Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Ramblings...

August 30, 2016



It is amazing to be at peace with who you are and also have the luxury of time to figure out what that means in terms of my role in the world.  I have felt like an outsider looking in on the world for much of my life, which, now, in retrospect, allows me to fully be me and offer to others all that I have seen and learned and experienced.  This makes me happy.  I have no fear of what will come but I am full of anticipation for what will be. 

I have tried to walk my own path and for the most part have been fortunate to do so.  This is not an easy journey because many of those around you do not choose to do so, but rather, to follow the conventions of our current way of life.  That is cool for them, but I don't want to.  Sure, I went to school, learned how to earn my way in life, got married, had kids because some of the 'normal' feels right, but I have tried to do so on my own terms and because I consciously wanted to, not felt I had to do it.  I am not a fan of the 'sheep/herd' mentality as many follow along because they are expected to and not think about if they want to.  Conscious choice is where it's at.  If you consider all the options and end up taking the 'conventional' path, it is not done as a sheep but as a thinking being, who, after weighing all the options, chose to take this path.

Ramble, ramble, ramble.  Not sure where I wanted to go with this but sometimes it helps to just jot it down and get it out of my head.

Anyhoo, here is a little piece I started recently to work my way through my latest twist and bend in the road that is my life.


The Gift
MPOTOCKI

She was free.  But it did not feel free.  It felt more like detox.  Cold sweats.  Headachey.  Doubt.  Fear.  None of that would be found in any definition of "free" she had seen.  Laying back down in bed, hoping to ride it out but wondering how long this was going to take.  She had time now!  She could do all the things she had complained about not being able to do before, yet couldn’t get out of bed and when she did, she moved about zombie-like and without purpose.
'Maybe', she thought, 'if I get a routine started, that will snap me out of this funk.’ So every morning it was coffee outside in the fresh air and sunshine, usually with her kitty on a string, eating grass.  The grapevine on the fence was filling in nicely so if she didn’t face the brewery, she could almost imagine that there were no other houses or people so close by.  She tried to forget about her phone and stop playing the dumb games she wasted her time with when she didn’t have any time to waste.  She managed to delete one but was on level 552 in the other.  Now that was a commitment worth keeping she convinced herself.

After coffee was supposed to be a walk; however, by the time she would drag herself out of bed, reheat the coffee and sit outside for a bit, it was already getting too warm to walk.  "Fall is coming," she thought.  "I will be able to walk then.“  "Besides, the girls will be in school and I will have the house to myself. " Like that was a motivator, but she was hopeful.  This was a new start…again…for the umpteenth time.  Days like today were the ones she wished she was just like everybody else and accepting of the place that they were at in that moment.  Content with what they had achieved or given up entirely on those things they would not achieve any longer and be OK with it.  "Ha!“  Expectations were her drug and like a drug, they whirled her in and out of reality, tearing her down then building her up but always pushing her toward that next fix of expectations meeting reality.

It had happened, literally, a handful of times and those times were amazing but not enough to sustain her through the million other letdowns in her life.  To be fair, they were not really letdowns so much as failed expectations.  Of course, if she had had 'normal’ expectations instead of her 'doomed to fail’ expectations, she would have been happier.  She could blame movies or books but that would just be a scapegoat.  She was a rare, passionate, artistic soul who managed to expect everyone to live how she thought they should, doing the things that she expected them to do and being disappointed much of the time.

Friday, August 12, 2016

One Day At A Time






I am thankful that this day came for me.  It was disguised in anger and disappointment and frustration but now I know that this new chapter in my life is going to be the best ever!! 

I can breath and enjoy and smell the flowers and hang with my grrls and husband and not worry about the 9-5 grind that wore on me so much over the last decade.  It is still an adjustment but one that I happy to be able to make.  Some never get that chance or are forced into it by some major disaster in their life.  I chose this and will do what I can to fulfill my true purpose.  I don't know exactly what that looks like yet, but I know that it involves art and writing and giving to others and sharing my unique wisdom.

I am ready...

Monday, August 8, 2016

A Gift??

August 8, 2016
What is a gift but does not feel like one?  For me today,  it is the opportunity to reinvent myself and truly follow George's desire to "...do what I want to do."  This is a good thing, right?  Then why does it feel the total opposite of it? 

I have been pondering this for the last few days, riding the up and down roller-coaster of self-doubt and excitement.  Talk about mood swings!!  I have decided that I need to detox from what has been entrenched in me as to what you should do and how that should look but am at a bit of a loss on how to do so.  Do I just lie in bed and wait for it to pass?  Do I sit on the deck in the back yard and commune with nature and wait for it to pass?  So many questions.  So few answers.  In my heart, I know that I have made the right choice.  I just need my mind to catch up to me but that is a tortuous process, affecting those around me, which feeds the guilt and depression of putting them through my 'crazy'.

My family is amazing and supportive and just wants me to be happy, which I truly appreciate, but find it harder to do that as the journey will affect them too, which I do not find fair to them.  Life is not fair, I know, but it is different when it is you and yours.  One day at a time is the best that I can do.  I just hope that it will be good enough.




Tuesday, August 2, 2016

August 2, 2016

Summer is passing quickly....it's already August, but I have to say, this summer has felt more like a summer vacation than most of those recently passed.  I'm not gonna lie....I am loving it!!  I have not dove into all the projects I wanted to right away, but that is OK.  I am spending time with my grrls and hanging out with the hubby a bit more out and about...things that I have not been able to do much over the past too long.  Once school starts, I will have days to myself to purge and clean and craft and promote my art and new biz.  I am OK with taking a bit o' time off to enjoy the days of summer.


The 41st
MPOTOCKI

Synopsis:  In this purgatorial freak show, the recently deceased perform in altered appearances befitting their sins in life,  viewed by those affected by these sins, who pass judgment on which remain in the traveling show and which move on to the big show.  This rite has been done flawlessly for as long as can be remembered, but tonight, something is different; there is an uninvited attendee seeking vengeance.


The number was always 40.  The moon was always full.  The reactions were always the same slow roll into horror.  This scene had been played time and time again over the ages and Remi had never experienced even the slightest deviation, until tonight.

The show began as usual, sharply at midnight, under a full, bloated moon, the great and all seeing eye within the Autumn sky.  Filament-like clouds slowly worked their way across the heavenly canopy creating a shadowy dimension to the already eerie scene. 

As always, Remi was the first to appear, welcoming the participants to what he promised, would be an evening never to forget.  “If they only knew why,” he thought to himself, scanning the crowd for the usual assortment of family, friends and enemies of the recently deceased.  He expected it to be the same old, same old, but, yet, there was a hint of a foreign feel dancing around the edges of the night.  The faint flicker of long forgotten tales tickled the edges of Remi’s memory.  He set it aside for the time being and stepped in to the spotlight.

“Welcome one and all to our Freak Show,”  Remi stated in his booming voice.  “You are about to witness that which few are ever invited to see.”  “You have been selected to view a spectacle that has been around since the beginning of time and will continue long on after you are all dust upon the earth.”

Remi’s showmanship was impeccable, pausing at key moments and emphasizing just the right words.  He owned the stage and filled it with a palpable presence that was beginning to make those seated in the front row uncomfortable.

“Those that you will see tonight will be performing in a competition that can either keep them in this traveling show or move them on to the big show,” Remi went on, slowly, as the lights were muted and blued to set the stage.  “Let the show begin!!!”  The audience watched in awful anticipation as the first freaks took the stage.

As Remi melted into the night and the first performers came to light, he felt the usual rush of adrenalin brought upon by the gasps of the audience.  “And these aren’t even the worse ones,” he said under his breath.  The rush was quickly halted when the foreign feel about this night became glaringly clear.  41. 

He called to the crew chief and asked, fully aware of the answer, how many seats had been set up and how many were occupied.  “40 on both, sir,” the chief state,  “same as every time.”  “And you are sure they are all full?” Remi asked.  “Positive, sir.”  “Then why is she standing?”

The crew chief followed Remi’s stare to a face at the back of the tent.  “41,” Remi whispered.  “How can this be?”  Invitations were collected at the door and no one but the 40 were let in.

Jenna’s hopes of being unnoticed quickly dissolved when she saw the ringmaster looking at her.  She shifted a bit under his stare, scanning for a less obvious place to be.  When she heard a woman scream and collapse into the crowd, she took the opportunity to disappear.  Dropping to her knees, she crawled toward a set of bleachers just to her left.  She tucked herself into the furthest corner she could, which, thankfully was very dark.

Jenna waited.  She knew he was here but had no idea when he would appear.  Those that came out were hideously scarred and deformed.  She wondered what each one had done in their life to transform them into their current hideous forms.  The obvious ones were easy to discern.  Those that had been sharp of tongue too often now had multiple swollen and pointed tongues, mouths widened to accept their sins.  The physically abusive ones had grossly enlarged muscles that pulsated as if alive and from the look in their eyes, very painfully so.  There were those that were missing parts of themselves and Jenna could only imagine what horrors they had performed to be awarded these mutations.  She continually scanned the crowd for the ringmaster and others that she knew were now looking for her.  She knew they would find her eventually, but that was all a part of the plan.

Forty-five minutes later, he appeared.  Jenna felt him before she saw him.  Her hatred was so pure that it connected her to him like an invisible umbilical.  She knew where he would be tonight even though 13 days earlier, she had attended his funeral.  It came to her in a dream, of sorts.  She was not able to sleep the night before his funeral.  She tossed and turned, watching the evening progress, wanting to sleep.  The more she tried, the more it eluded her.  She finally got up, to take a hot shower, letting the steam wrap around her like a protective shroud.  She tried not to think of anything, focusing on the rhythm of the cascading water.  She closed her eyes to enjoy the moment, beginning to feel at ease and calm when the movie invaded her mind. 

There was a tent on a moor-like setting, lit only by the full moon above.  People were arriving and walking towards its shadowy presence.  It was a traveling show and he was there.  Her mind told her that this couldn’t be as he was dead, but her heart knew it was true.  She watched the freak show begin, seeing a flash of the person each was in life briefly as the monster they had become in death walked upon the stage.  When he appeared, she saw him only has he had been in life.  He glowed with a dark aura and she felt momentarily afraid, recalling all that he had done.  When the movie ended, she was in bed and her alarm was going off.  It was time for this to end.  To bury it eight feet under should have been the closing to the ordeal she had survived, but after last night, Jenna knew that it would not be over with the burial.   She would have to face him once more.  Then it would be done.  

Jenna survived by killing her captor, partially through luck, but mostly due to his under estimation of her will to live.  He thought that by eliminating everyone in her life she loved, she would allow herself to be drawn to him like a buoy on treacherous waters.  He stalked and killed her dog, her best friend, her parents and her brother.  When she was so beaten down by tragedy, he walked into her life like some sort of knight in shining armor.  Her weakened state allowed him to ease in very close, which was his plan all along.  He wanted her extremely fragile, broken and despondent so he could control her.  His want was vampiric, taking from her again and again until she was a hollow husk of herself.  He would have succeeded if his arrogance had been silent.

They met at her brother’s funeral, the last in the series of deaths in her life.  Brent was tall and confidant and had a way about him that made people notice him.   When he walked towards her at the funeral, she expected him to shake her hand and give his condolences, assuming that he was an acquaintance or co-worker of her brother’s.  Instead, he enveloped her in a hug that took her breath away.  She mistook this for empathy and concern, soon learning that he literally wanted to ensnare her and keep her close. 

Over the next few weeks, he completely and brilliantly photoshopped himself into her life.  She didn’t remember a time when he was not there, though had she not been swimming in a sea of gin and valium, she might have given pause as to why he so wanted to be in her life 

He invited her to stay at his cabin for the weekend a few months after the funeral.  Jenna should have known better than to accept but somehow Brent didn’t leave her the opportunity to decline.  It was in the way he stated it more so than asked.  She found herself agreeing.   Had she not recently buried her entire family, she would have told him where to go, but she didn’t have that strength any more.  She almost liked him telling her what to do.  It saved her from making decisions for herself.  The last few months had been nothing but decisions upon decisions.  She just wanted to curl up and hide or at least sleep til the pain went away.  Brent was offering this and she eagerly accepted.

The drive to the cabin was quiet and long.  Jenna enjoyed watching the scenery change from the concrete and metal of the city to the rolling hills and lushness of the countryside.  Brent had classical music playing and was humming along to pieces that he knew.  She fell asleep on the drive, waking to the sounds of gravel and brakes.

“We’re here. Let me help you out and show you around.”  As Brent spoke, he voice seemed to flatten out and some of the casualness about him was gone.  She was not sure why, but the hairs on the back of her neck all stood up and she shivered.  “Cold?” Brent asked.  Jenna shook her head in disagreement.  His smile made her even more uncomfortable and at that moment, she realized that she had not told anyone where she was going nor who she was with. 

Brent’s transformation over the next couple of days was like watching the de-evolution of man.  He showed her to her room the first day and in there was a list of daily chores.  He didn’t say anything about it, but the next morning when breakfast was not ready when he awoke, he beat her.  She was so stunned, she just did it and everything else on the list, not wanting to piss him off again.  He didn’t shower or speak, just barked orders at her which didn’t allow for hesitation or refusal. He crawled into her bed the second night, animal-like in his want.  She tried to fight him off, but after a few punches to the head, she was too out of it to fight anymore.  His carnal appetite was unsatiable and he took her often.  She felt like an animal.  She cried and begged him to let her go.  Each time she did so, he would beat her.  Jenna retreated to a small room in her mind and tried not to feel anything.

Days and nights bled into timelessness and she had no idea how long she had been here.  One rainy morning, Brent was showered, dressed and drinking coffee in the kitchen when she went in to begin breakfast.  “Good morning, Jenna,”  he said.  “I hope you slept well.”  This was the first time he had spoken to her since they arrived.  She was more afraid now than she had ever been.  Brent stood and poured her a cup of coffee.  “Cream, right?” he asked.  She nodded.  Something had changed but she did not yet know what. 

The tale her told her was like listening to a horror story.  Brent told her how he had stalked her, learned everything about her and then eliminated all that she loved so he could have her all to himself for all eternity.  “Or at least until I get tired of you,” he chuckled, “Then I’ll find myself a new one.”  As this information seeped into her fragmented mind, she felt a rage building.  She held on to that rage for now, acting like she also wanted them to be together.  “I’ll be back shortly,” Brent said as he lead her outside.  These were his last words.

He chained her in the garage and waved as he backed out and shut the garage door.  Jenna went insane.  The rage exploded out of her and she began tearing through everything in her path.  Tears blurred her vision as she blindly threw boxes and dumped over bins.  Collapsing in a heap after an hour of this, she tried to pull herself together.  She had a reason to live now - vengeance.  Drying her eyes, she looked around.  The garage was a horrible mess and she felt the hands of conditioned panic squeeze her tightly.  The thought of being beaten again, or worse, propelled her to begin to hastily pick up the mess she had created.  Most of the stuff was easily stuffed into empty boxes and as she completed the task, she began to feel a slight release to her chest, allowing her to breath a bit deeper. As she tossed the last of the junk into a corner under the stairs, a glint of something peeking out from a chipped corner of the pavement caught her eye.  She could barely reach this spot, but found a screwdriver to chip away at it to see what it was.  Sweat rolled down her back as she feverishly hacked away to see what this treasure could be.  The shiny spot turned into a hinge which became a wooden case.  Within that case was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.  It shown and glinted in the waning light of day.  Jenna turned over a crate and sat down, eager to share its beauty with Brent.  It was days before Brent returned and in that time, with no food or water, Jenna slipped into a hazy existence.  She dreamt the same dream over and over again:

Once every millenia, a seer is chosen to attempt
to keep better balance between right and wrong. 
Once every fourth millenia, a seer with the power to change is chosen. 
Only thrice before had this happened. 
None of the three had chosen to wield their full given powers. 
The fourth chosen one, though unaware of her fate,
would be the first to take full advantage of the powers
bestowed upon her by the gods of creation. 
She came into the world in a typical way.  
Born to an average woman in an average town. 
Second child but first daughter. 
She grew and flourished in her normal environment
but always on the edge of her dreams,
she felt a darkness she could not explain. 
As she grew older, the dreams would invade her slumber more and more
and extend their tendrils into her days. 
The affect was that she grew stronger beyond her years,
both physically, mentally and emotionally. 
She would come to learn that this was by necessity
for she was a warrior waiting to follow the path
set in motion long before birth. 
Tho’ her path had long been chosen,
being the seer with the power of change,
allowed her choices not available to most seers. 
Her vengeance would fuel her to invoke upon her tormentor
the full extent of her given gifts.


Jenna knew the moment she pulled the trigger that she had given him the easy way out.  He deserved worse, so much worse than death for what he had done to her and the others she was soon to find out about.  The following days were a blur of police interviews, doctors offices and dodging reporters.  Apparently she was not Brent’s first victim and there was much media frenzy when ‘serial killer’ was inadvertently mentioned in an interview with a cop fresh out of the academy.

Brent had taken many names over the years, coming from a century of family money that could buy and support his thirst for control.  By 20, he had taken over the family business, made his first billion, was married, divorced and in a serendipitous meeting with a childless loner, was bestowed an inhuman legacy. The cabin where death finally found him, belonged to this man, who took Brent to it and began the telling of his lifetime of selection, domination and power.  He had lost track of the number of victims buried in the woods over the years, but passed on all he knew about finding prey, stalking it and bringing it back to the cabin for play for as long as it would entertain him. Brent was an eager student and quickly added the old man to the unmarked cemetary in the woods, embracing his new venture with a passion unrivaled by any he had previously known.  By the time he had set his sights on Jenna, he had added nearly a dozen men and women to the forest’s silence.

Nearly two weeks later, Jenna found herself facing Brent again at a freak show in the middle of nowhere.  This time she was not afraid.  She loved seeing the fear in his eyes as he walked on stage.  As she crawled out from under the bleachers and strode toward Brent, her eyes locked with Remi’s as he stepped into her path.  Remi saw all in her stare and now understood why she was 41.

“I’ve  come for him,” she stated firmly, her eyes remaining fixed on Remi’s as she pointed to Brent on stage.  “That you have,” Remi said.  “You know what that means, don’t you?”  “Yes”, she hissed.  “How long will this take?”  “Just a few moments,” Remi told her. 

Remi moved so Jenna could continue until she was standing in front of Brent.  He could not speak due to his mutations.  The fear hung in his eyes.  She had all the power now.  Jenna spat in his face.  “You don’t deserve death,” she snarled, “I’m taking it back.” 

Remi had joined them on the stage and had begun chanting.  Those left in their seats rose to better see and the rest who had begun to crowd toward the back of the tent turned to watch, compelled to witness the next performance.

All those present knew something had occurred but their eyes were not able to tell them what had happened.  There was a brightening and dimming of light around the girl and the freak, then a flash.  All in all, pretty anti-climatic, except for the feel of the air.  It was prickly and cold and made it hard to breath.  A few passed out.  Some vomited. 

Remi was the only one who knew of the exchange.  He could see it in their eyes.  The painful look had left the eyes of the freak, replaced now with the glow of victory.  The freak began a slow dance around the girl, whose look of terror and bewilderment was preternatural.  Remi had a new star for the traveling freak show.  Smiling, he led it off stage.  The crowd was ushered out and the freak show packed up to move on. 

The last one left in the draining moonlight as dawn began it’s awakening, was the girl.  Tears ran down her face and fell to the ground as the realization of what had just transpired broke with the rising sun.  Within this body lie the soul of Brent, now fated to live his victim’s life with the constant reminder of who he had been etched into the flesh of this body.  A horrific tapestry of sins for all the world to see.  Knowing that death would never find him again made him drop to his knees. Brent had never experienced regret for even a moment during his previous life.  He would now taste it every day for eternity.  The bile rose to his mouth and he heaved.  Shivering with sweat, he crawled to Jenna’s car.  The reflection in the window made him recoil in horror and scream an animal’s scream.  This was Hell.  Hell on Earth.  His to live forever as a freak.

Monday, August 1, 2016

An oldie but a goodie...

August 1, 2016

Going thru my writing folder, I found poems from a long time ago that I had forgotten that I had put into a small chapbook.  It's been awhile since I have written any poetry but I had started writing them in 4th grade.  I still have the poems written for English class and though clunky and childlike, they do show some ability to string words together.  I am glad that I continued with that format, though have replaced it with short story/novel writing as of late.

Yesterday's Garbage
MPOTOCKI


dig, man
the days of the past
are over -
lost sight
to the new adventures
lying in wait
beyond;
littering the
path behind
are pieces of
shattered dreams
and broken promises
and shards of
unrequited love;

dig, man
the potential
of the new day and
its new path
and look back not
to yesterday’s garbage
for it’s pick-up day

----------------------------------

“Recovery”

down and out
bruised and battered
arise from the murky depths
shake off the dirt previous
wipe away scarlet letter spills
stand tall
among your tormentors
give in not
disallow their shallowness
know deeply the rightness
you act upon
feel the strength
wielded you by truth
time -
to bear
a passage

a day - a week
all the same
time

today is now
then last month
soon to be years spent

----------------------------------

“The Stone Man”

Yes.
I’ve known the stone man.
He caught me unawares
with soft, sweet song.
He kept me rapt
with the lore he wove.
It suited him
to exchange with me
thoughts~memories~emotions,
for a time...
It pleased him
to  carry on with me
relationships personal~private,
for a time...
Yes.
I have known the stone man
but only for a time.

----------------------------------

“The Dream”

the tip of his finger glistened
holding all her sorrow
in that instant

ashamed - she blinked
through moist shadows
holding back more
that would not  come
guiltily - he sat transfixed
gradually realizing the
depths to which he’d
selfishly sent her

sorry - they sensed both
closure past
and future potential

what next?

----------------------------------

Inaudible serenades
set to hear music
that only we heard
and shared
in our gazes
caresses
and simple words;

we wrote
an orchestral masterpiece
and it was
incredible
and ours alone

and not a single note
was played

----------------------------------


Alone
in silence
I am my own tormentor
remembering
places      walks     talks
from a long time ago
another lifetime ago

Almost
better left behind
but unbreakingly bound
to the silence


----------------------------------

once upon a dreamscape
I dared the unexpected to occur
and it did
and I was pleased
and further pressed on
continuing to receive
selfishly ravaging this continuum
the little scenarios played through
and at the thought
of being presumptuous
dared a few large ones as well
always walking away content, smug
abruptly
quietly
unexpectedly - how ironic indeed
the scenarios both large and small
no longer grew
having been eliminated
with the disappearance of their
co-creator




----------------------------------

moist emotion
beaded
soft descent
etching yet another
subtle track
in my soul


----------------------------------

better
I could get better
if I could forget
but to forget,
I’d have to disallow;
to change remembrances
to mean less
or nothing at all

----------------------------------

I wrote of you once
embodied in the expanse
points of light
illuminating those features
I know to be yours.

Time was young
playful ~ creative.
Time was everything
yet no thing.
That time since past.
This time ever present.

That timely magnitude
surprisingly still exists
though considerably less
now concentrated
isolated
within a spectral corral
one when looked directly upon -
      -disappears
yet reappears with
eyes averted.
How powerfully symbolic
Nature is.

----------------------------------

spare me.
nice try.
no dice.
backfire.
limbo.
questions
unanswered.
lost.
wonder why.
assuming.
guessing.
never sure.
thanks
for the thought
to try
and make things easier.
it didn’t work.
but thanks
for the good
intention
               anyway.

----------------------------------

was it not yesterday
that I held your hand
and walked the same path?

was it not just last week
that we met for the first time
and talked endlessly, tirelessly?

had I dreamed so real
that you came alive
and were my friend?

as I awake each day
to find you nowhere
I can only think
that you were but an illusion
the main character
in a year-long dream
I have just awoken from.


----------------------------------

don’t tease
don’t be my friend
if it can only be
on your schedule ~
just don’t
be so unfair
 to me
and you
OK??

----------------------------------

weeping eyes that never cry
remaining forever dry

faded fires
hidden behind dull eyes
milky, cloudy
looking by never seeing

a crafted mask
carefully placed
drawing all attention
away from these
 tell-tale signs.

----------------------------------

He inspired her
And she longed
for no more
than to be
his personal poet.

A perfect symbiotic relationship.
Both thrived
until
of course
he left.

She faltered
and staggered along
with occasional
bits of verse
but little contained
the passions previous.

----------------------------------

dot
dot
dot
that was the end
falling into oblivion
everything, then
nothing
nothing
nothing
could erase that time
it was forever etched
into the softest flesh
graffiti
graffiti
graffiti
upon her heart

----------------------------------

the doors are all
    closed and locked
the windows sealed
    and nailed shut
but wait,
    he left and forgot
    to let me out.
alone  I pace the floors
    and roam the rooms
    awaiting a key
    to unlock the doors
    to  be set free.
maybe someday, he’ll
    remember he left
    me here alone
    and return
maybe...

----------------------------------

bleary-eyed
sunken features
quick tempered
unsettled
a junkie?
perhaps
a lover forlorn?
perhaps
please stay
don’t run
    ~not yet

I have to tell
even if
you don’t
want to listen.

it probably
doesn’t matter
not now
so long after.

closure.
I need for this
to end
or perhaps
begin again.

you’ll decide
after it’s been said
what to do
or not do

I love you.
I do forever.

leave if you must
or stay,
but never forget
Forever.

----------------------------------

maybe the end began
with the sunrise
that never came
obscured by moorish fog;
the sun was there
but we couldn’t find it,
the first in a series
of hidden things
we knew were there
but couldn’t find,
    or took for granted;
ourselves
    apart and together
hopes, dreams, desires,
    the truth
it was all there
    somewhere

----------------------------------

once there was a girl
naive enough to be happy;
then there was a woman
able to see and she wasn’t

once that woman
met a man, a soulmate
who allowed her to forget
and once again
she was happy

then he saw
and ran away
leaving her alone with her eyes
and she saw more
and sank deeper down

----------------------------------

    I thirst
for your liquid
beads of conversation
once carelessly doled out
 without thought to consequence

    in the beginning
it was a sweet interlude
I was able to take
    or leave
but as they were more frequently acquired
I began to crave them
always hungering for more
    never sated
and selfishly, for quite some time,
you gave me as many as I needed
then you were gone
and I was left without them
    a conversation junkie
    silenced
    and mute


----------------------------------

each burst of neon
burns yet another
memory into her brain;
coffee burns her throat
 as she drinks in haste,
some spilling down
the side of the mug
scalding the locked, white
knuckles of her hand;
in the background
a poet reads
a musician plays,
yet she continues to be lost,
separated from herself;
she smiles at the man in the beret
walking past the cafe’ in the rain,
he doesn’t notice her
and the smile vanishes;
the clock ticks louder
with each passing second
becoming nearly unbearable;
after a few minutes,
she stubbornly refuses
to give in to the urge to leave,
but how much more can she take???

----------------------------------

dance within the maelstrom
sprout rain
    from your eyes,
thunder from your throat,
and electricity
    from the flowing vaults
    of your soul.
appear naked
within the storm
    and be cleansed
from a cloudburst
    droplets of words
    fall from my mind.
in the pale
shadowed
light of dawn
    I am a poet.



----------------------------------

pad my walk
with leaden footsteps
so that it is known
where I walk;
lend me spurs
to sprout from
worn leathers,
for I want to be heard
as I  approach;
and in the day’s dying dusk,
only smoking steps
will I leave behind,
and, of course,
the words.


----------------------------------

I walk upon this earth
enshrouded with a holocaust cloak
of ebon.
The pain of all my days
I wear as a chain of stones
around my neck.
Every passing year,
the chain shortens
with each additional pain.
Soon it will
become a choker
and I will no longer breathe existence
onto paper.
My last breath
shall be upon stone.

----------------------------------

and into the dark heathen strife
our new souls are thrown
to search for purpose;
staring out brick windows
pacing on broken glass floors;
many cannot avoid
the traps we begin
to set for ourselves
so we can dismiss the search within
merely a stain upon our conscience;
yet occasional stragglers
remain on the fringes
viewing all activities with critical sight
all the while
continuing on the search
uttering condescending speech
to those who have lost sight
of the one true, important goal
~~purpose

----------------------------------

I walked forever in the dark
always moving forward
    but not seeing ahead
    being but not living
At times I wondered why
and dreamt of my youth
hours of running free
bathing in the light of day
blinking in the sun
    it was warm then
but these dreams were only memories
that quickly fell from my thoughts
    like sands of an hourglass
and returned me to my current walk
It was a typically bleak day
that I finally realized
that my existence was dark
because I had trod my path
with eyes tightly closed

----------------------------------

I.
play sordid music -
delicate power dream-trip;
black symphony storm
felt like shadow rain

II.
she screams sadness
through raw tongue vision
recalling the drunk
    sleeping garden
    above death