your lies
A fear beyond the possibility of comfort
Unmasks the truth behind your eyes
Fanning the flame of mystery.
Your eyes and lips made promises of tomorrow…
Promises never meant for me.
A whisper in the dark that hovered –
That whisper that warmed my soul –
A whisper of deceit was all it was,
One that carried a heavy toll
In the back of my mind, I’m thinking
This isn’t happening, this can’t be right
But I kept my mouth shut,
Hoping and praying night after night
Alone in a fragment of nothingness
Destroyed by the power of your lies
A fear beyond the possibility of comfort
Unmasks the truth behind your eyes
Took me into your arms with that caress –
Surrounded me in the warmth of your eyes.
Twisted every word until I was possessed
Possessed by the poison of your lies.
Now you’re walking out that door,
Your new lover on your arm,
And I’m left with the pieces of our life –
Your lying did nothing but harm.
In the back of my mind, I’m thinking
This isn’t happening, this can’t be right
But I kept my mouth shut,
Hoping and praying night after night
Alone in a fragment of nothingness
Destroyed by the power of your lies
A fear beyond the possibility of comfort
Unmasks the truth behind your eyes
The Warrior
For the warrior,
Tradition consists of light
Mixed with darkness…
Religion with truth…
Love with duty…
Spiritualism with the tangible.
They know all too well
Spirituality is best manifested
On the ground—
Not in the air.
Rapturous day-dreams…
Flights of heavenly fancy…
Longings of corporeal body
Are less expensive,
Less expressive than
The plain doing of duty.
Yet the true warrior chooses
A path with heart…
Any path with heart and
Follows it;
He rejoices and laughs,
Intoxicated with the ecstasy of joy.
He sees that nothing is more important than
Living life in this very instant for
His life may well end at any moment.
To grow higher, deeper, wider
As the years go on;
To conquer difficulties,
Acquiring more and more spiritual power;
To feel all one's faculties unfolding, and
Truth descending into the soul…
This makes life worth living.
Tradition consists of light
Mixed with darkness…
Religion with truth…
Love with duty…
Spiritualism with the tangible.
They know all too well
Spirituality is best manifested
On the ground—
Not in the air.
Rapturous day-dreams…
Flights of heavenly fancy…
Longings of corporeal body
Are less expensive,
Less expressive than
The plain doing of duty.
Yet the true warrior chooses
A path with heart…
Any path with heart and
Follows it;
He rejoices and laughs,
Intoxicated with the ecstasy of joy.
He sees that nothing is more important than
Living life in this very instant for
His life may well end at any moment.
To grow higher, deeper, wider
As the years go on;
To conquer difficulties,
Acquiring more and more spiritual power;
To feel all one's faculties unfolding, and
Truth descending into the soul…
This makes life worth living.
Soul Redeemer
Dancing around the black flames,
Feel this sensation of death…
Unholy passion...
Hot blood on my mouth,
I feel your soul inside me
I'm your pleasure...
Your suffering.
Night without moon,
Obscure clouds in the sky
Whispers from twilight
A coldness freezes my heart...
That breath of horror
I'm your nightmare…
Your damnation.
Through sight, sound, and
Faceless agony
Down endless corridors,
A halo of blazing light ablaze —
Enthrone the dark angel.
I’m your savior…
Your soul redeemer.
Feel this sensation of death…
Unholy passion...
Hot blood on my mouth,
I feel your soul inside me
I'm your pleasure...
Your suffering.
Night without moon,
Obscure clouds in the sky
Whispers from twilight
A coldness freezes my heart...
That breath of horror
I'm your nightmare…
Your damnation.
Through sight, sound, and
Faceless agony
Down endless corridors,
A halo of blazing light ablaze —
Enthrone the dark angel.
I’m your savior…
Your soul redeemer.
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