Writers Who Have To...

To Survive

2011-01-09T06:11:00.000-08:00

TO SURVIVE
(1-9-11)

The last 4 and a half months,
are a blur to me.
I've delved back into the darkness,
and survived.
I saw my self morph into that person,
I didn't like,
again.
It happens so quickly,
I realize now,
If I let it.
I let it,
and,
am in recovery once again.
Stopping isn't hard.
It's the changes to your body,
and your mind,
that are hard.
The dreams,
The raw emotion,
The restlessness,
The longing,
The pins and needles,
The inability to focus.
Moving on is the path,
I have to take,
If I am to survive,
in this wilderness,
That I've created for myself.
People ask me if I'll do it again.
I don't know,
I say.
People ask me why I've stopped.
The not so simple answer,
I reply,
is,
To Survive.

Thinking About It

2010-12-19T15:17:00.001-08:00

Thinking About It

12-19-2010

I’ve been thinking about this life.

It feels as though I’m stagnant.

Though life continues on around me,

I feel alone,

stuck in this holding position,

Until something happens.

Am I a conduit,

For the chaos that swirls around me?

Or, a conduit,

For the life that swirls around it?

I try to be the nicest person I can be,

Some see me wrestling with that,

With the chaos inside me.

Some would call it personal demons,

Some would call it drama,

Some would call it regrets.

I call it,

Self.

I’m just me.

Not above reproach,

Not above mistakes,

Not above regret,

Nor Forgiveness.

I’m ready for it to happen,

It will happen soon,

I can feel it.

Yea,

I’ve been thinking about this life,

I’ve been thinking about it.

Creators of our circumstance

2010-03-02T17:43:00.000-08:00

I once read a quote,

I can't remember who wrote,

It was something to ponder,

It really made me wonder.

When I chose my mate

Did I choose my fate?

Knowing he wasn't the fittest

Should've known to regret it?

Do I regret the time we had?

That does make me glad.

Wishing always for more,

It still makes my heart sore.

Can someone control their love?

Where does it come from, up above?

Pierces through your soul

Entwines two to the core.

One gets ripped to soon,

Shooting back up to the moon.

Up to the stars, into the heavens,

Leaving me here in my oblivion.

If I had thought to seek

Similar to me,

It would alleviate the fate

Of making my husband late.

Good Enough

2010-02-22T09:40:00.000-08:00

I write, I edit, I think,

People don't realize,

Or stop to even blink,

That I maybe humanized.

A blonde I may be,

To see what they desire,

But most don't see me,

Yet, I do grow tired.

Will I ever be good enough?

Always second best it seems,

Never the one thought of,

On the Day of Valentines.

Don't know what's wrong,

A good person is worth a risk,

When a person has fallen,

In love with another, it's sick.

When the other doesn't think,

You are as special,

As you might feel your instinct,

Before you hit hard from the fall.

10r Wfe

2010-01-29T10:46:00.001-08:00

For a long while, now, I've been thinking about adding the title of this entry to my car in way of a vanity license plate. Hardly few would 'get' it, however, and is it really worth the extra bit of money to publicize in a road worthy medium my very real status as 'Tenor Wife'? As a highly regarded publicist recently told me, seventy-five per cent of Americans probably wouldn't even know what a tenor was. That's rather discouraging. Must we lump sopranos, mezzos, baritones, basses and, of course, tenors in one common pile - opera singers? Does it really do justice? I fear it doesn't. That's why I heartily believe opera must somehow become part of our daily lives again, in respect to the masses or that seventy-five per cent of Americans.

Opera is still highly regarded in Europe, however minimalist the productions may be, updated, modernized and sometimes ridiculously staged, it is still a pastime among Europeans, old and young. The state pays for their theaters, which ensures their livelihoods. In recent times many houses in the United States have closed and those that haven't may be facing bankruptcy. It's a sad, sorry state to lose something so beautiful, so timeless and precious due to unavailable and/or meager funding.

To suffer for one's art has always been a requisite for any artist. Painters, musicians and writers alike have all at one time or another starved for the benefit of their work - or starved because their work yielded little to no income. Which brings us back to that license plate. I am the wife of a tenor. We've had many prosperous years but the down times are hideous and debilitating. Even with the bio that my husband has behind him, at the beginning of last season he lost nearly 60 performances due to cut backs. This, my dears, was in Europe! The houses he had been contracted with decided it would be more financially secure to have their 'fest' (in house) singers perform the operas instead of hiring out guests, which happened to be just what Emmanuel was, freelancing his way through Europe. It was a hard blow. The mortgage, car payment plus two little boys to care for was crippling enough without the losses - with them, it was nearly impossible to survive. We decided to start our website, henceforth, http://musicforahome.com, in order to generate income and save our beloved Southern California home from foreclosure. Emmanuel worked tirelessly on his debut album, 'From the Bottom of My Heart' - the sales of which would hopefully keep us in the green. I hit every major news market, tried and tried to drum up interest. I was able to have a few bites from local news agencies but nothing that would propel us to the next level.

We are still very much in the red. Fortunately, Emmanuel had made a good friend and contact with the head of an opera house in Poznan, Poland, and he called at the eleventh hour, offering several performances at a reasonable fee. Bielefeld followed suit as well as the Caramoor festival in NY this summer (headed by Will Crutchfield, another of Emmanuel's friends and invaluable contact). With all of this, he sees us only a few times a year for short intervals. He has a hard time coping with being away and not experiencing our little boys' milestones and growing up. But, we cannot complain for some of his colleagues - many with established names in the opera community are scrounging for work as waiters and have all but given up their hopes and dreams of singing. And, yes, we are still in foreclosure. What will tomorrow bring? I feel if I don't stay optimistic, all will crumble under us. As artists, we persevere through the most difficult of times, for our art, love and our lives.

Can it be?

2010-01-14T13:00:00.000-08:00

People can be one,

People can be some,

Close for a time,

Always going sublime.

Confusing you, making you think,

They love you, then it stinks,

Turn your back,

The love then lacks.

Trying to twist your fate,

for the worse,

Thinking it will make them great,

Only bringing on a curse.

A curse for the wicked,

To live a life of evil,

Always unfulfilled and sickened,

Maybe one day, will be a believer.

They will have happiness,

Within themselves,

Not from a Prince or Princess,

Or things that can be put on shelves.

Look into your souls,

That is where it can be,

What is this goal?

True happiness, you silly..

Boob Tube

2010-01-09T02:24:00.001-08:00

Marty believed that his success could only be measured by three things: One, a career - not a job, mind you, a career, two, a good relationship with his mother and, three, a healthy, vibrant sex life. At fifty, things weren't adding up. Marty had the career, his evil, bitch of a mother was long dead and he had a marriage with twenty-five years of great sex (perhaps, servitude) behind him, coupled with three beautiful, intelligent daughters. For all intents and purposes, from the Bird's Eye View, all was successful, all was well.

But what Marty really wanted was a TV.

A rough patch developed between his youngest daughter and her boyfriend. Marty felt inclined to impart his wisdom to the boy. He took the C train and no more than two buses to the boy's railroad apt. set high on Central Park West. It was a walk up, six floors and, out of breath, Marty kicked aside the stoned artist on the top stair. He approached the avocado flavored door, covered in nicks and scratches, knocked and emerged (yeah, through the looking glass) into WONDERLAND. Carroll had nothing on this place.

The face, framed by thick dark hair, eyes alight with youth, did not deter Marty's focus. He sank into a worn yet plush chair - the kind someone looking for immortality would replace with a piece much more streamline and modern, giving perfection a pauper's burial, unceremoniously left to rot on the corner of 117th and Riverside Dr. The kind of chair young dreams are made of.

Marty took a moment to look around. Next to him, on a makeshift table of cardboard, he spied a series of randomly placed remote controls. He could hear the boy speaking but could not decipher the sound. The lure of the Queen of Hearts was too profound. He stared at the epicenter of the railroad - a gleaming 52 inch LCD flat screen.

How could he ever go back to his 28 inch tube?

"Could you put the game on?" He heard himself mutter, as if in a dream.

Later that evening, when the bottle marked 'Drink Me' had been drained, he took the buses and the train back to his brownstone. The East Side had its pleasures but there was a high price to pay.

Marty removed his coat, hung it on the cheap, metal rack adorning the inside of the small closet door as he had a million times before. He reached into his pocket, felt around for the stowaway keys and dropped them into that fussy, little dish Judy insisted on. Marty, with every being of his soul crying out, tread with heavy feet into his living room and picked up the black remote with the thick, clicky buttons. Judy was upstairs. He didn't bother waking her. Marty fell asleep in the doldrums of an 'I Love Lucy' he had watched a thousand times before.

Patterns of sunlight fell through the plantation shutters. That stupid, salt and peppered kid had forecast rain but it was clear and bright. Marty clicked the top right button on the box that was assaulting his hand. He looked around. Six pairs, right there, in the box near the kitchen. Four more on a low shelf in the hall. Shoes. Prada, Louboutin, Gucci. Struck by a truth as sharp and deliberate as lightning, Marty found his waking legs and pounded the stairs.

"What is wrong with you?" Judy was pleading. Marty couldn't help but notice that even just rolling out of bed, her hair was still perfectly coiffed.

"What's wrong with me?!" Marty's question was rhetorical as he pulled shoebox after shoebox, most embossed with gold labeling. "What the hell do you think is wrong with me, Judy, huh? FUCK!" He returned to his pillaging, "one after another," Marty yelled, continuing, " I worked my ass off! I established myself as a cocksucker! I became an enemy to my friends and colleagues, for what? So you could have the best collection of designers, immortalized by the inseams of your damn shoes?"

"Marty!" Judy screamed, pleading, "please... I..." But Marty had no ears for it.

He ran down to the kitchen, threw open the pantry door, grabbed a GLAD bag and headed back upstairs, to the closet.

"What are you doing?!" Judy shrieked through tears. "No! Please, don't take the Prada boots! NO! I love those! Please! I can't wear my green suit without those! WAIT!"

Marty refused to hear her protests.

"So many shoes," he swore, "so many damn pairs of shoes! I could have had a flat screen if it weren't for all of these damn shoes!"

A free man is a successful man, Marty finally realized. It probably wouldn't have hit him if he hadn't run across an electronics store on 102nd that just happened to be going out of business. With only his coat and his wallet, his keys left sitting placidly in that stupid china, Marty entered, pointed and left to his studio apartment, utterly alone, wearing a smile even the Cheshire Cat would envy.

Fragments (Unfinished, unedited, first draft)

2010-01-08T10:42:00.000-08:00

"You are a tailored polyester suit, a Cubic zirconia set in platinum, a Frolex, for Christ's sake."

"A Frolex? What's a Frolex?"

"A fake Rolex. A knock off, you imbecile."

"You know, you're one-hundred per cent wrong. I'm nothing if I'm not a man of substance. Take into account my success-"

"-Monetary success."

"-Yeah, so?"

"So? That's precisely why I call you a Frolex. Listen, ever since you were little you've connived and manipulated. To what end? You've failed in everything besides your career."

"Entirely untrue. I haven't failed. They've failed me, time and time again. Take Prussia, for starters, lets go way back!"

She was a beauty, that long blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. More curves than an Austrian summit... and stupid. Utterly vapid. Birds would nest in her brain. She thought their chirping was an army of men bent on driving her insane, pushing the unlock buttons on their key less entry devices. As long as she didn't speak much (thankfully her bad English was peppered with unknown Norse dialects and wasn't understood, anyway) she was a thing to behold. That Troy bitch, Helen, had nothing on Prussia. I chased her for the better part of two years. When she finally agreed, I picked her up and couldn't contain my desire. She was a sight to behold in a too short red dress and plunging neckline.

Sitting at the drive-in, I began to devour the beauty. Yeah, I was hard with teenage lust and felt confined in my fly. I opened up and received my first real, albeit partial, blow job. My hands scoured her back, I yanked the zipper and peeled her right out of all that red, exposing an enormous, silver bra, clasped in the center by a five digit combination lock. It winked at me in the gleam of the projector's light.

'What!' I shrieked, lurching back. 'What the hell is that?!'

'Oh!' She answered as happily as ever, 'this, my father makes me this! He likes to say boy cannot get to boobies, boy does not want to get to yum-yum.'

"That didn't happen."

"It absolutely did so happen."

"Nesting birds in her brain? A combination locked chastity bra?"

"You think I'd make this up? Prussia was nuttier than all three of my wives put together. And her dad, no offense to primates, was a gorilla."

"There you go again."

"There I what again?"

"You're establishing an existence based solely on imagination. Remember, Fro, I was there. Miss Prussia despised you. She considered you below ferret quality, right between a rat and horseshit. She was definitely not stupid, either. If you recall, she had that thick, sexy Norwegian accent which you found irresistible. You couldn't handle her rejection. She refused to coddle that enormous ego and you retaliated by creating a fantasy where she was a wretch and you the heroic, if not misunderstood, victor. Yeah, it's a hilarious story and fit in your second novel quite nicely but reality? Only in your warped sense of it. The only life a chastity bra like that would have, would be on paper and even then, it would only stand as a metaphor of your distant longing and her blatant rejection. No matter what you did, you couldn't get in."

"See? That's what you know! Her dad hand crafted that thing, paying, night after night, into his obsession with his daughter's virginity. Shit. What are you even doing here? You haven't showed yourself in at least five years. Why the visit, why now?"

"You really have to ask?"

"...yes, I really have to ask."

"Christ, Fro-"

"Stop calling me that."

"Would you prefer I call you Dick?"

"Dick? DICK! C'mon, Colby, if you please."

"You're a squat catholic from Brooklyn, you were a freakin' altar boy, for Chrissakes! Dick, Richard, your birthname is rather suitable, doncha' think? Your parents obviously did. Good enough for their lips to utter, good enough for mine. Even Dick is a lie, however, and for only the sole purpose of my own enjoyment, I'll continue with Fro. Now, think back, brilliant, what happened five years ago?"

"I met Linda."

"You met Linda, yup."

"Ok, oh wise sage, what the hell does meeting my third wife have anything to do with your return?"

"Oh, man, you are thick. You still refuse to see. You refuse to understand. Meeting Linda was the catalyst for my departure, not my return. You finally had something real. She was not a caricature, drawn from the pages of your incessant imaginary worlds. She was as real as any of the hookers you've spent your fortune on, only she gave you something tangible, meaningful and I finally felt confident enough in your choice to take that long needed vacations. Brother, I explored among Mayan ruins, tasted the sweet nectar of the Italian vineyards, swam with dolphins in the Keyes and studied philosophy among the ancients in Greece, all while you basked in the glory of your one, healthy relationship. But, and there's always a but, no matter how big, I'm back to tell you I've had enough of your self destruction. After all, you go... I go."

"So, I'm to blame, then? As you just confessed, you were off gallivanting and had no idea what that marriage turned into. She went cold, sickly fucking sour cold."

"She went cold? That's it? That's your excuse?"

"It's not an excuse, DOC, it's fact. Do your homework next time."

"...Doc, huh, heh, that makes me laugh, a little, and makes me want to vomit endlessly. Fro, I wouldn't be here if that was the whole truth. But, just like your mind, your reality is fragmented. Three words: Linda's Little Sister."

"Joanie? So? I craved her! A dull, lackluster marriage would derail even the most stoic monogamist!"

"You're lying, again. You couldn't resist Joanie's full lips or long, curly red hair. You practically drooled over her at their father's funeral. You seduced her, began an affair and dear Linda, stable, loving, gentle Linda grew cold only in response. What more could you expect?"

"You're right because No Man could have resisted. I acted as anyone else."

"What, by fucking her in their parents' house, the eve of the funeral in Linda's bed? If that's not putting a loaded gun to your head, I don't know what is."

"Cleverly dramatic, eh? For your information... I despise guns."

"And when Linda and their Great Aunt Mary came up to see what all the noise was about, you had the audacity to humiliate her further by claiming you and Joanie were practicing nude Calisthenics!"

"It was a popular fad!"

"STOP! Stop right there-"

"What the hell is this? Are you channeling a Dickensian character? Oh, spirit, show me the way so I can change before I'm doomed to Eternal Damnation!"

"You don't believe in Eternal Damnation."

"Right. So what's the point of this walk down Ghosts of Fucks Past Lane?"

"Because you enjoy self destruction. You are only satisfied when you're royally screwing yourself and the hapless women around you. I don't want to fucking disappear. Like I said, Einstein, you go, I go and I'm not ready to go. Fro, you're missing a very important piece of the puzzle, here."

"Well, you're not an invisible six-foot, three-and-one-half-inch tall rabbit, but I get your point. Linda was great. I know. I often return to that wonderful night when the skyscrapers were hidden by a fuming blizzard. Electricity had faltered all over the city and we hunkered down under Great Aunt Mary's heavy quilt. We read Plato by candlelight, drank ourselves silly with red wine and dined on fine cheese and grapes."

"You reflect on that evening because it embodies your romanticism. Once the lights turned on, however, you threw the quilt aside, got up and meandered behind your monitor for five hours, never giving a second thought to Linda."

How To Lose A Demon-Free Serial Romance

2009-09-12T11:49:00.000-07:00

Don’t ever let anyone tell you that being a witch will make your life easier. It’s about as fun as a visit to a drunken Proctologist. It’s my own fault, I suppose. I am the one that summoned the demon.

You must understand that Michael drove me to it. He’s my still kind of hot, but completely evil, Russian mobster ex-boyfriend. He’s stolen our son and wants me to sacrifice myself so he can buy his demonhood before he’ll give him back. I figured what better way to get him back than by summoning a demon?

Well, that presented its own bag of problems. I didn’t get just any demon. I got Caspian, a Crown Prince of Hell who didn’t want my soul, but wanted me to ride his pitchfork like a scooter, if you get my drift. Maybe it’s more like a Harley. I have to confess that it’s still a beautiful piece of machinery even though it hasn’t been out of the garage since 1972. You know, the devil-shagging gothics were all the rage then.

Anyway, Michael is plagued by all sorts of punishment. Demonic crabs, explosive diarrhea during the opera that’s nothing short of Hiroshimic and a reanimated hooker. Michael murdered her and she’s found sweet revenge as a Dominatrix demon in the afterlife. All of which drive him to the conclusion that I did summon a demon and while singing Are You Lonesome Tonight in my ear, tells me I have ten days to get rid of the demon or he’s going to kill our son.

I’m not sure how to get rid of him. I contemplated bad sex, that makes almost anything male go away, but I decided that would have to be the centerpiece jewel in the Hurts Me More Than You crown.

The cast of characters includes my grandmother, Seraphim, who just happens to be a legendary witch known as the Baba Yaga. And you know how that devil shagging was all the rage? Well, she knows the Devil personally. He might be my grandfather. He’s a remnant from the old pantheon days and still likes to be called Hades. It’s just a job to him, really. He’s not too happy that someone in his employ is having his sulphuric way with his granddaughter though. He’s willing to tolerate it because Caspian starts to grow a heart, a very uncomfortable transformation for all involved.

Ultimately, it’s the key to my happily ever after. The road to one of those is never easy, but banter, smutty Mephistophelean contracts and hijinks ensue.

~Grace Stegaria

Want to learn more about Grace and Caspian's adventures? Sign up for your free and spamless textnovel account here: www.tinyurl.com/LoseADemon If you like what you read, click on the little thumbs up to vote for my story and the cell phone icon if you'd like to be notified when I update. Every vote is manna from heaven because it gets me closer to publishing with Dorchester.

Plus, if you email me through textnovel after you vote with your email, I will send you a free pdf of my novella, The Binding.

I am the creator

2009-08-09T15:13:00.000-07:00

Some sit back

Some sit and lack,

Some sit to think,

Some sit to blink.

Most use the brain,

In a matter of frame,

Psychomotor or cognitive,

Few brilliant and superlative.

To prevail is desired,

Since birth 'til retired,

Work we must

From dawn until dusk.

Achievement is in front,

Create and originate: the gut,

To go with the flow,

Then you will never know.

The Truth will Prevail

2009-08-09T14:49:00.001-07:00

I know what you did
Current mood: jedi
Category: Writing and Poetry

The truth is out there,

I know what you did,

I know you don't care,

A conscience is not in your head.

Most of us try to do good,

Torment is your pleasure,

Smiling the best you could

To grasp the treasure.

Only to rid of it,

To hurt the one

Who's hard work

And justice goes undone.

God is up there,

ONe day all truths come

To those who really care

About respect and everyone.

WE'll see, I don't know if I can wait

2009-08-09T14:33:00.000-07:00

Try and try do we,

Few selected will triumph,

Maybe just not meant to be,

Situations just seem to disgust.

Builds character, they say,

Working hard and for what?

To be stripped and it slips away,

For arrogance to bully up.

Does karma really exist?

Do workers get a fair share?

Or do the schemers really live?

While others have the world to bare?

Very few is justice done,

The world is getting so corrupt.

I don't like this dungeon,

This world that has become inept.

Jasmine

2009-06-25T04:57:00.000-07:00

Mother always protected
Poor Jasmine and her locks
As a child, easy to contain
With books and dolls and pretty frocks.
As a teenager, Jasmine was vain
Always in front of the mirror,
Brush in hand,
Taking care of those beautiful locks.

One day, looking past the crowd,
Jasmine spies enigmatic dark eyes
Hiding under an even darker shroud.
Using her spies,
She learns of his name
Intrigue turns into crush
Learning he was just as vain.

Passing notes back and forth,
Love blossoms for the two youth.
He attempts to court,
knocking at her door.

Mother answers and slams it shut,
not wanting to believe her beloved was grown.
Poor Jasmine is cut
from ever knowing if her love could be sewn.

Jasmine’s heart hardens,
she turns emboldens.

As the night flower blooms,
the air heady with romance,
the dark haired beauty walks out of her room,
forgetting to turn off the lamp
nor saying goodbye to Mother or me.

It’s said that on certain summer nights,
When the flowers bloom
You’ll be greeted by such a site
Of a girl with long black hair
And slender white limbs
So pretty and fair,
Lingering among the flowers,
A sad smile on her face.

Shamless Self-Pimpage

2009-06-20T12:01:00.000-07:00

HOW TO LOSE A DEMON IN 10 DAYS It's a free read, come check it out! I'll return the favor. Connect with me on facebook www.facebook.com/SarannaDeWylde.

Dumbass

2009-02-27T12:06:00.001-08:00

Man, the screen is full of muck

pencil scribblings etched in the soft display

finger prints, ciggy ash and beer droplets obscure the printed words

time for a rapid cleaning.

I've lost the user's guide, however

can't get by without viewing the contents table.

It's obtuse yet revered and laced with memories

bygone and ridiculous

genuine and pure

a conglomerate of bullshit and piety.

Bricks stacked up against us,

not really, though

that's the rhetoric that keeps me sane.

I'm stacked up against it all, destroying everything in its path

because I'm nothing if I'm not a martyr.

Without that book, I'm really screwed.

You see I can't seem to find the cable

the one that fits just right.

I've tried but bottles full of forget do their job

and my lousy actions stick to your fly paper.

And now I'm downing liquid regret,

washing all that history away.

holy shit

2009-02-27T12:03:00.001-08:00

A walk down that stupid lane

took me right back to that time, again.

(I can finally see what was at hand)

I was too blind back then,

to even comprehend.

My expectations, too great

my sight, too unseeing

I put you in a dark hole

and tromped upon the opening.

Apologies and words

are flighty and futile

I am left empty and pondering-

I set the wrong rule.

Can I beg? Would it be

the one thing finally?

(Words poured like water upon sand)

Now that I can see

exactly what you were writing?

We laid it out

you and me

crazy fucks

couldn't we see?

Oh, I am sorry

I feel it desperately

(So much more than I could stand)

Now that I can finally see

exactly what you were writing.

Changes?

2008-12-08T10:41:00.000-08:00

What happens now?

The resentments seem to come

I don't know how, but

They make me all numb.

Decisions to make,

With this, Do I try?

Eat all of this, the cake?

Or just make the hunk cry?

He claims it's non committal,

But wants exclusivity,

This makes me non complacent

He just calls me crazy.

Talking didn't work,

Things just stopped.

Then we acted like jerks,

Until we blew our tops!

Figure it out and let me know!

I have to pack my stuff,

and back to Phoenix I'll go.

So he said in a huff.

He told me what,

I told "So What, too."

We figured we had too much,

Too much to lose.

Revelation

2008-11-23T18:08:00.000-08:00

Revelation

your words to me lack lustre

they sparkle for another now

i see them hanging in the air

like glitter

between the two of you

i am powerless

against the onslaught of

hurt, despair and

most of all

anger

glowing in my chest

like an ember

Howdy Folks!

2008-11-10T11:06:00.001-08:00

I just thought I'd let you know that I'm no longer on Myspace...

I do have a new blog on here though if you want to keep in touch.

If you're interested, please email me at dudemovie@gmail.com

Thanks, and have a wonderful day! :)

cheers

2008-07-24T12:18:00.000-07:00

Time, clearly, has driven out the demons

you've been exorcised righteously

bathed in the virgin water that sanctified and clarified and, yeah, completely satisfied.

Those baptismal currents flowed deep through my purpose -

I could not move forward until it was upheld

And now your winged bastards are laughing from the sidelines at my idiocy and falsehood.

Was I really that hard to read?

Paper tongue mindlessly spewing

burnt offerings of kind sentiments.

Jovial nostalgia, I couldn't let THAT go.

No, I knew the whole time

the game was mine to play

but you followed too closely

listened too well

and all of a sudden

the dice are missing,

the banker is corrupt and the bank is going bankrupt

and I've lost nearly all the pieces of plastic, houses and cards

and scissors and cardboard can only go so far

and our wooden foundation has rotted through to the core

what for?

... there is no where else to go from here...

darling...cheers.

2008-07-24T08:20:00.000-07:00

The new one is for me,

Alive, refreshing and free

Non committal is he,

For my sake, we'll see.

Could it be done,

To start again?

To turn back the sun

when my time began?

Boring are some,

Hiding a habit

does he think I'm dumb?

I need to stab it.

Wanting to bunk

with no commitments

Of course, the hunk

that has no limits.

To be free of stress

LIve a life of youth

Vitality to encompass

If only I knew total truth.

Never an another

2008-04-19T20:02:00.000-07:00

Here I type on this blog spot,

The other it may be seen,

by the ones I care not

to be in on this scene.

Some things I need to let out,

The previous poem was clear

Of what it was all about

The things we hold dear.

The more people I meet

The more people I know

It would a great feat

To bring the high to low.

Wanting and yearning,

The only true way

Is with age and learning

That there will become a day.

The time to join the missed,

To reap the rewards,

Or have we just been dissed?

Earthbound as cowards?

A nothing to store,

a spec of dust,

Nothing more,

than part of a crust.

Will there be life ever after?

Peaceful, unlike the vampires?

Blissful, spiritual and Holy

Like the girls around a campfire?

Why do I talk to them still?

Am I crazy, INsane?

Do they talk to me at will?

Do you think it'll rain?

I need answers,

Will I go somewhere

If I am eaten by panthers?

Does anyone care?

I miss who I miss,

I have who I have,

All have some of one,

One had all of some.

Maybe one day,

There will be one,

To make me happy,

As some to be as one.

Deep Water Friends

2008-04-07T13:17:00.000-07:00

DEEP WATER FRIENDS
(4-5-08)

Deep Waters,
Shade the sadness within.
So much pain,
Seen and Unseen.
Confusion and Regret,
Altering reality,
All part of her being.
So much in Common,
So much unforseen,
She carries her life,
With Great Burden.
I’m not going to save her,
I’m not in that business anymore.
She’ll save herself,
Through the Samson I know dwells inside her.
When the smile and laughter,
Come out of the Clouds,
It lifts both our souls.
If only for a moment,
The Deep Waters Brighten,
And the Friendship itself,
Deepens.

2008-03-25T18:06:00.000-07:00

One, two, three
Look at me!
I have too much in store
But I always want more.

Not one can suffice,
sill not all can either,
However hard to entice
Still wanting neither.

Living life in its grandiere,
Holding on to everything dear.
You never live twice,
That is the greatest fear.

Get it while you can,
missing the opportunities,
the ones from the past,
Regrets will haunt your day to last.

Destiny will prevail,
If meant to be,
Or settle to be real,
From one not three.

Dust in the Wind

2008-03-01T16:39:00.001-08:00

People come, born
Into our lives
Most are adorn

To fade away
Into oblivion
Among the world
We are still living in.

Not knowing what has become
What they are,
If they are even one.

The next chapter follows.
With anticipation expects.
Too what it always allows,
from the realms of the suspects.

We must plant the seeds,
In which we will harvest.
In fact it will indeed
Be the truth of the invest.

Hoping and competing
Everything is a sport
Where everyone is stampeding
To wear white in the court.

Cross your fingers for me!

2008-02-18T12:17:00.000-08:00

I finished a query letter for a novel I finished editing Saturday, and I submitted it to a prestigious New York literary agency. I really hope this goes well, and felt it worth sharing with my fellow writers. =)
TTFN

wwht... on Lock Down!

2008-02-17T23:09:00.000-08:00

Recently I've discovered that the internet is, indeed, a frightening place. You never can tell who someone really is when they're sitting behind a monitor.

I've run across some pretty bizarre behavior recently and, I'm sad to say, because of it I have to lock down wwht...

Only the authors are allowed to view this blog.

If any of you have any questions, leave a comment here or send a message to me through MySpace. Don't hesitate to ask for even a second!

river

2008-02-08T18:42:00.001-08:00

It must be very easy for you

to always play to the river,

to just brush it all aside,

at the final moment.

Like running a hand through your thick, dark hair

before another chip is thrown.

Do you see me as I see me?

An equal player, deserving of my buy in?

I can match you, I won't fold.

I hardly proceed with trepidation.

So then, how is it so easy?

Is it the game you like to play?

Is it in the cards you draw

from your magicians wrist?

That flick of the wrist

so quick

so slight

and you're gone, poof.

And I'm left applying glue

to your house of cards.

Why does it get prolonged so?

We should have folded

and backed away from the table

but we get so involved, it becomes a disgusting display

and we always play

to the river.

GREETINGS ALL!

2008-02-03T09:57:00.000-08:00

Just letting you all know I'm still around!
I have some news about myself I thought I'd share.
As of a couple days ago, I have completed the first draft of my book entitled "Death By Mistress"!
I'm excited to have finally finished it, and am working on editing and rewriting.
Now, I just have to find a publisher worthy of my talent. (LOL)
Hope ya'll have a wonderful superbowl Sunday!

D.

f(r)iend

2008-02-01T12:11:00.000-08:00

A wrinkle on your finely tailored shirt,

A fly on your vast white-washed wall.

Fine, I'll sit and behave and merely observe, as usual.

Don't boast to me anymore, however

Don't lift yourself to heavenly heights that you cannot possibly reach.

Don't become the despised and hated one.

Remember, I'm observing

It may be a mere gesture

but its usefulness extends beyond

what your narrow mind is capable of.

You can drink all the wine you'd like

flaunt your so-so society wares and

fake it all, if you want

just stop doing it in front of me.

I have my ways.

I never pretended to be nice.

It may come back to you, ten fold.

Vigilante.

2008-01-25T03:34:00.000-08:00

we've given up.
the hurly-burly is done,
but the battle was lost.
the scarred battlefield
is strewn with the corpses of
soldiers mindlessly sent to death.
this skirmish was a Holocaust;
those lost were innocent.
the faces of pure children
lay mottled in the field
where blood was spilled like rain.
there's no point anymore
in their fighting the inevitable.
we must submit to the
vicegrip of the dark-angel
observing from above.

in the center of the
massacre lies a pile,
a mound of the dead
sacrificed to the above.
on top of this altar
lies the great leader of heraldry.
blood seeps from his mouth
like water to feed the
roots of the flowers.
flies buzz about his face
awaiting putrefaction,
hoping for decay.
and his eyes--
so pure, so delicate!
so fierce and strong!
his eyes are locked upon
the sky. that is where he
belongs--above such
shame, such travesty.
but that dark-angel,
laughing from a heaven
that is wrongfully his:--
he has triumphed for evil,
and the good are
left behind, left
in this field to rot,
forever.

What we know

2008-01-06T13:18:00.001-08:00

Sing a song of honesty
A pocket full of lies
Listening when you speak to me
The truth in your eyes

Sing a song of time together
Pretending things are fine
Too frightened to change the status quo
Admit the truth’s that mine

Sing a song of here and now
The words you long to say
What we have is not enough
Will wait another day

Sing a song of reality
We’ll drift along a while
Until we see what we already know
Hidden behind the smile

Come and Gone

2007-12-30T09:54:00.000-08:00

One more Year
has came and went
No I won't shed a tear
As a resolution is sent

Glad to say Good by to 2007
Hoping for better things to come
A decade of a man being in Heaven
He is better off says some.

Water & ice are melting
The polar icecap could be
the Earth tuning & shifting
'Fore everything becomes the sea

Just when things get better
They may get worse
Start riding horses again
Time will go in reverse

The world will begin again
REfresh and start anew
For the selected fittest
The survival of the few.

NOt in your lifetime
Or So you just say?
It's not like we commited a crime
Just ask the buried in Pompei.

painful as a gunshot, precise as a pinprick.

2007-12-22T14:36:00.001-08:00

Pavlov rings his bell
ever so delicately
Pavlov drags me along
though I yearn to be free
and every sensation
with laser precision
haunts all that I do
an indelible derision

but even though Pavlov released me
long ago, before a world anew
all that I do and all that I see
feels, hurts, rings like that little bell
louder than the solace of time

Poetry on Tuesday! 12-4-07

2007-12-04T08:12:00.001-08:00

REDEMPTION
12-4-2007

The reality of growing old,
Is one that haunts our thoughts.
We change our age,
Ignore our ailments,
Sit back,
And watch,
As others pass on to grace.
Funerals,
Don’t get so hard to attend.
Distance forms,
Between ourselves,
And the ones we love.
We can blame it on our work,
Or our absentmindedness,
Or some addiction,
And continue the walk of our choosing.
Soon you find yourself,
In that place of dread.
Loneliness abounds,
Fear strikes us,
Reality lands upon our head.
How can I go back?
The answer is simplicity itself.
Me.
I had the mind to follow this path.
I have the mind to turn around,
To follow it back.
It may get ugly on the way,
But Redemption,
Is not for the light of heart.
My mind won’t be haunted for long.

Bodies in Motion: A Double Dose of Prose

2007-11-30T10:37:00.000-08:00

I

Eyes locking across the room
beckoning with one slow smile
bodies joining
heat rising
silk slides off
lace merges with satin
tumbling
falling
breath catching
sighing
limbs interlacing
eyes rolling back
overcoming scent
a burst
sudden silence
lazy laughter
desiring more
never fully sated.

II

It's all in the way you move
which fills me up
slows me down
never ending
creating that heat
we're craving
in one second
unifiying.

The Writer

2007-11-30T10:35:00.000-08:00

I need a muse

(The writer mused)

I've been betrayed

My mind is frayed

I've lost my touch for words.

Goodness only knows

What is a poet

Without his prose?

Upon the early morn,

Heavy lidded

And beard unshorn

I spied an angel

In the mist

The glow of sun

Would gently kiss

A golden curl upon her cheek

Eyes of blue, piercing, deep.

Oh! To call out to her

To run to her and reach

To touch that fairest

Softest of cheeks!

Those golden curls!

Unforgettable such entrapment would deem

My fingers could only dream!

Forage around the betrayal of my mind

I need peace and woe is mine

In the depths of the darkness there is something there

Burning and burning without hesitation or care

I do feel the warmth,

It encircles me

And quill to parchment

Finally beckons me.

I have become one with the words,

The world is on fire

For this fair maiden

Fuels my only desire.

Thank you, dearest one

Your kindness cannot be outdone

Within the scope of my imagination

You will always be immortal,

Not a centerpiece of infatuation.

lies upon lies.

2007-10-30T03:57:00.001-07:00

building upon a foundation of nothing
the artisan's work collapsed.
surprise?--no, it makes sense.
for one cannot build something on nothing,
even if nothing has a facade
a veneer more glorious than even reality.
but that's what i did, foolishly misled
by the lying face of nothing, your nothing.
and though i tried to manifest
this nothing into something, still it
remained blank.

and nothing has changed, except now--
this tower has come crumbling down,
babel! babel! irrational belief in
nothingness.
and now up is red and down is eight
for nothing makes sense and we are all
from sodom, from gomorrah, and babel
and russia and england, and cultures
crash. the mafiosos line up only to vanish,
all because they lived their lives on this space
reserved for nothing but lying about everything
a regular siren.
but now the rock is on top and the siren beneath
so that all is an extension of the sweet song
that leads us astray.

epiphanies lead nowhere--realizing this limbo
is just that and nothing more is too much
and so we return to sodom and babel
to be who we were, ignorant and joyous;
puppets of the great mafioso in the sky.

Your Good Graces (10-26-07)

2007-10-26T17:17:00.000-07:00

I'm always looking,
To please you.
I want you,
To be Happy.
I'm always striving,
For you to be proud of me.
I wish I could have somehow,
Earned your respect.
It's so hard,
To live up to,
What I think you expect of me.
Pushing,
And Toiling,
And Straining,
And Trying,
And Living.
These things I supposedly have to do,
Just to stay in your good graces.
I think I'll be myself from now on.

The Auction House

2007-10-23T09:30:00.000-07:00

trinkets and paintings
old books and movie posters
marble figurines

the new and the old
items of great sentiment
once cherished and loved

spirits of the past
ghostly tales of times long gone
live in each treasure

the bidding begins
alacritous responses
and the gavel falls

My first post in awhile.

2007-10-21T19:08:00.000-07:00

I saw you at forty years old today.
The age was clearly etched in your face.
I saw the fatigue, the
change in your presence;
you look...good...
for the time that's passed.

Any doubt about your
identity was erased when your
eyes--pure, clean, penetrative--
probed my soul, and you
laughed inwardly at my terror.

It isn't fair. Your experience
and full life is evidenced
in all your weathering.
But I--I am still young.
And empty.
It's so obvious
that in your life
you have moved on.
My heartbreak, however:
it is frozen in
an awkward adolescence.

"Psycho"

2007-10-21T10:57:00.000-07:00

Psycho

The plastic is wrinkled
She screamed just a bit
The mop is dirty
On the floor her face sits

Oh, Mother is in her room
The cars sped by,
She fit into the trunk
Of the Ford he will hide

In the pond where no one will see
Not even Mother
Nor anyone ever will know but me
I could never tell another

Her eyes appeared as glass
As he found her on the floor
With her fine sweet ass
Naked as she bore

She shouldn’t have done it
What ever she did
Took the money
Folded in the paper to be hid

Mother knew about it
Mother knows everything
She knew to tell Norman
Not to give away any rings

Where is the money?
There is always something
Something about money
That gets everyone thinking

Norman seemed so young
Norman seemed so helpless
Seems so undeniably wrong
To pick on people’s weakness

The mop tainted with red
Blood it may be
Or in black and white
Chocolate syrup it could be.

Mother would be proud
I want her to be
Proud of me you see
So I can stand out
in every crowd
In my room deniably.

Fallen Leaves

2007-10-17T12:27:00.001-07:00

F A L L E N L E A V E S
written Sept. 12, 1997

Gently fallen leaves
Broken amputated pieces of the trees
What stories they must tell!
Way up high
In the clouds--
Staring down on the world
Like a majestic queen.

What might they say?
Breezes thick with poison--
Cool drink from the sky burns...
Gently fallen leaves
Scarred--
Gently they fall in the poison breeze,
Whispering their tale to me...
What stories they must tell.

A Short Trip

2007-10-14T23:48:00.001-07:00

He sat uncomfortably in his car, in traffic, in the rain. His back hurt from pulling a muscle earlier in the week and it twinged every time he moved a slight bit. He was driving to see his girlfriend of many on and off years. More off lately than on.
He sighed at that thought.
Digging into his cd holder, he pulls out a cheaply wrapped cigar, unwraps it, and pushes it between his lips to look for his lighter.
The light changes from red to green and while turning the corner,he lights his cigar.
A puff of smoke and a slightly rolled down window later, he's cruising on his way to the highway through the small cow town he lives in.
The rain is beating down on his windshield in a slow monotonous tone. Too slow to even turn on the wipers at their slowest level. That irritates the man.
"Why can't it rain just a bit more so I can turn the damn wipers on and leave them on?"
He looks out the window up at his God and peers out into the darkness.
"This ought to be a fun drive." He sighs again.
Traffic on that Friday night was just lovely. Trying not to get too irritated, he flips on the radio, blows a puff of smoke from his cheap cigar and sits back, grimacing at his aching back.
"I shoulda taken some aspirin, dammit." He mutters to himself.
The music blaring from the radio is Motorhead or some such band and is really grating on his nerves. As he hits the highway heading north, he pushes the seek button on the radio until the sweet sounds of public domain music pings in his ears.
That's classical music, if you were wondering.
The nicotine from the cigar is hitting his system and soothing his irritations enough to let him sit a little further down into the seat.
The cruise control is set at 65.
"Yea. Granny driving in the rain, at it's best." He chuckles to himself.
Silence.
As much silence as the car allows, with it's wearing tires, the radio station forgetting to put more music on, the rain, now landing more frequently on his windshield, and his own thoughts of his life.
The classical music comes back on with an apology from a soothing lady's voice.
"Technical difficulties" she says.
"Right. Probably getting shtupped in the cleaning closet..." The man laughs at his own thought.
He flicks his inch worth of cigar ash out of the slit in the window frame, takes another puff of the cigar, and blows the smoke out of his eyes so he can see.
The rain on the windshield is blurred by the wipers, like the memories and thoughts pushing their way into his mind.
The music had a way of forming pictures in his head as he listened, and smoked, and thought.
"How interesting that music does such a thing.", he thinks.
"One wonders if it invokes in others the same thing it invokes in one."
Horns start bleeting their tune as a dramatic flare in the music builds.
A pair of dashing pirates sword fighting on an old ship on a stormy sea, comes to mind.
The music calms.
So do his thoughts of swashbuckling.
The show ends for the lady with the soothing voice.
The next show starts. The host with the nasal voice, is annoying, but the man pays no attention.
Nasal boy is explaining the evenings entertainment he is about to play for the riveted listeners.
Up next, an opera by none other than Ludwig Von Beethoven. His only opera apparently, by the nasally done bio of it.
It's entitled, "Fideleo" and it was recorded in 1962 in London.
The olfactory description of the entire first act is now spelled out by the radio host.
"Get with the effin thing already. I'm interested. I'm interested."
The opera begins as the man realizes that he's only hit the brakes twice in forty five minutes. The traffic has lightened on the highway.
Lightning strikes west of him.
He blows smoke in that direction to obscure it, just to see what it would do.
It does nothing but drift out the window.
Noticing that his cigar is now only about three quarters of an inch long, he puts it out in his makeshift ashtray made from an old mint can.
A lady sings with a high pitched voice as the opera plays in the background.
She's singing in German.
"I thought opera's were done in Italian?" he questions.
"Duh. Beethoven." He says to himself.
As the rain beats down above him, his thoughts drift from childhood, to adulthood, to his son and how much he misses him. He picks his cell phone up and texts "BEETLE BUG!" to his son.
They always played that when they were in the car together. They were together at that very moment. His son was with him in the car when that thought passed through the man's mind. He was sure that he himself would be with his son (in spirit) when he received the text. He knew his son would laugh when he got it.
Beethoven's opera kept up in the background all the way to his destination.
The thoughts of loved ones and friends, stayed with the man.
Blurring together.
Just like the water on the windshield.
He hoped they would never be wiped out of his mind.

endless sea of indignity...

2007-10-09T15:54:00.001-07:00

endless sea
of indignity
caught in the waves
i almost caved
swayed by the verse
the sad, sad curse
played havoc with my heart
tears my soul apart
so i run from it
and alone i sit
away from the sounds
your voice resounds
inside my head
and i dread
that endless sea
of indignity
wounded my pride
so i tried
to inflame your ego
made jest your libido
all so sad
yet admittedly glad
that i found out
what you're all about
before i swam the endless sea
of your indignity

Daddy Long Legs...

2007-10-04T13:50:00.000-07:00

a daddy long leg
casts the tiniest shadow
mirthlessly it crawls

Air

2007-10-04T11:25:00.001-07:00

It’s all up to you, my friend.

In your eyes I see the weight of your world.

Large, caring, excited and yet, sometimes, dark.

Drastic it becomes until you can’t find the peace.

Pieces of the sky surround you.

The power you hold is immense, too immense for someone so young.

Swirling around your head, gentle halos of warmth,

Golden and red leaves sparkle within you and I see the light.

It’s possible to become what you are supposed to be.

Fear holds you back and you stop, suddenly.

Take a breath, become one with the air and realize -

It’s not something learned, it’s all inside.

In My World 10-02-07

2007-10-02T06:46:00.000-07:00

In sync,
With Life’s vibration.
Being able,
To pay the bills.
When you’re,
Happy doing your job.
There is,
No arguments between your loved ones.
Your friends,
Don’t stab you in the back.
World War,
Doesn’t happen.
Soldiers,
Are actually ambassadors.
Everyone,
Is healthy around you.
Drama Queens,
Do not exist.
Your faith,
Is rock solid.
Your body,
Is just the way you like it.
The Mind,
Has the time to think.
The door,
Can remain unlocked.
Reconciling past,
With who you've become.
The singing,
Of nature can be heard.
That warm feeling,
Of being Loved.
These things,
In a sum,
In my world,
Are Peace.

I'm back?

2007-09-14T19:01:00.000-07:00

I am remembering the days of old
Everything automatic, nothing in my soul.
So much to do, for what I have no idea.
My future holds the tabu of India

But a child I was mending film
to make a long reel for easy viewing
Now I am to the point of mental ill
that society has bestowed me with its quing

My father's favorite subject I was
for his photographic genious,
and the room with it's red light 'cause
If the door opened it might be dangerous

If I knew then what I know now.
What choices would I make?
A shit load different, Holy cow!
Then again, there are many things at stake.

"It's a Wonderful Life" a movie you must remember
If my life went a different route,
Who would my children remember
as their mother for the scout

The children are home you see
The house is busy now
I must end this and talk to thee
Good night and we'll see how

The world will take me and thee
In the realm of hospitality
So I may live in this world
Comfortably in peace and prosperity

Inspiring Actress from Afar

2007-08-25T08:41:00.001-07:00

A lady visited a land afar
She had amazing brick red hair
And out of her mouth she said
Something to me that had to be insisted.

Never look back
It will drive you insane
The things in life we lack
Minus the things we gain

Mistakes will be made
Without them
Inventors wouldn’t have a trade

We have it good here
Like none you would ever know
And worry about stupid stuff
Like not paying a toll

While others cannot eat
Or have clean clothes to wear
Or not even a place to sleep

They would cherish the book
The text, urban kids scorn
They walk two hours to look
Some work almost since born

Yet they live with love too
They work and live different
Always busy with something to do
Always trying, trying to be affluent

People are busy here too
Always trying, trying to be affluent,
But, Working for number one, in lieu
Of trying to be considerate

It must be very different
Where elephants and zebras
Run free to mingle with thee
In the Dark Continent

So peel off the layers
Until you feel the core
Underneath the baggage
Do you remember who you were before?

Back to your roots
That is the answer
Before the pain ever came
Once again take control,
But, now as the Master.

Time to live, time to remember

2007-08-23T13:05:00.000-07:00

There will be a time in my life when I will look back on my life and remember. I’ll remember the times I sat and wished for more time to do nothing, to think to ‘be’. To be whatever it is I thought I should be able to be.

There will be a time when I realise that it was all those decisions and actions that bought me to that point, to the time in my life when I can sit back and remember.

I live now to make the memories so when I’m in the time to remember there are good ones to fill the time that I can sit, there are sad ones and bad ones to remind us how good the good times really were.

There will be a time when I must make up my account, find out the tax due, the consequences of my behaviour. There will be a time when I can see what I have created and what I have destroyed.

There are no plans, no maps, no directions to follow, just intuition and good fortune, or perhaps just blind faith that the end will be that place, that time, when I will look back on my life and remember.

Keep Trying

2007-08-21T06:20:00.000-07:00

I took journalism
When I was young
I needed work
I had only just begun

Things went askew
life takes many turns
giving problems anew
trying to mend the burns

Running my own business
And businesses of others
raising my kids with kisses
After burying my father and mother

Alone I feel in every way
with my children in tow
People judging me everyday
Looking at me, they don't even know.

Because I do not look down at you
Does not give you the right
To look through me,
Like I am not here, out of sight.

My dreams are relevant
My voice will be heard
If yours died in your office
I'm sorry, I think you are ubsurd.

When I work hard to perservere
At times my body grows weary
"Soon it'll be over my Dear"
Ha like I just want a life of dreary

To live to be just another wife
kept in a hole of a house
hidden away and not to live a life?
Just to keep quiet, quiet as a mouse?

Not for me, a partner is what I seek,
not a person to keep me in my place
A person who understands the leak
of emotions and equality of the race.

Fourth of July

2007-08-17T10:57:00.000-07:00

It was near the time of the fourth of July
I was left standing high and dry

I had nothing left and nowhere to go
So I sat on a beach in Mexico
The tequila burned
The water churned
and the waves hit high
And I hoped that, maybe, I could touch the sky.

He strolled up to me
and held my hands in his grasp

He said, "baby lets move-
this place is getting old fast."

We drove outta there without a moment to spend
on times gone by and broken dreams to mend.
More tequila poured under the hot setting sun
life on the verge; reality undone.

I remember that day, it was the fourth of July
Somewhere in Cali the colors lit the sky
But there in the south it was only us and the moon
and I knew in time it would be over too soon.

Sometimes I wonder if I knew what I had
When the time turned good after being so bad
that wonderful time under the Mexican sky
Somewhere near the fourth of July.

Poetry off the cuff on Tuesday (lol)

2007-08-14T09:57:00.000-07:00

The Trek (8-14-07)

Striving forward
Toward the sea
Of tranquility
Awesome twists
Of life
Razor thin Lines
Called decisions
Litter our way
Feasting on love
Gorging on laughter
Stopping only
When there's shared time
Isolation of the brain
Wounds us more
Than we are led to believe
The trek is our focus
Look back
and Forgive,
Never
Forget.

The Past

2007-08-10T18:16:00.001-07:00

Work I have been seeking
Money is of the necessity
the pipes are no longer leaking
The job search is getting the best of me.

I went to a place I worked long ago
this emailing of resumes is crap
Back to the ways of the days of old
Pounding the pavement and giving a rap

The big glass cube
standing with its presence
the sundial still in view
giving the time in the essence

I entered the base of the glass
the security was there to greet
May I help you? said the old lass
Answering her in a way that was sweet

I regained my past
the past I made for myself
some progress at last
By taking some dust off the shelf.

Letting Go

2007-08-08T10:44:00.000-07:00

I pulled blue guy out of retirement today. There he was nestled amongst the pink, blue, lace, leopard and zebra striped fabrics of my panty drawer.

Removing my shorts and t-shirt, I placed my mp3 headset on and picked him up; tip-toeing hesitantly into the bathroom. The house was quiet, so very quiet; the boys halfway through their camp day.

I turned the bath water on and sat upon the edge of the tub. I looked at blue guy in my hands and I thought of you. Climbing in, I turned the shower on and laid down in the bottom of the tub; positioning myself so that I wouldn’t get my headphones wet. I pulled the plug to turn on the shower and the water was warm and soothing.

It had been so long; turning blue guy on at the lowest setting, I laid him upon my clit allowing him to softly rest within my golden curls. I closed my eyes, willing each drop of water that fell from above to be the gentle touch of your lips; soft and teasing. I ached inside, hating myself for missing you, for wanting you.

I could feel the slow vibration and the water warming me, tingling, melting through my bravado; daring me to be receptive. I could smell you; feel your skin close to mine. As my resolve began to crumble I turned blue guy at its base increasing his speed and began to move him back and forth rubbing my clit, feeling it begin to tense and to throb.
My stomach clenched, I felt my muscles tighten. I could hear you telling me I am beautiful in that way that you seem to melt through my disbelief. I could hear you say “I love you” and it made my heart ache.

I tried to concentrate on the rhythm, feeling my heart beat faster, my back arching, spreading my legs to the very edges of the tub walls. I rested my other hand on the top of my pubic hair line. In that place where I would brush your face as if you were there, right there; with your warm lips and tongue nibbling on my flesh. My hand was poised to push you away as I often did, when the intensity of your kiss and the passion with which you devoured me would push me right to the edge.

As I turned blue guy up to its highest speed, I clenched tight with my thighs and my whole body tensed as if I needed to desperately hold on to a moment that must never pass. I felt that physical overwhelming need to fall off of the precipice. I waited to hear the words that you would always whisper in my ear “let go, just breathe, it’s okay to let go”.

But they never came, the words weren’t there and in the cooling spray from the water above, I turned to my side and cried. The bass and drums of the Cranberries reverberating in my head, “I have to decided to leave you forever; I have decided to start things from here….”

I miss you.

I let go.

Lets Talk

2007-08-08T09:45:00.000-07:00

Lets talk a little, shall we?

The chair is empty.
There is room.
No need to feel encapsulated
It's from Ikea. It works.

Pour me another glass of wine
and yourself one too.
Light a smoke,
Hell, even a toke

it's ok, if you'd like.

Sit here with me,
behind grinning lights
and spinning engines
and we'll come to something-

anything.

Because time is not on our side-

anymore.

It's flown the coop and I can guarantee
this bottle won't last another hour.

Don't bother apologizing.
It's really quite ok.
Just smoke and drink and fade to black
as long as you talk.

There's no reason to drag it on
we can finally find a reason for all of this
and move on
or move forward
but I won't move back.

Longing for the rain - an excerpt

2007-06-29T11:34:00.000-07:00

Longing for the Rain – Copyright by Maharat Zahara

It was so cold, that morning. The sun shone brightly outside, but the great stone house took its time in getting warm. I curled myself in the reading chair, under the one beam of light that flooded the window at this hour, and I tried to keep as much of myself under the scant warmth as possible. It was not easy, to keep covered, without falling from the chair, and all the while keeping my book well under the light.

If I went outside, I'd surely feel warmer. The green hills looked inviting enough, out there beyond the tall, heavy wooden window, but I did not like the great outdoors. I felt safe in the library, among my father's belongings, the only part of his world that I shared. Ever since my brother had passed, I went out less and less often. ‘Melancholic’, they called me, and I cared not that they did, as long I was left alone

I think that by then I was already troubled by my future. Surely I was not truly reading the book which I held, I knew it by heart. I knew all my books by heart, for I was not allowed that many titles to choose from. My father had selected what was proper, and I, ever the good girl, read what he allowed me. Even for that I was thankful. Most girls my age could not decipher anything beyond their prayer books, and were lucky if they could sign their own names.

Yes, I think my mind was troubled. The subject of marriage kept coming up more and more, and as I was of age, my father received many offers. I guess I was luckier than most: my father was a Venetian exile, and he was no more interested in my local suitors than I was myself. He was waiting for a good, man, my father told me, and he had the perfect excuse in my alleged heartaches.

'Flora is melancholic', he answered. 'I would never press her to decide. She needs time.'

From time to time I would meet with one of those men, in the presence of my father, knowing full well he was a potential suitor – not that I was told – in meetings which never meant anything. The weeks would pass, the man would be forgotten, and my father, never questioned

That was, until the Venetian had appeared. I gathered little tidbits from this and that conversation, trying to understand what was different this time around. The man was stationed in the region, and he ranked high in the navy. His father was a powerful man, just as my father had once been. He needed to be married soon, that man, for his past was even sadder ours. The plague that had taken my brother away from me, had ravaged the man’s Venetian family. Once he had been only one of a dozen children, but now, he had gone from “spare” to heir within less than a year.

My father had been so careful with news, and he made sure that I knew that the pairing was desired by all. He spoke of my suitor with such enthusiasm that I almost said yes, then and there!

’I know you have your objections, but child, a match like this does not happen every day, and such an opportunity might not happen again. Forget about his family, and other things you might have been told, for they are not relevant. He is a good man, Flora, and I know him well. I’d want this match for you, even if his brothers were still alive, and Marco was not his father’s heir.’

Ever since, I thought of the mysterious suitor, the man that would change my life forever.

A good man.

An older man.

I did not let my hopes grow too high. These matches could always fall through, and it sometimes happened at the very last minute. It made no sense to make plans while knowing so little.

I think it was then I looked up from my book, to find my father standing by the door, regarding me with deep blue eyes, smiling, though he meant to chastise me.

“Hiding here again, little one?”

I smiled, lowering my head, “I am not needed anywhere else.”

“Oh, I know. Must you always be inside, Flora? You could take a walk in the fields, ride a little.”

“Mother does not approve of me riding alone.”

My father put up his hands, as we both knew that was not the reason. “You could walk, or take a servant with you.”

“I don’t want to, father.”

My dear father came closer, and I knew which subject he meant to approach, even before he spoke. “Flora, do you remember the match we spoke of, a few weeks ago?”

I nodded, hoping to hear more about ’the mystery man.’

“Marco is visiting us today.”

I almost fell from my chair. “All the more reason not to leave the house.”

How my father had laughed. “No. I want you to take one of your servants and leave. He does not need to see you today, at all.”

I dared not tell my father that I wished to see him. “Perhaps mother will wish for my help.”

He laughed again, obviously seeing through my sorry attempt at a ruse. “Let your wise father do the negotiating. You should meet this man him only when he has made a commitment. Now, I want you out of here!”

I never considered disobeying; I acquiesced with a smile, “I will tell mother I am leaving.”

I made to leave, and the expression I saw then on my father’s eyes, I could not understand ... It was as if he was sad and happy at the same time. Why was that? At that time, I did not fear for myself. I trusted my father implicitly, and I knew he would choose well, for me.

***

It was such a beautiful day, and I think I will remember it forever, for it was the last time I was alone in the hills. The green mantle extended as far as the eye could see, and it being early spring, the grass was covered in tiny wild flowers, red as blood.

The sun shone brightly, bringing out the colors in such a vivid manner which no painter could hope to capture. Only the faint clouds forming from afar marred the perfect setting, and I eyed the horizon with growing worry, and I think I wondered aloud.

“What is Marcella up to this time?”

My servant had deserted me again. She did it every single time, and that was one of the reasons I never accompanied her out. Ah, if my father knew…

My family took pride in its blood, a long line of seamen, who had made its fortune from trade even before the Venetian State had been founded. I could tell a storm was coming, and it mattered not one bit that I had never seen the blue waters myself. I considered leaving right then, instead of having my parents worry about me, but I checked that thought for it was not pious. Father would punish Marcella very harshly, if he knew that she wandered. It was only convenient for me to forget what he would think of me, that I helped her.

Marcella only came back when she could see the storm, and by then, it was too late. Rain was upon us before we could reach the ancient road.

Marcella’s face was flustered, her clothes crumpled, and she was already afraid. “I told you we should have stayed in the path.”

I shook my head, wiping the rain from my face, and I ranted. “Don’t be silly, we’d be stuck in the mud. The road is passable even when it rains hard. The old Romans built it that way.”

“What if someone sees us?”

I was at the end of my patience, for it was not my fault that we were in this mess, was it? “I am hoping someone does!”

Marcella started crying, “Your father is going to whip me for this.”

I was also afraid. It had been so long since I had last been punished for anything, and I feared my father’s displeasure above all. That fear was taking over now, when the muddying road and the worsening storm were no true worries in my mind. I allowed myself to stop, closing my eyes, smelling the wondrous, copious rain. The smell of rain hitting the earth was my favorite scent in the whole world.

Marcella seemed only now to understand the consequences of her actions, and she had become frantic. “He will never believe us!”

“Why did you have to be away for so long?”

Marcella eyed me with such disdain, “You would not understand.”

If Marcella’s wanderings should reach another’s ears, her own reputation should surely suffer. There was no telling that it would to mine, but surely, there would be no mystery man for me.

The rain intensified, and my mind fell again to practical things. Where would we find shelter were it to become necessary? The road was on open ground and we were subject to lightning strikes. I wondered where would my father first look for us were he to decide to venture out, and just to think of it … I was musing over all these things, when a carriage stopped beside us, coming rather out of nowhere.

A woman put her head to the window. “Look, two drowned kittens. Might the young ladies be lost?”

Marcella jumped at the opportunity without thinking. “Yes, my Lady, we are!”

I considered the dark clouds in the sky, and with a heavy heart, I asked for help, when it might just make matters worse. “Would the kind Lady be heading to the Great House’s direction?”

“Oh, we are going there. Please come up, we must continue. We don’t want to be stuck in the mud now, do we?”

I was so embarrassed! My wet clothes were staining the light colored cushions, ruining the woman’s carriage. It was only when we settled inside, that I saw him. A dark haired man regarded us from his seat, faintly amused by our presence. That was all I saw for I lowered my eyes immediately.

Shame or no shame, I was not the one to forget my manners. “Thank you for taking us. We are sorry for ruining your seats. ”

The woman was kind. Wet from the rain, we might have looked even younger than we were. “No problem, little kitten. We wanted to get those cushions replaced anyway.”

Was this a man and his wife? What business did they have with my father? I had forgotten everything about our conversation in the morning, and thinking backwards? It was best that way. Marcella chatted the entire way, as if she was the mistress, and the woman seemed entertained by her carefree manner. The man simply regarded us carefully, politely, as if he could not be bothered to speak.

I dared raise my eyes only once, and when I did, the dark haired man smiled, and he spoke so gently, “Don’t worry, you will be home soon.”

***

The carriage pulled before my house not too long after, and my father was there, ready it seemed for riding out. I could see the relief in his eyes, as I was helped down the steps. It lasted a few seconds, that relief, and then he got very angry.

“How could you be lost? This storm threatened for hours.”

It was true. “We were distracted, father.”

“Lucky you were found. Where have you been?”

“In the fields, father.”

My mother gave out a cry when she saw my state, and I knew that public embarrassment was surely to follow. “Baby girl! You are all wet! We must make you warm.”

I think I gave the visitors a backwards glance before my mother took me away, already drying my hair with her own mantle, but I am not sure.

My mother was upon me with every medicine and cure afterwards, and no amount of complaining would free me from the smelly, itchy concoctions, and asking all manner of uncomfortable questions. “So, what do you think of your suitor.”

“That was him?”

“Of course, little airhead. Who would venture out in such a storm without an appointment?”

“I did not look at him too much. He seemed … bothered.”

One of our servants jested, “Of course he did, you turned his carriage into a fish tank …”

I laughed so hard; I think I was nervous. “Is it certain?”

“You know not to hope. Your father wants this betrothal sealed, and you must make up your mind, for he might ask you about it.”

***

Make up my mind about what? What did I know of this mysterious man? As I laid in the dark, watching the shadows that formed in the room, I counted the patterns in the baldaquin, wishing I knew more. At the same time, I wanted for nothing to change, for my life to be this as always, peaceful, predictable.

I had almost fallen asleep when someone knocked on my door, and soon after, my father entered my room, something he almost never did these days. He sat carefully on the side of my bed, a little uneasy it seemed, and he took my hand in his, speaking the words I’d been warned to expect.

“Sweet child, you have an honorable suitor.”

I only smiled, and again my father seemed uneasy, and I did not know why it should be so!

“Marco wishes to hear from your lips that you are willing. If you say that you are, then it is a binding vow. It would look bad afterwards, were you to change your mind.”

I remained dutiful, and I truly did not know which answer was wanted. It did not occur to me that my actual opinion was being asked, for the idea seemed preposterous at the time. “Are you happy father?”

“I am very pleased with this suit, Flora. “

I don’t think I hesitated, once my father expressed his desire for the match. “I need to be dressed then …”

Again my father seemed uneasy, and I was getting worried about that. He smiled right then, and I was happier in an instant.

“Very well. Your mother will help you.”

***

I was hastily dressed, and once it was done, I did not think I looked my best, not at all. Downstairs, I could not raise her eyes to look at the man, though I could feel his gaze on me, regarding me intently.

“You are very beautiful, now that you are not wet.”

I blushed crimson and now I could certainly not speak. Tears welled in my eyes, such shame, that he had seen me in this sorry state! I wonder if he doubted my honor, and thought I took rides with men in their carriages every day. Yet, he was standing right there, asking for my hand.

If Marco could tell I was troubled, he paid no heed to it. “Flora, our families wish that I should take you in marriage. That has come to be my wish as well. I am here to inquire of yours.”

“I do that which my father thinks best, signore.” I saw his hand move, as if to touch me, but he seemed to think better of it.

“If that is your wish, Flora, then from this moment on, I will be your suitor, and if all things fall into place, one day you will be my wife.”

I was so confused! My body was reacting so strangely. I felt dizzy; his words went straight through my heart, like arrows. Somehow I found the strength to answer the man properly, “That would be my wish as well, signore.”

I could tell that he had smiled, not that I was looking, because I could not stare him in the eye. I was lucky my father entered the room, and for the second time today, I was being rescued.

My father’s voice was gentle but commanding. “Flora, you may retire now.”

“Goodbye signori,” I answered as I retreated, so hastily.

So I went back to my rooms, to remove all the clothing and ornaments I had worn for such a brief while, and I did not even ask for help. Back into my bed, I could not sleep; I was about to have a husband … and I did not know how to be a wife.

Frozen in My Mind (6-26-07)

2007-06-28T06:04:00.001-07:00

They're there for some unknown reason,
I'm sure everyone has them.
Hell, maybe not.
Mere portions of a second,
That last a lifetime.
I feel small,
In their wake,
In intervals.
The Past,
The Present,
The Future,
All connected,
By the moving pictures,
That are my experiences.
They're pieces of my time,
Frozen in my mind,
Melting only when I see past them,
For what they have taught me.

In out

2007-06-20T21:40:00.000-07:00

I press my face against the glass
I feel the coolness fade as my breath touches it.
In out in out in out in
I hold it this time wanting the last of the coolness to exist......out
I watch you walk down the street and my breath comes faster.
In out in out in out in out in
You catch me watching you. You stare at me.
I press first my hand, then body, then my mouth against the glass.....out
My skin has taken on a life of it's own.
The thought of you touching me has it breathing
In out in out in out in
You break our stare and begin to walk away again.
All I can do is watch you walk.......out

Where Are You, Superman? (6-19-07)

2007-06-19T07:07:00.000-07:00

I look into the sky,
All I see,
Are Birds and Planes,
No Hero.
When are you going to use,
Your Super strength,
To Show us the way?
Use your heat vision,
To warm,
Our Chilled Uncaring Hearts.
Use your Cool Breath,
To put out all the fires,
Caused by all the Madmen.
Use your X-Ray Vision,
To see,
Into our Black souls,
Where you can fight the evil.
Use all of your Power,
To Save us,
From Ourselves.
Where Are You, Superman?
There is no Kryptonite here,
Except us.
I guess,
We have to Continue,
Without You,
Don’t we?
Perhaps,
We should become,
The Heroes,
We so Desperately Need.

Marooned

2007-06-06T08:21:00.001-07:00

Marooned on the island of life.
I live day by day.
Passing the time with only my thoughts.
Ignoring the wonders around me.
Consumed by self.
The tragedies of the previous chapters,
Envelope my synapses.
Judgment isn’t clouded,
It’s just not there.
Feelings don’t get in the way,
They’re pushed to the side.
Sometimes, there’s a moment of clarity.
When a smile comes to my face.
I’m mimicking the little boy.
He’s my lifeline to another place.
Reality.
All I need is to feel his love,
To be jolted back.
I live day by day.
Marooned on the island of life.

Leaving on a Jet Plane..

2007-06-06T03:58:00.000-07:00

Hey all my fellow and lovely writers, I'm taking the computer down today to be shipped to the states. I won't be back online for at least ten days.

Remember to add your screen name to the 'Labels' section for all posts. KEEP WRITING! I can't wait to read everything I've already missed (due to packing etc..) and everything I will miss in the coming weeks.

Also, while I'm away, you can plug wwht... as much as you'd like through your MySpace account. I'd appreciate it!!!

LOVE YOU ALL!! Thanks for being a part of wwht...!!!!

Forever your admin.,

Jill

untitled.

2007-06-05T13:43:00.000-07:00

Love is not as uncommon as people want to believe. It doesn't always involve some elusive "one and only," or a soulmate. Love... well, love is something that can affect us on a daily basis. It's something intangible, an outmoded stigma. It's a primeval ideal, an ephemeral excuse to find meaning in this tragic world. You see, love can exist on so many different planes and levels. I can met someone and love them the instant I meet them, and then I could fall out of love with them just as quickly; or, it could take days, weeks, months, or years to love someone. What I mean is, there's no love more significant than any other. Love is love, it comes and goes. But what makes it appealing is the possibility that it remains, and that you can keep keep a consistent love with a consistent person forever, into the abyss of eternity. That's what is so appealing about love. Eternity. The possibility of forever.

Now some may say that there is always an end. True, there is an end to every relztionship. But love is not a relationship. It is a feeling, an emotion, a state of mind. See, relationships all end; we all die, our bodies rot. But the idea of love, the feeling of love - that can permeate throughout the universe for an eternity. That mad passion is like the light of the soul. Light never stops traveling, it bends around time and space, it's a constant, and it continues onward.

You know... you look up and see a star; in many instances, the star you see is simply light that was emitted thousands or millions of years prior. That star has a good chance of being dead. But, we still see that star, as radiant as ever, as beautiful as it was in its prime, because the light - its core - still permeates he empty crevasses of space. We still can see and feel its undeniable rapture.

And so is love....

fragments of hope.

2007-05-31T15:07:00.000-07:00

[i]

On the brink of redemption,

Ready to fall over the edge in

Anticipation

Of the future.

[ii]

Torrential rain

Defiles the saints

And cleanses the sinners.

[iii]

Like a bird

Caught in mid-flight—:

Drifting into a limbo of

Light and darkness.

[iv]

The phoenix soars, born again,

Only to smolder once more,

Forever more.

[v]

The albatross flies

Alongside the eagle.

Hopeful and forlorn:

They embrace the sky

In a dark, vivid storm

Of passions.

A swan among ducks.

2007-05-31T10:17:00.000-07:00

To whom do you look when even the heroes are gone,
Hidden beneath the idleness of a corrupt society?
As the world of tomorrow slowly engulfs us,
The truth is distorted through the prism of hatred.
What once was cooperation has now become hostility.
This “free society” imposes upon us a greater censor
Than ever before, a disease that infects us all.

Conformity.

As we all become one and one becomes all,
The destroying of cultures will surely be our downfall.
Forced to fit the mold of mediocrity, as our “flaws”
Are hammered out of us: we are purified as a steel tool.
Those of us who escape this process, this great,
Universal, Bessemer process, become defunct in the
World of Big Brother.

Cygnus inter anates, as they say;
The Ugly Duckling.
And you will be shunned,
Excluded from the truth you
So desperately seek.

Back to Childhood (5-30-07)

2007-05-30T08:03:00.000-07:00

Frost on my fingertips,
Paste on my tongue,
Holes in my knees,
Jumping for fun,
Riding a broomstick,
Just like it’s a horse,
Swimming all summer,
Until I was dark,
Using sticks as guns,
GI Joes were something special,
Sports were play not work,
Jumping into lakes,
Camping on its sites,
Sand in my bathing suit,
From playing on the seashore,
Crabbing with Daddy Grand,
He caught my first fish,
Sis cutting my hair,
In the room we used to share,
Cooking with GrandMa,
Playing Aggravation with Uncle Joe,
Smelling Grandpa’s Pipe,
The flood went so high,
Puppies and Kittens,
Rabbits and Hamsters,
Thin skateboards,
Pillowcases for Halloween,
Hotdogs were great,
The Six Million Dollar man,
Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin,
Frank Sinatra still Sang,
We grew a huge garden,
Ate well when it sprang,
Built that redwood deck,
Repaired the pool several times,
Went to parades galore,
Where I could be someone else,
Wow,
The great times are many,
I’m sure I missed a few,
Back to childhood I go,
Maybe you should to.

The New Heroes

2007-05-28T10:09:00.000-07:00

Though I don't know you,
I'm Proud of what you're doing,
for this country and its people,
And That country and its people.
In our prayers you are,
In our thoughts every day,
Doing what's right,
In the most difficult of times.
Keep your pride up,
Your chin down,
Your Rifle at the ready,
And your wits about you.
You are the heroes,
of a new legend,
The warriors,
Of America.
God Bless you,
And your comrades,
And your commanders,
And those who have fallen.

The King of Porn

2007-05-26T16:14:00.000-07:00

The King of Porn

You're a pretty girl
a dirty girl
a third world
flirty girl
snaggin' the light
til I walk in

then
it's
just
BOOM!
baby,
digital zoom,
baby,
on me
every eye
in the room
comes alive,
and my roll
sucks you in
like a fly
to the meat

so you walk
my way
that Latina sway,
your hips in play
thinking you can
hang
with a hitter
like me.

But you ain't shit,
you see?

Just another
wanna be
star to be
gonna-be-porn-star
whore to me,
and
I've had
so many
flavors
I can´t even
see
the menu
through the trees
anymore.

Man, it ain´t even
fun for me
anymore.

But
it stacks the
cash,
and I like
that ass
so come with
me
and let me be
the one
to
promise you diamonds
and
deliver you pearls,
coke up your
mind,
ruin your world
when I
lower the Roof
to cave in
your
in-
hib-
ish-
ins.

Yeah baby,
feelin' slow,
a little tipsy, huh?

That´s good.

Now
sign this
while I strip
you down
to your bald
Brazil
in front
of the lens
and
the lights.

It don´t
seem right?

Trust in me.
No one will see,
accept overseas.

That´s right,
listen to me.

Hear what I say,
not what I mean,
'cuz
whatever I say
there ain't no way
it ain't gonna play
all over the world.

Girl,

now, shut up and
kneel down
beside
what´s left
of your dignity,
then
look up
and smile
when you finish
me,
'cuz in the morning,
see,
you won't remember
me,
or
remember a thing
til
someone you know
downloads the clip
or
buys the CD.

Pay check,
you ain't shit to me.

(The Train Wreck, baby. Rollin'.)

mankind.

2007-05-24T10:55:00.001-07:00

To the stars they look,
Seeking escape from the darkness.
"I want to get out," they say,
"Away from this trap."
They look to one another
For guidance, support, love --
Their efforts are futile.

Only the poets find solace
In the stars and in the words.
The great minds are sacrificed
To the tyrants: Envy and Hate.
Their teary eyes glitter
In the light shed by the stars, those
Seemingly perfect, mocking stars!

O, Envy! Why do you stifle?
Why do you destroy us?
Alas, the truth cannot be
Found in the minds of man;
It is found in God.

God is Envy: God is Hate.
He looks down upon all of man,
His creation which has
Surpassed His greatness;
Tainted His perfection.

And the stars, too, were his,
Those instruments of torture
Laughing back at us from the
O'erhanging firmament; it is a
Pretentious façade for His jealousy.
So man strives to reach the
Stars, to break the lie
Once and for all.

They say: Tell me what to do,
Since I am a man in love with the stars.

And God laughs:
Man delights not me.

To Him

2007-05-24T00:59:00.000-07:00

When I see you it reminds me of everything that we could have been. I have loved you forever and it took you forever to realize you feel the same and yet we remain apart. Our timing has always been off, maybe there is a reason for that. It doesn’t make the hurt any less, the longing I have had for you is still here and I don’t think even time can change that. I miss you more than you will ever know, and I will love you always!

I SEE INSIDE (5-21-07)

2007-05-22T11:25:00.000-07:00

Looking into the mirror,
What do you see?
A weak, vulnerable person,
with skeletons to examine,
A failure,
A fat slob,
A nincompoop.
The very thing your Father told you,
that you would be.
That's not what I see.
I see that strong, willful,
Striving person,
Using every thought they can,
Struggling,
To adapt,
To the Situation that they're in.
I see Inside,
To that person you used to be.
So perhaps you should try,
When you look into the mirror,
To see me,
Looking back,
At Thee.

Breath

2007-05-21T13:44:00.000-07:00

I can't stand this.
I am spinning wondering which round hole my square peg fits into.
I want to be.....I want to be.....
I want.
Never fulfilled, scared to try.
Tired of being who I am.
Tired of not knowing who I am.
Tired of wondering if this is who I am.
Tired of......being tired.
Laughing makes it better.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Did you laugh with me....or at me?
Face the world. Happy face to mask the tears.
I feel so deeply yet I am completely shallow.
I can't stand this.
I am spinning wondering which round hole my square peg fits into.
I want to be.....I want to be.....
I want.......to breath.

waver

2007-05-18T14:22:00.000-07:00

What have I done
That I cannot move forward?
Where have I led myself?
What tangled paths lay before me?

I ask the same tired questions,
repeating the transparent, easy answers,
one by one until they crash around me;
mere splinters of glass at my feet.

Shrouded in mystery, dull and dense,
it encircles my tightly knit facade,
And I waver in the only space
I've ever really known.

Time for a change, they say;
time heals,
time is the answer, they say.
I'm reaching forward,
grasping for the edge of that fog.

It Stings

2007-05-17T11:36:00.000-07:00

Always running.
Always searching.
Never finding. Truly.

I saw you.
High speed connection.
It was real. To me.

Told you my secrets.
My fears.
My dreams.
Gave you my trust.
I was dumb.

And I cried.
I thought you cared.
You reached out.
I thought you would wipe my tears.
Instead you slapped me.
Turned your back on me.

No explanation.
No reason.
No good bye.
No nothing.
Just an empty space where you were.

I hate you.

It Stings.

Chapters (5-14-07)

2007-05-15T05:40:00.000-07:00

Pushing through your chapters,
Contemplating that one,
Everyone has.
You know of it,
The horrid chapter you yourself have traversed.
Sadness,
Depression,
Self Loathing,
Failure,
Turmoil,
They’re all there in deed or thought.
People try to help,
With their unsolicited advice,
But the truth is,
Only you knew what you had been through.
Only you could do the work to pull out of it.
That ugly chapter would only end,
By ridding yourself of those negative traits,
Reminding id and ego of the better chapters,
Where the positives are.
If you can’t remind yourself,
Just how good life can be,
Then that bad chapter isn’t over.
It’s time to do the work,
Pull yourself out of it,
Begin the next chapter,
Live again.

From The Bottom

2007-05-15T05:26:00.000-07:00

If you fall, I fall with you
I tumble to the ground
With remarkable force
And land breathless

Your mistakes are mine
I wear them, make them warm
And I take the trip down
When you lose the way

I let myself be this
Maybe I'm just helping
Instead of stopping the dizzying spin
I jump on and hold on

If you don't learn from it
Your doomed to repeat it
Whoever said that
Must have met us both

What a Wonderful World

2007-05-13T22:08:00.001-07:00

Here I sit in quiet contemplation of life’s great rewards.
A sunny day,
A rainy day.
The sound of children playing.
The twang of an acoustic guitar or the shrill melody of a violin.
Silence.
A day at the beach.
The noise of new falling snow.
A friends smile.
A Handshake.
A first kiss.
Having a child.
Making the 8 ball on the break.
Making a new friend.
Banana Cream Pie.
Experiencing something new.
Making love, not having sex.
Eating something that you've helped to create.
Cooking for someone you love.
Watching the sun set.
Watching the moon rise.
Looking into a lovers eyes.
A lover looking back at you with the same love.
Holding hands.
Grinding Pepper.
Talking to your best friend.
The list is endless.
As I sit here in quiet contemplation of all these things.
I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
Thanks Louis.

...

2007-05-13T00:48:00.000-07:00

the gentle words
are what hurt me the most.

Happy Mother's Day...

2007-05-12T09:18:00.001-07:00

To all the moms who find the time to write on wwht... and raise their beautiful children!

The Short Story Writer's Lament

2007-05-11T13:32:00.000-07:00

I had posted a short story earlier that I had written a couple of months ago called 'The Continental'. I never re-drafted it. I knew it was badly in need of editing but I was too lazy to go back and actually fix it up.

I wrote it in a couple of hours, and I should've known better.

Re-reading it tonight, I realized just how badly written it was and how badly it needs revision. I'll work on it this weekend and get it up to standards. It's saved as a draft, so the comments I've received will not be deleted... merely republished.

It Starts Today

2007-05-11T07:37:00.000-07:00

This is the day,
Take life by the horns.
Spontaneity is NOW.
Go watch the Grunion run.
Laugh aloud.
It doesn’t matter who’s listening.
Eat what you want.
Feel good about yourself.
Jump on a trampoline.
Do something daring.
Ride a bull.
Then pick yourself up and do it again.
Jump out of a plane.
Scream all the way down.
Your mouth will dry out in 5 seconds or less guaranteed.
Wear a suit to lunch with a friend,
So they can see you in it before they die.
Go buy yourself something stupid.
Laugh at it when you see it on the shelf.
Watch some Shakespeare.
It’s amazing what you can learn from a play.
Listen to some Jazz.
Wonder if they can play it exactly like that again.
Suck on an ice cube.
Let your worries melt along with it.
Make yourself a goal.
Kick that soccer ball through it.
Cook something terrible.
Serve it to your friends and laugh along with them.
It’s those times that are the most memorable.
Share something everyday.
Smile when you’re sad.
Roll the window down and feel the wind on your face.
Take care of yourself and your family.
Listen to the rain.
Choose to wake up happy.
It starts today.
With you.

The Blogger's re-unification (a semi-drunken post)

2007-05-09T11:54:00.000-07:00

The music is pumping through these kick ass five point speakers, the bass is tumultuous from the sub-woofer. It's good, it feels good and I feel good.

80's Alternative. Yeah, it's like a walk down memory lane and I couldn't love it more.

Nostalgia grips us hard, sometimes. No wonder movies like 'Stand By Me' and 'The Sand-Lot' become fast favorites. Through such things we can relive moments of our bygone youth.

Sad, some would say. I don't consider it as such. Sometimes, we just need that one thing that will pin those days of old to the forefront of our memories.

I'll sit up here, night after night, blogging, writing incessant poetry, stories and what-not, all the while rocking out to those great 80's Alternative tunes, if you will keep writing.

This is the start of a dream come true, for me. Thank you all for being a part of this, for making it a reality... and remember, you can post whatever you want, whenever you want.. there is nothing too risqué for my tastes; what matters is that you write. There are only two rules: Leave your name as a label and COMMENT! No web-writer (which is, basically, what we are) can survive without comments!

For you

2007-05-09T10:36:00.000-07:00

Soon you will break me, which I assume was the plan all along!
You will push me until the point that my spirit is all gone.
Why is it like this, why is it so?
You couldn't believe me, you never let us grow.
I couldn't say anything to make you believe and now you say you trust me,
just as I am ready to leave.
When I told you I loved you, I thought that you knew,
I would have never said it if it wasn't true.
Always blaming and pointing the finger at me,
I can't live like this, and if it doesn't stop, it is me you will truly miss.
I can't be someone I am not,
always being held down,
I tell you this so you won't wonder why when you don't have me around.
Your little shows of affection and the things that you do,
are not to show you care but are a way to say I control you.
You are always suspicious and no matter what I am wrong,
so please understand when you look around and I am gone.

From Sparks, Fire Comes

2007-05-08T09:30:00.000-07:00

I knew you knew me, I wanted you to see me
It hasn't been that long, I knew you never forgot me
What was a fire is ashes but that never really surprised us
We knew what we were doing, we knew what it was
You got what you wanted, same as I did
Never expecting anything more
But I changed, you changed a little too
And that was the fatal flaw

You cannot change the rules mid-game
You cannot say you don't want and then want
Nobody wins, it's a loss or a draw
And I drew you into a corner
How dare you feel, you might just as well have said
I guess I was worse at pushing away
It doesn't matter now, it is what it is
But it isn't what it could have been.

Dear Stomach Virus

2007-05-08T06:45:00.000-07:00

The outer encasement

became weak

and rigid with paralysis.

Drops of fever and sweat

rippling through its layers.

Creating delerium

deep in

its very core.

The soul within remained

undead.

Fervently spinning, aching.

Pushing against walls,

that fold it back

unto itself.

Trapped.

In a shell dripping in its heat

convulsing with frigidity.

Stagnant and vile.

Soon the fear creeps in

and the soul becomes

frozen and

the paralysis seeps

from the outside in.

time

2007-05-08T03:41:00.000-07:00

Understand me,
I'm here, standing
stuck in a timeline.

All these things come down
to a single point.

The past is behind, as they say
the future ahead
but the now is always now and will always be.

In essence.

This is merely a plea.

Don't think I'm taking leave
Understand me
It's not about this or that
it's not about anything.

It is here, with us,
as it's always been
in the now, and always
and I can forgive myself.

Finally we can set the strides
Make the waves
we've desperately craved
and time will draw us in.

the time is now.

Who am I?

2007-05-07T13:58:00.000-07:00

I am me.
I am daughter, sister, friend
Becoming girlfriend, partner
Then aunt then wife then mother

Mother again, twice the person I once was
Aunt many more times
Friend and colleague
I become an Ex wife
Just another part of me

Am I now mother and father?
Still daughter, sister, friend
Aunt and mother

Somethings don’t change
We are still who we are
I am who I am
I am me.

© foxxx 2007

See, by the Train Wreck

2007-05-07T11:33:00.000-07:00

See

I don't want to see
any
more

in my mind
I see
him swing
that kid
by his feet
crack his egg
like a head
into a tree

I see it
again,
again,
again
in my dream

again
too late
to save the day
again

now that I try
I'm just so tired

I can't even
sleep
a wink
or blink
or think
of that girl they buried
alive
in a hole

she died
begging
me
please
begging to
see
what I
see
when I
sleep

I can't sleep

gotta keep
peeking
around
that tree
to save
what I see

but
they always
see
inside of me

now
I sleep
with one eye open
cuz
my cover is blown
I´m out in the cold

I need you to know
I tried to save them

But you don't see.

© Christopher Pimental, 2006

(a.k.a, the Train Wreck)

Past Present Future

2007-05-04T13:31:00.000-07:00

The here and now is broken
The present fractured, held together with threads of complacency
Strands of fear.
A weakened heart prevents changes.

Visions of a past came through
Memories made real
But the past is only a shadow in those memories
Reality proved that the future is not dictated;
Events are created by brave hearts
And determined minds.

The shadows of a past have a cast light
And proved that the future is not always as expected.
Some present times are more real than the memories
That created them.

The envisioned future is changed
Hearts are shattered
Expectations now mere memories of what was once a future

A new future is ahead, unknown and unsure
Maybe to be broken but on present terms
Not with the past and with a brave heart.

Memories will always live with us
Always be remembered
Never as big and shiny as the here and now.

The good times are how we live
How we feel and how we reach forward
Whatever pain and cost creates the future
It is on the present terms, not the past.

move

2007-05-04T12:03:00.001-07:00

Move. It's ok --
The earth has stopped shaking
maybe now you can grapple
maybe you can gain your footing.

You're stuck.
Knee deep in tar
Spending your life
with the rusted out bones
of extinct creatures.

Try to move.

Don't forget.

That's ok.
It will lend itself in time
and you will be so much more --
more than what you're holding onto.

Being someone else has never been easier
but you have to face that mirror
Day in
Day out
And one day, your image
will break up into a thousand pieces
and where will you go from there?

It's ok. Just move.

Your feet are lead
nailed to the ground and

in times of trouble things get worse.

I know.

But move.

Move with yourself
move along.

Hold on.

Don't let go.

It's not too far out of your reach.

All that you wanted.
All that you have
It's right there --
Hold onto it.
But first, see it.

Waiting

2007-05-04T06:36:00.000-07:00

Through the mists of Avalon,
I saw her.
Like an Angel,
Her whisper warmed my soul.
Her eyes pierced my heart,
And broke down the walls protecting it.
I knew she was the one,
For whom I'd been waiting.
A single kiss she bestowed upon me,
Delicate,
Sensual,
Just for me.
And then she was gone,
Like a leaf in the wind.
Leaving behind,
A man,
Waiting,
Again.

prove me wrong

2007-05-03T23:00:00.000-07:00

this beautiful midnight
takes on a new light
and i know that there is a reason

my soul keeps on searching
knowing someone else is yearning
and i know that there is a reason

sordid days behind us
with the hope there to guide us
and i wont be wrong

this road to nowhere
is bound to go somewhere
so, baby, prove me wrong
for no reason, prove me wrong.

Paradise Disrupted

2007-05-03T13:56:00.000-07:00

red

2007-05-03T11:09:00.001-07:00

There's a little thing that glows red
And I stop in its tracks
The hounds bite and clamor
Incensed, they claw at the tattered pieces
Of the remnants of this bygone story
It is life, barely, that remains
Standing still
Blinking red
Forever moving within
Outside of all that I've known
And all that I cared for.

I can see the signs for what they are
For what they've become
I can hear the hounds as they cry
For their freedom from afar
The flags raise red
In the gloom of the painted night
And call them to arms.

I am ready.

I am willing.

I will fight if I must.

This is what it's all come down to, then.

red.

captured

2007-05-03T10:51:00.000-07:00

i am but a grain of salt
in the liquid beauty of your lies

And Then There Were None

2007-05-03T10:26:00.000-07:00

When the World blew up,
Four People Survived.
One died of Radiation,
And then there were Three.
One Died of Starvation,
And then there were Two.
One was murdered,
And then there was One.
The Last got Lonely,
And then there were none.

I made it!

2007-05-03T05:13:00.000-07:00

sometimes

2007-05-03T00:18:00.000-07:00

It speaks to me in the dead of the night
So many empty glasses greet me
Ash tray full
The story, can you tell my life?

I hear it. And I hear you.

There's nothing left to say
We have to fix these insipid holes
we've tried desperately to fill
with what we've wanted.

It's not enough to hold onto.

The emptiness enfolds us
and the night grows longer
still, being so far away
brings us closer.

Sometimes...

Love vs Hate. It’s a close thing sometimes.

2007-05-02T14:02:00.001-07:00

I love being on my own because:
I get to go to the supermarket and choose all the foods we love myself.
I get to choose all the plants that go in the garden.
I can sit on the sofa and watch TV or sit in silence. I choose.
I get to make all the decisions. I have no one to answer to.
I’m in charge all the time.
When there’s time to waste, I get to decide what to do.
I get the whole bed to myself, most often.
I can wake up when I’m ready, stretch and lay quietly listening to the world wake, alone.
I get to choose my life and there’s no one to question me.

I hate being on my own because:
I have to go to the supermarket and choose all the foods we love myself.
I have to choose all the plants that go in the garden.
I can sit on the sofa and watch TV or sit in silence, but there’s no conversation, no compromise.
I have to make all the decisions.
I have no one to answer to.
I’m in charge, all the time.
When there’s time to waste, I have to decide what to do.
I have the whole bed to myself most often.
I have to wake up when I’m ready, stretch and lay quietly listening to the world wake, alone.
I get to choose my life and there’s no one to question me.