Arachne

A writer's words are preciously precocious.
It is hard to choose one over the other-
They can be stubborn,
Uncooperative.

They can make you laugh, cry
sigh in disbelief.

They can make you rejoice, curse
and beg them to please come from underneath
That place where they hide so well

-That corner of the room between the drapes
and the agape door

where a spinster wielding eight legs
weaves tales of solitude

hoping to catch stranded dreams scurrying blindly
into the arms of the familiar.

"Ferdinand's Pupil"

This evening I will be highlighting my foray into fiction with the closing ceremony of the "I Can Write Fiction!" workshop with Marita Golden. For the last eight weeks I have been blessed to take part in a community of writers who have a dream of being better at the craft that we felt we were called to do.

I thank God for the gifts and talents he has heaped upon me and I wanted to share with you the opening paragraph to the story I have in development entitled "Ferdinand's Pupil." I hope you enjoy it and that it whets your appetite for more.

"D’Artagnan Sylvester White always thought his name to be a cruel joke perched upon a dream. A joke because he felt his parent’s knew of the ridicule he would have to endure. A dream because he never felt that he could fill the shoes of the one after whom he was named. Plucked from the pages of The Three Musketeers by Alexander Dumas, he was taught that names had a way of determining the destiny of the person whose identity they encompassed. He had trouble spelling his name and even identifying with the person whom his parent’s thought would embody heroism. Especially since the name he most often heard perched on the tongues of his friends and family was “Dart,” an abbreviated version of his nomenclature; a hastened attempt at velleity. What’s in a name? He mused. More than you can ever imagine."

on Stars...

It's ironic that we breathe life into our hopes and dreams
On the death of a celestial beacon that once perched proudly in the heavens.
Anonymous until it performs its dying arc across the horizon-
The beauty of its yawn across the sky
Is lost on none whom dare
To gaze for answers
Among the faceless throng
Of granules of light.

Aubade

My eyes stood clenched-

Perched upon the precipice of precipitation

But no tears fell

No heart ached

Just the remnants of sun and sky

Drawn taut in my palms,

Peeking through the slits in my fingers

As I gathered together the pieces of daybreak...

The Meaning of Sacrifice

Those who know me know that I proudly wear my heart on my sleeve.  The love I have for my wife is unparalleled and I would do anything for her. With that being said, this story that I heard today on The Today Show was incredibly powerful:  http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/39147750#39147750

As I watched the story, I became very aware of the frailty of life; the precious moments that we have which can easily be wrenched from our grasp through no effort or want of our own.  I thought about what went through his mind as he instinctively swerved the car so that he could bear the brunt of the impact; sparing his wife and unborn child and I thought about what he could not have possibly thought about in that split second- absence.

I'm pretty sure he had already discussed a list of names with his wife; one column of boys' names slightly longer as he dreamed of holding his child and promising the world to the curious eyes and the tiny outstretched hands that reached for the harbor of his face.  He would never have that.  His child will grow up knowing that his/her daddy gave up everything for the promise that lay in the two most important people in his life and, if given a second opportunity, he would gladly do it again.   Brian Wood made the ultimate sacrifice; committed the greatest act of selflessness that one could do.  What does this teach us?  Many things:

1. Love not only conquers, but covers all.
2. Giving your all is not an exercise in futility, but in humility.
3. Sacrifice is not calculated or coordinated; it's committed.

When you learn the meaning of sacrifice, you learn that your life is not your own and the decision to save a loved one is instinctual.

We Remember Love...

We remember because it never left
We never knew the burden of its weight, its heft
Because it hardly weighs anything
It's light as a feather
Like the soles of my soul when I met her and
Subsequently being introduced to "forever"
-I can never forget her.

She said "Hi" to me and I was complete
Steadily staring at but the outline of her silhouette
While my heartbeats played a game of
"Percussion" roulette
Beating and risking their existence on a bet-

-Bet that I can make you happy
-Bet that I can bring you joy
-Bet that our daughter will have her mother's smile
-Bet his father's words will be in our little boy
-Bet that if you take this chance
And take my number in this moment

That in a few years or so we'll make the future a reality
And this "love" that we remember
Will be permanent.

We remember...
Because it's all around
Enveloping and developing us
Into light...

Shoelaces

Stretched out carefully to avoid being trampled underfoot;
I slipped out of the loop without communication.
I tried to keep above water and stay out of the street,
but I was helpless in your hands.
I was gathered together as you stretched,
tied and looped me until I bowed to your will
in the form of a promise; a reminder of something soon forgotten;
dismissed as commonplace, as merely
pedestrian...

...Should've never left you, without a blog post to step to

If I were to itemize and list the reasons as to why I have not posted in over 4 years, it would read like a dissertation on the existence and prevalence of one word whose 5 letters speak with the voice of only 4:  DOUBT.

Thanks for your patience, understanding, and "nudges."  I've returned to write what's left.

shortgoings...

Inasmuch as I try to find my balance
I have teetered and tottered on the verge of promise
Deftly avoiding certainty
And constantly dodging “somewhats” and “maybes”
For it gives pause to the persistence
Of relying on someone who is consistently inconsistent.

Naivete'

I long for a time
When love, in its adolescence,
Allowed one to "crush"
Without breaking...

Sob Story...

I feel more tethered than talented, honestly.
Fear sometimes engulfs me- to the point that
Drowning in sorrow is impossible
For at times it becomes the very air I breathe
So I guess you could say I'm suffocating.

I've spent too much time tracing fine lines, only to find I'm-
Out of it.
Because to be in is to be consciously cognizant
and therefore responsible.
But I'm more comfortable shunning it
Prone to aptly act like I'm running it
When it fact I flee
Jumping out of my shoes
Torn apart; afraid to lose
But I've suffered to the point of selective amnesia
So now I block out the pain
While in fantasy I cling
Injecting myself with ink
making my pen my morphine
Waiting for some semblance of happiness
Exchanging pleasantries with peasants and passersby who swear I-
have got it all together.

I've taken time that wasn't mine
So I guess I'm a thief.
But I was hungry for the space
That would be my relief.
No, I didn't know what it was when I took it
But right now it's of no consequence
Life has disguised it in such a way
That I wouldnt even know the difference.
So I meander in dreams that hover in the thoughts
Of slumbering idealists
Wondering how to proceed
-Struggling to admit that I'm in need
When in fact I dont quite FEEL it
Maybe because I've been cowering for so long
That standing up straight seems crazy
So I only dabble in the permanent ink of certainty
So I wont know the sting when all "hope" is fading
I know my rationale is flawed
I know it makes for fear
But it's no consolation when everybody is there for you
But there's no one quite "here."

Rorschach

There's a breath of foul air that greets me as I say goodbye to the one who has many times acted in reality out of the scope or frame of seconds, minutes, hours or other measurements by which I am faintly familiar and frighteningly foreign. Over this present absence I move closer to the distance, dragging my fingertips through the sand of beach-less deserts and cavernous specks. I sway in the stillness, struggle in the ease of broken easels as masterpieces pave my floors and my ceilings are dotted with canvasses that have never known the stroke of a brush nor been weighed down by the burden of tarnished thought. Such. Is. Light.

Woe

she used to
renew me
now she
leaves me
here
feeling callous
completely empty.

-Woe

Bittersweet Taboo...

In this instance, it's silence which serves as the sound of regret; better it than breathing life into words which one may never forget...

It pains me to feel this way. It's quite unsettling, actually. For fear of divulging what could possibly betray what is in my heart of hearts, permit me to be opaque. It's ironic, I know. I'm at once vulnerable and guarded. It's an offense mechanism, I assure you. -Trust me, if it was the opposite I'd tell you, or rather I'd avoid it totally. One or the other. I digress.

So it follows me. I try to elude it, but everytime I feel it I get derailed. I get picky and easily bothered. I begin to feel forlorn (i love that word) and the strength with which I hold on to its memory is evident in the sunsets of my fists- (its a rather poetic way of saying "the clenching of my palms.") Regret has a funny way of jolting you from the slumber of your safe reality. It is evident in looks, actions, and most dangerously, -in thoughts. I shudder to think of what I thought and how those thoughts affect how I think and in turn how I act as a result. I have elected scapegoats of who I have sacrificed on the altar of "what if's?" and they've unfairly paid the ultimate cost. I take full responsibility for what I've done, and for that I apologize...but it does me no good to be in this predicament and have to suffer at the lashes of piercing eyes. What of my deliverance? Where is my catharsis?

Between the lines of my verbal meanderings, it lies

But oh how it both tempts and tortures.

Epiphany #1

People go from upset to hopeful in the pursuit of the ever-eluding
point of happiness, sacrificing good judgement along the way.

It is my belief that good judgement is a staple in happiness, bad judgement seems to be one of the casualties of love.

Risen Upon Deaf Ears...

The words 'I Love You' lumbered
uninspiringly across her lips in my direction
but perished in the leap to my lobes;
sending me reeling, sans feeling
...as they lay dashed across the cold floor.

Equine Dream

I'm unbridled; trying to rein in the words, but there's a bit in my mouth that keeps me tame.

Molting

there's something within me that is begging to come out-
its clawing, scratching and building within me. i dont know if i am ignoring it out of fear or out of knowledge. maybe i know what it could mean. maybe this time i have thought so far out of the box that my mind has taken the shape of doubt. curious as it may be, i have censored myself for too long. the smile that you see me wear is clothing; soiled, i assure you. my emotions need a good scrub. my destiny needs a bit attention in the area of...well...everything. i feel like Jonah, quite frankly, -except that I am running away from something that I am not quite sure I am SUPPOSED to be doing, - I'm merely straying from a viable option.
my comfort zone is layered with the softest material you could imagine. the boundaries are clear and defined, and the border is riddled with defenses that keep both me in and anything that doesnt meet my specifications -out. i'm digging a hole in one of the walls unbeknownst to... me; getting my "Andy Dufresne" on, so to speak. i am fearfully and wonderfully made, so i am fearfully and wonderfully, -albeit slowly, making my way forward. there's no turning back now, i know...but can i look without turning into salt? I sure hope so.

Profundity: 1st Attempt

What more is love, then?
Than an audition for a place in the heart
Where life competes for the starring role
-But more often than not, "the die is cast..."

The Unraveling of Carelessly Laid Out Plans

I searched for sincerity in her eyes

while she looked for success in mine

In our continuum we gave up space

When we should have taken our time

so "happily ever after" seems more like

the stuff of lore

We remained mute after the fact

Instead of voicing our opinions, before.