Spirited Reflections

Believe

2011-12-26T17:52:00.000-08:00

She told me to wish on a star because it will make your wish come true. Somewhere between stardust and sunbeams when dreams feel so real you can smell the rain in the air, I almost believe. Then the sleep falls from my eyes and I’m hit with the starkness of reality.

She said that grown-ups can’t be happy because they’ve forgotten how to dream. In the fervor of her argument when her tiny hands fly up in exasperation and conviction invades every word, I want to believe. Then it’s time to come in from the chill and I’m hit with the emptiness of silence.

She gave up on the little lost boy in the green hat when she turned seven. When I watch her scan the twinkling horizon for a hint of fairy dust in hopes that some dreams are worth holding on to, I begin to believe. Then her head drops along with those beautiful blue eyes and I’m hit by tiny fragments of shattered hope.

She’ll tell you the greatest gift I ever gave her was that of life. Between the smiles and tears, hopes and fears, lost dreams and found things when I’m sure all strength is gone, I do believe.

I believe in her…and that is enough to make me believe in love again.

Brushing Keys & Building Dreams

2011-10-26T23:30:00.000-07:00

It took a flash brighter than lightning on a starless night for me to see. If not for the scream of a handful of words, I might still be blind. I won’t admit to the tears, because I’m too stubborn to let them fall. I won’t admit to the twist in my stomach, because I’m too thick skinned to let it bubble past the surface. I won’t admit defeat, because I don’t really know the meaning. Instead, I’ll let them scrub the insides clean.

~ ~ ~

Will you know when your paradigm shifts? Will anyone be there to care? I ask these questions often, and then I wonder if they matter. Mine shifted tonight and when I saw the stars again, my three were right where I left them. The comfort of the familiar steadied me. I let the gathered expectations of the last nine months blow away. They piled up when I wasn’t looking, but then I guess we miss the dust bunnies until we’re stepping on them.

Here’s the hardest part of revelation: when it finally happens no one may be there to share it and no matter how loud you scream no one will hear it.

Instead, I’ll leave it here. Though you won’t understand every word you’ll feel it with me; the excitement that borderlines mania, the fear that borderlines terror, the hope that borderlines faith. When the sharp breath hits like that wall you didn’t see coming you’ll know. You’ll see it’s all part of who I was, who I am, and who I hope to be. Seek me out to hear the smile in my voice or walk by with a quick uneasy glance; either way I’ll be here brushing keys and building dreams in cloud shaped castles.

Life Well-Lived

2011-10-23T12:40:00.000-07:00

Silence is our gift. We knew that once when the earth was still young enough to hold wonder. In the darkness of night, the crickets chirped and leaves rustled to make us aware of the quiet. When the chimes ring, I remember for a moment what newness feels like. The stars shine bright against a moonless sky. I sense life ancient and unnamable in their twinkle. It is then I know without doubt I am connected to what came before and what will be after.

So often we talk about living in the now. While such thoughts carry merit, I wonder how often we’re disconnected from our past and future. Life is a cycle of movement. At the second you finish reading this sentence the words will join the past. Does that mean they are no longer worthy of your interest?

My point here is simple. Each moment connects to another to create a stream….in it we laugh or cry or live. Because it ends or has yet to happen doesn’t mean that the value is lost. If we are to be the sum of our parts then every experience, past-present-future, collide to become who we are. In a universe of change it’s vital to know where you’ve been, to understand where you are, and prepare for where you’ve yet to venture.

Every experience will shape you whether you’ve had a chance to live it or not. We all know this life leads to one place. It is the same destination for every person no matter his or her rank. So in the end it isn’t some glorious race to finish first, but to finish well. A life well-lived will be remembered if only by a single person. Can any of us say that isn’t worth it?

Turning Time

2011-06-27T11:03:00.000-07:00

My @indieink challenge comes from Disease (@ChamindraH / www.chamindra.blogspot.com): If You Could Turn Back Time.. What Would You Do to Make Things Right?

I have to admit I wasn’t jazzed to get this prompt. The possibilities seemed pretty limited, given my philosophies on the subject; but the struggles of someone close made me take a second look. This is my response:

The bigger picture is never clear. We often focus on the details thinking we might find control, but the illusion is no one can halt the progress of time. It’s a tapestry woven with joy and pain. Each event has a place, some threads shine brighter than others. If you take one out, the entire picture begins to unravel, because they interlock to create a life. With every choice, a new thread forms to expand the edges.

Still we grasp the frays tucking them away from memory or dying them in less painful hues; mentally rewriting our history, editing out the parts of the tapestry we don’t want to face. A single thought hits: If we could go back to the beginning, it might be possible to remove the frays altogether. While this may be true have you ever considered the consequences? I have…

I married at a young age to a man I didn’t really love. It’s not that I had to marry him; I could have gone back to school and raised my daughter as a single mother or accepted the proposal of the man I did love. For many years after I left him, I considered what might have happened if I chose a different path. Each time the thought hit me my son would be there, in my arms, telling me about his day. I would smile and nod, and then hug him until I couldn’t breathe.

You see, if I had chosen the other path this amazing child would not be here today. Sure, I would have other children, but not this one or the beautiful little redhead that makes my heart smile. Every event exists for a reason. We can never see the purpose until we live the result. If we change a single thing in our history, it creates entirely different threads. Some may be better, but I believe the better is lived in the now and is based on choices.

Change doesn’t exist in the past, only lessons. We learn and grow from them to make the now right or we repeat the mistakes of our past. Either way, it will only get there when we stop looking over the fence at greener grasses and tend our own.

* * * * *

I sent my challenge out to Melissa (@rockdrool). Find her here http://www.rockanddrool.com/

Interested in joining the challenge? Check @indieink out today http://www.indieink.org/writing-challenges/

A Love Story

2011-06-21T16:57:00.000-07:00

I’m done. Maybe you missed the cue or you just don’t care to hear, but believe me there won’t be any doubt after today. This woman is no longer going to kneel before your doctrine and quietly assimilate. I don’t need anyone’s help finding what already lives inside me. So stop knocking, because my door is closed.

Unless—wait, were you here to say something important? Is there some divine message I missed in all those long drawn out lectures you gave? The ones where you mentioned that people who don’t share your beliefs are wrong.

Judgment seems to be the norm. It’s sold on street corners by Religions all over the world like counterfeit Rolexes'; their sales pitch colored by fear, anger, and hate. Salvation is optional in their world; and no one can guarantee if you do it right, if you follow the rules, it will find you in this life or the next.

God isn’t someone you have to seek out or accept. So stop telling me how and where to find him. No building or book carries all the answers, because He exists in each of us as light and love. If no one ever stepped into a church, it would be just another empty building. It’s only when people come to fellowship, share common beliefs, that He can be found walking the edges smiling. Not because you came to pray; it’s the gathering and sharing that’s important.

If you think sharing the love is about opening a book and knocking on doors then you’re missing the point. It’s not about telling me anything; because we’ve all listened to your messages until our ears bleed. You’ve had the same song on repeat for last few centuries and it’s getting old. The notes are no longer in tune and the melody skips every time you point your finger. So close your mouth and show me something.

Show me how you’re going to make the world better. Help that lady down the street with three kids who’s about to lose her house or the guy sleeping on the street because it’s easier for people to walk around than stop and ask why. Don’t sell me salvation from a pamphlet or in a sermon, show me how your actions of love and light will lead you there. Maybe then, I’ll stop and listen to what you have to say.

Show, Don't Tell

2011-06-19T14:41:00.000-07:00

You’ll find the new trend stalking every street corner. Most people walk past, eyes glued to the pavement, hoping they find someone else’s ear. If I weren’t such a believer in the base philosophy, I might stand in a corner out of sight hiding from them myself. I can’t do that anymore. (So, for better or worse, here I go opening my big mouth.)

I’m over the long speeches and quick jabs about how we’re all lost people. The self-proclaimed spiritual leaders can take their mantras and sell them on a different corner, because love and light wasn’t meant to be a commodity. I live by the same philosophy in life as I do in my writing: Show, Don’t Tell. Yeah, I could tell you how meditation brings peace, the way a hug and an ear sooths the soul, or how God’s love (yes, I used the G word) heals a heart, but how does that really help? Isn’t better to show you how these things work in my life?

There are many people in the world throwing out clichés about living in spirit and light, but how many listen? The first reaction I see from those scrolling their timelines is the classic eye roll followed by a quick click of the refresh button. That is, if they stop at all. Because no one really wants to be told how to do something or, and I really don’t like when spiritualists do this, told that they are broken.

This journey is personal and custom crafted to fit each one of us. No one has the formula. So stop acting like you do. This isn’t a club people join. If you want to reach the masses, show them how your personal spirituality has transformed the way you love people and see life. Be there when they stumble and fall, and then hope they are there to do the same for you. Because no matter how evolved we become, everyone stumbles eventually.

Light, love, and spirit aren’t exclusive; everyone carries a piece with them. So next time someone shows up on your step, stop and repeat this 10 times or 100 times or 1000 times until it sticks: Show, Don’t Tell.

Amber Ribbons

2011-06-19T09:44:00.000-07:00

Light pierced the clouds like ribbons of ambered glass. I watched from a distance as it cut the billowing sheets into feathered shapes. They reached out across eternity in quick leaps while words appeared briefly before the wind came to scramble the letters. I listened to the message form, break apart, and reform in a melody only time knew.

The drops on the windshield hinted at the rainbow hidden in the sky. And the light danced between the streaks traveling along the glass. It heard the music captured in the tiny prisms.

I’m sure something was tucked in the hues for me, but the humming of tires against the pavement masked the sound. If I had stopped along the road, perhaps my heart could have taken a better hold.

Hidden away in each creek I passed, the frogs croaked the songs of summer, mirroring the skies message. The urge to get lost along their banks grew stronger as I drove by.

Thoughts of old country roads removed from time flooded my mind; and still they chirped through the wind and rain. Calling me to join in; reaching into my heart to pull apart misconceptions.

It was a day to get lost in nothing and everything; a moment to hold tight to amber ribbons and let the song carry me back to connection.

Beneath the Flesh

2011-06-15T08:50:00.000-07:00

It will bubble beneath the skin. You scratch at the sores hoping to release the pain, but escape wasn’t meant for you. They’ll taunt with a line, maybe even a stanza; never truly giving relief. The clichés will pour across white like blood at a crime scene. You’ll look at the evidence, each clue as though it was gold, but the answers you find are screens. They fog over truth with an elegance and conviction that keeps you spellbound.

There’s a song hidden somewhere in the break. Something lonely and soulful, but it’s not yours. Just another clue holding you or that you hold too tightly. If you were willing to look beyond, gather them all to make a whole, perhaps sense could be made. But the details captivate and the bigger picture was never of interest. So you’ll listen to the song again, hoping to pull from beneath the flesh those things that haunt; like victims of a crime they’ll whisper from the beyond. Still, the fog jumbles all the words and you aren’t in the mood to hear.

Though this is a journey, have you considered not all is meant for the page? Sometimes we must stand back, allow the mind to reform and recharge. Inspiration is fickle; there’s a time when talent isn’t enough. The universe needs a moment to move forward as do the words. If you take a breath, if you let the Muse run through fields of pleasure and pain; she’ll return to you with stories that will give thoughts to the pen and peace to the flesh. And you’ll once again make sense of this thing we call life for all of us. Because in the end, you are the Muse we seek out.

Eternal Fires

2011-06-10T16:02:00.000-07:00

"A firecracker snaps behind your ear, shattering the senses. As your brain begins to liquefy, a hand reaches out to catch the drips..."

Turning Points

2011-05-22T15:34:00.000-07:00

I remember sitting there, in the middle of my room, curled on the floor. It was last time I really cried. Everything seemed broken and hopeless, I’m sure the memory of their laughter played a part as did the silence. Both were so loud my ears started ringing. If the moment wasn’t so empty, if the echo of my sobs hadn’t ripped the silence in burst, I might have forgotten. It may have faded into to just another day, but I think days like that stick with you like warm gum on your shoe.

They were only gone for the weekend, but it was long enough for my mask to crack and then shatter. You’d think the life growing inside me would be reason for hope. The amazing little freckled faced redhead just beginning to form would have been cause to count blessings, but not in that moment. Had I the glimmer of hope that she carries in every breath then the world may have seemed brighter. But the rain fell and clouds hid the moon, I stretched across the floor counting the drops as they hit the carpet, trying to keep time with the ones hitting the window. Maybe if I found a rhythm, something would make sense.

He gave me a choice. I’m sure to him it seemed perfectly reasonable, but I couldn’t reconcile it. I still remember his expression, the words rolled off his tongue so matter of fact they caught me off guard. “I already have a son. I don’t want any more children, but I still want to get married.” I didn’t understand at first, searched his eyes for a clue, and looked at the ring on my finger hoping it would answer the riddle. It only took a moment for the horror to set, a glance at the pamphlet he handed me. Then he grabbed my hand, “It doesn’t take long. I’ll be with you the entire time.”

Looking at her now, watching her red hair glisten in the sun, feeling the warmth of her hug, I think back to those moments when life seemed hopeless; when I was given a choice between two futures. I never wonder what life would be like without her, because she was always meant to be here, sitting on my lap, watching the clouds pass through a crystal blue sky. For all the pain and tears, I’m thankful I met him, because here she sits, watching the lizards crawl across the deck, listening to wind chime melodies. But when the house is dark and everyone is dreaming my mind wanders back and….

….I remember sitting there, in the middle of my room, curled on the floor. It was last time I really cried.

She'll Write for You

2011-05-08T14:30:00.000-07:00

The first petal fades as she hands over the rose. Its knowledge of the goodbye steals a bit of life. Pink and perfect, the rumor of a forever bloom isn’t in the box; only a token of the heart, the remembrance of long nights and soft sighs. If you listen, the words I love you escape when you open it. As the moonlight dwindles, the last kiss lingers. They’ll fall into slumber wrapped in love and wake to a morning of touch…of taste.

You’ll scan the radio looking for a song to break the mood. The notes string down the road as the hawks fly above the fields. They’re flowing today, touched by sunlight and the tears rolling down her cheeks. But keep your eyes forward, glue them to the road. If you break now there’s no hope of turning back or, maybe, that’s the only hope. Another flight waits, just a call away. Still you know she must go. Their hearts call to her and half the tears she cries are for them.

One bag, a quick hug before sorrow takes hold. If you leave fast enough she’ll never see you cry, but did you consider that may be exactly what she needs? So easy to hide behind the words written on the screen. That’s why you’ll forget to call, because you know she feels the pain in every beat; a burden you keep, because it would only make it more difficult. And the last thing you want is add another string. One more and she may break.

She’ll write for you a thousand sunsets. The colors will dance from her fingertips in fevered waves, because it’s the only way she can cope with a heart divided. When you read this, take in each drip, you’ll see how her heart belongs to you…or maybe you won’t. It will never stop the flow, she’ll write about gardens and train tracks and long walks by the river – she’ll write about love, because that’s what you are…to her.

Love Me Tomorrow

2011-05-06T12:20:00.000-07:00

Love me tomorrow; when the wind shifts and the stench of past romances no longer follows us as we walk. They haunt in gusts, forcing the memories back; each smell, every touch assaulting the senses. Its grasp so tight I struggle to pull in breaths that sting with loss. The pain real to the taste, it sits bittered on my tongue, rooted so deep I’ve yet to remove them all.

So, love me tomorrow; let time lift the scars scratched across the soil by sharp careless words whispered by pained hearts. Though I step with care, they reach up to grab the hem. You’ll see the trip just ahead, but let me fall, because this is not tomorrow and I still fight the loss. The scratches and scrapes won’t linger. They heal as my heart starts to let go. Listen to these words and…

Please, love me tomorrow; but not today, oh no, don’t love me on this day. I still need time to catch my breath and I’m waiting for the wind to shift and spinning from the last fall. There’s still so much to do. The places I meant to visit are calling and I’m desperately reaching out to find them – and you. But love…

When you see me, smile and keep walking. When you wake to a new day, thinking tomorrow has come, read these words again and you’ll know – that it is today…

…and tomorrow still waits for love.

Juliet Notions

2011-05-01T14:01:00.000-07:00

They say it’s out there. They tell me to keep looking or to stop and let it come to me, but the lack of agreement confuses my heart. I feel the strings of logic and love wrap around me. The twist strains the beating making it jump and shudder. When I cut one, the pressure lifts for a moment. The message clears, and then clouds when the next word is uttered causing the cycle to begin once more.

I’m not held in Juliet notions. A love to die for is a step past the forever I desire, but there’s a touch of whimsy in this dream. One that sparkles the edges enough to hold my attention in short breaths. Don’t confuse this with all-consuming passion. It lies far from the abyss created by those fires. This love is the spark; the one that lives bound in soulful whispers and sits on silver lined fancies.

It was once written in a screened memory best. When I heard the words leave her lips I felt them resonate; a dream of love that will still time. Those are the sentiments that echo in me. I go back from time to time to hear them again, because, even though the box is empty, those words still hold power over me. As does the moonlit warnings woven in her tale.

It’s possible that chance passed me somewhere in the turmoil. The forever love set beside the road was missed while my mind wandered in moonlight and waves. I’d go back to search the gravel, but I’ve traveled so far for so long that I’m sure it’s moved on to another heart.

I could let the regret swallow me, I could let the pain overwhelm, but I haven’t reached the end yet. And I desperately want to see where the road leads, if it truly leads anywhere. Right now there’s no light on the horizon, only that moon…echoing her warning.

Puddle Splashers

2011-04-26T13:54:00.000-07:00

It’s one of those days when the seams don’t fit. Maybe the rain shrunk the edges or they’re filled past flowing; either way the alignment is off. I’ll push and pull for a little while, and then turn back to the page. No matter the words, I’ll write each down with a little clickity-clack, because in the end they’ll make sense to someone.

I remember the day we were lost in a rose garden dream. Though nothing was in bloom, we could still smell the sweet scent. We watched the other patrons run, glancing briefly in our direction. The question in their eyes: why aren't you moving? But we sat in the raspberry rain, drinking sangria and lattes laughing about the panic. And when the thunder rolled, we exchanged a knowing look; the power of the rumble flowing down to our toes while the rain tapped out a message on our backs.

We giggled at the sweet dedicated hostess braving the weather to reach our lone table. And then, at the busboy who asked half a dozen times if we wanted a seat inside; but we let the drips soak in, past the doubts, beyond the fear and sighed a little inside. We were mysterious and movie stars and those people who braved the lightening. In a garden of light, we counted each drop and when they stopped, we stood glancing at the stairs before turning to splash in puddles forming on the sidewalk; because that’s who we are: the puddle splashers, the rain dancers, the writers of life with a touch of love.

And if they could see, if they only knew…they would have stayed. Just for a moment, to find a puddle of their own to splash in.

The Next Step

2011-04-19T18:03:00.000-07:00

There were no ribbons or bows laced through my happily ever-after’s. Very rarely did they manage to fall into happy and ever-after were never words we used, because most loves are not crafted to withstand forever. Most are based on expectation and judgment; brittle foundations that begin to crumble with each shake. He didn’t call me yesterday, shake ~ crumble; she’s always late, shake ~ crumble. Until they’re merely footprints left in dust; chalk outlines of what might have been.

Even now, as I write, I’ve yet to see the light of forever in a smile. Truthfully, I’ve stopped looking, because I only carry one expectation with me now. Partially because, love held without exception is so much more fulfilling; and, I’ve learned over time, when you confine people to an image, they aren’t able to grow through your love. There’s a freedom and security in being loved for the simple act of existence. In that, growth is possible.

The one remaining expectation? Eventually, without exception, everyone will leave. It’s not that we stop loving, but sometimes life pulls at the seams; the threads closing the gap begin to fray and break, causing two hearts to drift. One steps into a golden laced sunrise, the other turns towards the lavender brushed sunset; each finding new purpose and passion in the colors.

Seem hopeless to love someone who is destined to leave? It isn’t, because they always leave behind a part of themselves. The gentle moments sitting by the fire, music and a graveled road with no particular destination, long nights lost in wine and the wink of starlight.

Though memories rarely carry the same weight as a touch, they are still precious reminders of connection, purpose, and hope. Connection to another soul in love and light; Purpose of the heart to love without expectation; Hope that love will find you once more. In the end, I choose to hold tight to hope, because it’s always worth the next look, the next touch, the next step.

Remnants

2011-04-16T10:33:00.000-07:00

Behind an old iron gate, in a field now holding the blush of spring, lie the remnants of happily ever after. The story trapped in the crumbling brick and weathered wood is easily missed. Most people drive down the road, eyes faithfully tied to the graveled asphalt. If they took a moment to glance past the worn metal cage, the little picket fence hiding among the vines would catch the eye; but they turn the music up to hasten the journey, drowning out the murmurs of love.

Within the trees you’ll find it; a lifetime of laughter and a touch of something you can only feel. They hold the images close to bark, captured in ringed memories. Each new bud releases a giggle in jeweled tones and flowery fragrances. Close your eyes; inhale the bits of joy they send as whispers on the breeze. As one eye opens, and then the other, notice the way the light dances off the emerald foliage. Can you see the way each branch reaches out to carefully lay the tale in your upturned palm?

* * * * *

Behind the vines,

laughter echoes past the gate.

In the clearing,

we watch the gentle touch of fate.

Tear it down; the foundation

of love , built over lifetimes.

In our minds,

images of children run.

Past the light,

ghosts of yesterday catch the sun;

reminders; their lives still echo

in the heart, while tears begin the fall.

Time holds to memories,

left to wind and dust;

Captured in eternal light,

glimmers of love and trust.

It will stick,

on the edge of salt and water;

In the ripple,

the heart begins to falter;

It’s the love,

fallen back from memory,

that will pull; beyond the ache that binds you.

With all the pain,

you will find a hand to guide you.

Four Dollars and a Parking Pass

2011-04-11T23:43:00.000-07:00

The symbol for this place isn’t on any map. You won’t find it on the page, a post, or written in the stars, because those places require perfection that rips at the foundation. Here the branches twist and leaves are mixed hues of emerald. The woodpecker taps a rhythm that bounces unevenly against the ear. Babbling, the brook carries on a conversation with the daffodils as trees lean close to catch each secret it spills along the shore.

A graveled path crunches underfoot as they walk hand-in-hand up a muddied path. Across the stair and up a hill, they journey to the place where a counsel of trees gathers. Worn by the winds and time, their leaves no longer bud, but much like old men sitting around a small town barbershop, they argue and laugh about moments long since gone. On occasion, branches reach up in silent prayer. The birds quiet to a hum in reverence, but not the people. They continue past, unaware of the appeals, disconnected from the divinity of this moment.

On an old bench, scarred by love letters, they watch the world pass. In the distance, fruits of the land are gathered by laborers of soil and sunlight. A hawk plays on the current. Its wings dip and turn with each gust as it searches the grasses for movement. Nearby, the bushes rustle as the wind whispers. She turns to gaze at the imperfection of each leaf, the twist of vined stems, the asymmetry of petals, and wonders if anyone else can see the perfection of it.

She walks, barefoot and connected, through the grasses. The mud oozes between each toe; cool and moist, it grabs and roots her to the land. One last glance back to the hill, she closes her eyes to listen as life continues the flutter. The woodpecker taps, a bee buzzes past, the wind picks up a couple clouds looking to hitch a ride, and the gravel crunches. Four dollars and a parking pass was all it took. She can’t be certain, but she’s pretty sure God lives somewhere on that hill.

* * * * *

If it isn’t spoken or written, if it’s held in whispers, does it then become a figment of the heart?

The Fallen

2011-04-04T12:31:00.000-07:00

There’s a sound traveling along the silken strands of sunlight peeking through the panes. It might start as a faint ringing in the ear; sometimes it falls upon the heart in barely audible whispers, but the one thing you know for sure is that it’s meant for you. A message of purpose, passion wrapped and soul spun.

Hidden behind the hue you’ll find it. There’s something about the way the light shines that calls to mind a connection both ancient and ethereal. At first glance, your mind will dismiss the thought. The images are blurred; clouded with years of encoding and slightly concealed behind the walls you’ve spent countless hours constructing. But the message grows beyond whispers; ever faithful, it calls in rhythmic tones reminding the mind of facts the eyes refuse to perceive.

From the moment you were pulled from flight, it chased you through the stars attempting to soften the landing; but cloud laced fingertips scatter with the breeze and no amount of bracing will stop the shatter. So you pull in one last starlit breath before the fleshed prison takes hold; knowing this choice you made has purpose past simply want or desire.

In the fall, you see their pain. Blades sharpened by prejudice, anger, and love lost, cut deep into the soul. It’s not that they choose to live in this hell. The book was written long before anyone arrived. They’re enslaved by nurture and the brutalities of nature, but past the agony is touch of something held heart deep. It’s a hope that sticks to the walls pumping darkness through without letting it take hold.

When they trip, a hand flies skyward searching for one to grasp. The cries will echo in your heart; it’s the call of purpose returned by the voice of a stranger. As the need becomes clear, you’ll feel the pull. It brings back faint memories of tumbling clouds wrapped in a feathered resolution. Instinct compels your hand to reach out and soul guided compassion carefully constructs the words that will strengthen the light of hope fighting to keep hold.

It’s a smile, captured somewhere in the heart, that will shine through their eyes. This isn't about changing or fixing; the purpose is to be there when the hand is up. Because sometimes they just need a shoulder; being open for the lean can mean the difference between staying in the mud and standing back up to put the next foot down.

One Sigh, One Step

2011-03-31T13:34:00.000-07:00

The first step seemed solid. You checked the footing before making the second, but something catches the edge as you lift. Glancing down, the thought is there hanging to your leg like a lost child. It takes a moment for the eyes to focus; clear the fog long enough for the idea to take hold.

Turning towards the street, you wave at the car already gone from sight. The emptiness glares back as reality sinks in: He’s gone. One sigh, one step and you’re in the door, but tied to the hem are the memories and the words; the ones you didn’t have time to let slip. They nag in whispers, but your heart swats at them watching each scatter down the hall.

Relief sets in, allowing for the next step; but the buzzing cloud reforms. Somehow it grew in the dispersal, choking every breath as your lungs fight against the drowning. Assaulted by images, your mind staggers towards the wall; reaching out to stop the spinning, but the railing gives way causing you to tumble.

Still, the tears won’t come. The strength of will that pushed you forward keeps a tight hold; forcing the next step, because it has to. Even as sorrow washes, you are unable to release the emotion. Although his face is square in the eye and his voice lingers in the ear, you manage to crawl under the covers with the hope that sleep will bring relief; but the cold descends. You reach over to tuck under his arm only to find the emptiness glaring once more.

One sigh, one step; because moving forward seems to be the only way to keep going. Never stopping to realize that if you wait a moment, the car will drive past for one more wave, the phone will ring to let the words slip, and his arms will be there ready to catch you before the fall.

* * * *

I never told…it took everything ounce of my strength to leave. When we’re not together a piece of my heart is missing. Loving you has been the hardest and easiest thing I’ve ever done, but I wouldn’t trade a single moment for anything in the world. I love you now…I’ll love you always.

A Glimpse of Perspective

2011-03-29T14:35:00.000-07:00

Today was a time to search for the flutter. I let the ringing in my ear lead the way back to connection. The message isn’t always clear, but it’s the feeling that matters. It’s my way of catching a glimpse of perspective.

Today was a time to search the sky. I gazed at the clouds looking for that hint of wing-tipped salvation, but they sat peacefully in powered perfection. So I let the feeling, they passed on the breeze, wash across my chest to saturate; to rejuvenate the dimmed light fighting to hold on.

Today was a time to search for Angel’s whispers. I turned to the water, watching it roll down a concrete river. It carried the last remnants of darkness that was clouding my vision down swiftly moving currents. I released a sigh, allowing the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on the last few days to slow to a halt.

Today was a time to be thankful for a solid hold on the path before me. Even when the ground is rocky and the weeds pull, my feet stay firm. I know my purpose in life, the places that bring enlightenment, and how to keep my eye on perspective. I used that perspective today to reconnect to the love and hope that has blessed my life; and to marvel at the hearts ability to grow.

Today…was good day to let life find its way back into my heart.

…because life is persistent

2011-03-25T11:24:00.000-07:00

You think it’s an illusion; that the glimmered mirage reflected in watery eyes doesn’t dip past the surface, but the rocks you skip aren’t meant to sink. They skim in rippled jumps each barely tapping the water as it reaches for the other shore. Exhausted from the journey, they succumb to the pull and sink. Before you watch them disappear beneath the waves, another rock is hand ready and held tight.

The breeze carries a message through a flowing curtain of willows. They weep for a world-weary heart hardened by time and a touch of life. Desperate to catch your eye, the branches wave frantically, whipping just above your head. When the rustle grows, you glance in annoyance cursing the disruption. The branches, drained from the effort, release the call to let it settle back along the wind. But life is persistent; it turns to the nightingale, hoping that the sun-brushed melody melts past the iced prison walls surrounding your heart.

There he sings, on the water’s edge, fighting past cellophane wings to catch your ear. His little heart beats a foreign rhythm of love. The song drifts past an unwilling soul wrapped comfortably in its loneliness. As he prepares to expend his final breath, you turn to throw another stone and stir the water with a splash. Off he flies in search of new ears to capture. If you were to pause, the absence would be glaring, but the urge to continue skipping overwhelms the senses. So you throw another stone, hoping this one will make it to the other side.

The frustration builds as each one falls faster beneath the deep cerulean waters than the last. Realization has yet to take hold, but life is persistent. It compels the lazy clouds to gather. As the sky woven blanket begins to cry, you feel the first drop roll across your cheek. You brush it away without a thought. The first drip safely in hand, you return to task; scowling at the heavens, you warn them in brief sharp glances.

A laugh rumbles across the hills. It grows to a deafening echo in your ears. Undeterred, the sky opens; in typed drips on the water’s surface, it faithfully sends the message of love. As it soaks, you feel the warmth dip past the skin. Your face turns skyward letting each word roll down rose touched cheeks. It continues to flow as your hands release the stones into the moss covered soil below; finally the words pool right below the neck, through brittled walls, into that space emptied by loneliness.

…because life is persistent and all it needs is time.

The Fall

2011-03-21T17:46:00.000-07:00

It’s a thought hanging on the edge, your first inclination is to reach out and grab it before the fall. The bright colors and sparkles are enough to compel a heart to action, but what if the thought isn’t for you. A trick of the eye, the light can rearrange the image to fit. And a soul desperate for the comfort of inspiration will latch.

As it begins to pull you, vision clears to authenticity. The edges solidify; that’s when you realize the passing glance wasn’t yours. The smile, a play on the strings, captured the wrong soul. Two pieces push and press finding a way to fit, discovering in the frustration, the ends are off. The heartache is inevitable. Where the glimpse of love once stood, the truth of lust shines with such a glare it leaves you wondering how the mistake was made.

The almost and what could have been cross your lips in sighs. You ponder the purpose of moments woven with self-destruction, laying the fault in fate. Some loves have no destiny, the lies roll so easily from souls seeking survival. And there is a whisper of truth in self-soothing mantras.

Wisdom may not sit for any length, but love isn’t tainted with conventions of reality. It floats on the cliff waiting for the next longing. Knowing the soul’s desire to be tethered, its unparalleled patience is tipped with just enough whimsy to enrapture the mind past caution. You may not feel the poke, but the next time you see the sparkle about to tumble, take a moment to consider the fall.

Together

2011-03-19T20:31:00.000-07:00

It almost seems as if the world shifted when I wasn’t paying attention, but that has never been my strength. I often miss the changes in the tide. That’s when the waves start pulling the sand from under my feet; causing me to sink past the point of balance. I flounder, looking around for something to stop the fall, but the scenery is barren. So I scan the beach for another soul to extend a hand, finding that I am alone. I could blame this unusual tide on the moon, but experience has shown that the truth typically lies right below the surface; in the depths of water I often avoid, because the darker waters hold mysteries I’ve yet to comprehend.

When the universe speaks, my first inclination is to run. Today the tide came in throwing me back into the sand. Now I could have stood up, making a fast break for the hills, but when I looked back at the imprint there were two sets. This alone would have made me uncomfortable. However, I wasn’t quite prepared for what I saw next; a heart, perfectly formed in the drop, neatly placed between the prints.

I’ve tried to write about this love many times. The urge to express it is bursting from every pore, but the words always leave me wanting. It doesn’t get much better when we speak. I find my heart dripping straight out of my chest into his eyes. Some invisible force sews my lips together. I resort to a look, a touch, a soft sigh that embodies the essence of the emotional rollercoaster my soul is on.

With the ability to express such emotions removed, I turn to moments. You see, that is all we really have together; a day at the beach, when the horses grazed on winter dried grasses, hiding in his arms from the chilled ocean breeze; driving down a moonlit road listening to rosy tunes, finding solace in the click-clack of the train tracks; a night of love drunk bliss, watching foreign films and falling into soft kisses, hoping to God that time stops.

If this were just a romanticized view of what we are together, I could disconnect my soul and write an epic anthology of love poetry. The fact is, the ease of this love sits outside of conflict. There is no jealousy, anger, finger pointing, questioning of motive or action, because none of these things exist between us. It’s simply a heart in the sand, surrounded by the imprint of two souls without expectation.

There are times when you have to live something. Not every experience lends itself to the page. I find more often than not the backstory, although interesting, isn’t given much weight by the reader. So I’ll leave out the how’s and why’s to relate what we are now. We are love, we are touch, we are talk, and we are that simple everyday something that everybody is looking for, and we are all this….together.

Cracks

2011-03-18T20:59:00.000-07:00

Some cracks take much longer than a minute to heal. We try to skip past them, hoping that time fills the break. That’s when the weeds move in pushing the edges past the mind. As the crack expands, we gain momentum, but they grow so much faster than a heart can run.

These cracks started when youth was still fresh in my eyes. For all my skipping and whistling, I could not find a way to fill them. No amount of love can kill the weeds, but even at that tender age, I knew that love could fill the holes. Still, there were the weeds which grew beyond the confines of my soul.

If you gaze long enough at my fingertips, you can see the scars left from years of pulling. See I decided several years ago to begin the journey of removal; to cleanse my soul of the poisoned plants infecting the cracks. It occurred to me that you can’t fill something until it’s empty. Seem like a simple concept? Perhaps, but most people don’t see the weeds; so they continue to attempt filling something that is already full.

It’s a journey of will. You’ll find that some things are very comfortable. Well fed by doubts and insecurities, kept warm by fleeting desires, they can grow beyond your control. Patience is the key; touched with a bit of understanding and the love of self. Of course, you must be willing to take a hard look at choices. My suggestion is to wear lenses that feather the edges, because not every choice we make is a good one; and then exercise a little forgiveness.

In the end, pain is the most difficult weed to remove. Here forgiveness is key. You must be able to forgive yourself for taking that left turn instead of the right; and then extend those arms to include the people who added to that pain. It didn’t occur to me, until recently, that people can be forgiven for most anything. It’s a matter of stepping back and taking a good look at what drives them to action. Sometimes we need to put ourselves in Their place to see the why’s.

After all this work I still find cracks, but the fact that I see the new ones is a step towards healing. Now, when the pain comes to fill them, I remove it quickly. There’s no point in letting something so empty, something simply intent on feeding off my energy, to consume me. In its place I add love. The love I have for the starlit souls in my life fills the breaks past flowing. For that, I am forever grateful.

White Knights & Picket Fences

2011-03-16T23:52:00.000-07:00

The ending is supposed to be happy. At least, that’s the way the fairytales say; though I’ve never been one to read the entire book. Maybe I missed something in the skimming. I should have taken a second look, but the details just didn’t seem important at the time. I think back to the white knights and picket fences wondering why it became the standard. Of course, it’s easy for the sparkle to capture your imagination when youth still has you tightly spun.

I could say that I’m wiser now, but there’s no point holding onto such lies. Especially when the brights are still on. The truth blinds past the glittered dresses and fairy godmothers now. My time of living in youthful fantasies ended when the lights dimmed. Two failed marriages revealed the kinked metal and crooked slats; a dreamed perfection that’s quickly gathering dust on my shelves.

It’s time to let the dust settle across the pages. Step back from the obsessive need to keep the shelves clear and simply breathe. Not something I manage with any skill, but I wasn’t given the manual; so I’ll stumble on the frays and find a way to move forward, because there’s no point in going back. The charred bridge lies at the bottom of a river I will not cross again and I’m done mourning the loss of those dreams.

Lessons learned, we glance back at the good with smiles and let the bad fade past memory. It’s time to pull up the straps, putting one foot down, because that’s the only way to get through the day to day. In place of progress, movement brings us toward the green of spring with some hope that it is fashioned for happiness. And the search for hope, happiness, and new love is always worth the next step.

That Moment

2011-02-25T15:20:00.001-08:00

It's that moment when your soul screams the words your heart is unwilling to hear. They fall short of pouring from your fingertips, because fear has ties that bind too deep to break.

I wasn't listening to ocean yesterday. If I had perhaps the lull of blue-gray waves would have meant something to me. The way the sky began to crack from the weight of clouds full of sentiment my heart did not care to accept. Each crash tossed another sampling of broken lives upon the sands. It sat stained with the fragments of memories from centuries of shattered dreams.

No, I did not listen to those stories. Though the shimmer of what was caught my eye; a repetitive theme I'm ashamed to admit I missed. There was something about the air that was a bit too chilled and something about the manner that was a bit removed. I'm afraid you had to be there to truly understand, but then maybe the imagery will stick making my meaning clear.

On first consideration, you may miss it, but I didn't. It's always what isn't there...the ghost of ships haunted my mind even as the choppy waters held them in port. A piece of the puzzle often sitting in thought, realized only when you search the waves. Sometimes I fail to see what's right in front of me. My mind drags when revelation is near and the edges are rusty, partially from underuse.

This life lies shattered with the shells. Colorful pieces of brick-a-brack left on the shores to amuse the tourists. Three parts rolling as the waves crash relentlessly against the world-worn edges. Though the sand fills the cracks, the disconnect is obvious and wearing.

With time, there may be nothing left but the pretty images painstakingly laid out on pages no one cares to read, because they are just pieces; fragments of a story caught in the surf, rolling in the waves, worn at the edges...who really wants to take home the pieces?

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Jaded Moonlit Glow

2011-02-22T19:33:00.001-08:00

In her universe,

thoughts stalk liquid eyes;

a ballet, fluidly crossing

between the actualized and conceived.

Nothing truly materialized,

always on the brink

she reaches for a hand

removed from feeling.

Laughter falls softly on her lips,

compliments softer still;

in the essence of what is,

there is only a beating,

unified with the words;

Images of what should be, but isn’t,

capture her waking dreams,

visions slanted by hopes unrealized.

There are few words of solace

found on these lips;

compassion detached at the heart

long before the conversation began.

It thrashes against stone;

searching for a kinder used

vessel to create a home.

Still, I listen,

forcing a smile.

Hoping, the jaded cast is muted

by the gentle glow of moonlight.

Vibrations

2011-02-19T23:28:00.001-08:00

Clicking across the rails,
it sooths the senses.
Haunting whistles
serve as a reminder;
the sacrifice of flesh
still fresh, after so many years.

These centered moments;
mirrored in walls that crumble.
falling to forces outside our grasp
While echoes float in shimmers,
a connection to events
since removed from context;
carrying a sting that ripples.

Here, in the moonlight,
thoughts wander,
conjuring images of life;
stories set to emotions that linger.
As he whispers in my ear,
my heart stops, waiting for the push.

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A Subtle Mix

2011-02-18T09:12:00.001-08:00

It will wear at the edges, a fray of thoughts the mind pulls at to unravel the mystery. Taking a moment to look around you'll search for what's nagging....did I remember to lock the car? Did I forget my bag?

A subtle mix of fear and loneliness begins to descend as you continue to float from room to room. All the while, the answer sits just behind the one door that remains closed. The one that stays out of view, stalking the corner of your eye.

* * *

The ticking echoes to a boom
in a maddening silence
stalking the mind

A master of souls, his messenger
comes with the beating
caught by a notion that's fleeting

He knew when the ink
was set to page
the words would haunt

The scent of such truths
invades the senses
Ferreting thoughts cast in shadow
a welcome revelation

Yet still, I find,
there are times
when the mind reaches
for the comfort of ignorance

* * *

"This isn't goodbye, not really."

"Think of the all time we'll have to write. All the experiences we can write about."

Lost in the words that placate lies the truth. Or the lies we mask as truths to hide the feelings our hearts are unable to face.

"I miss you already." Sighs in vein leaving my lips with each kiss goodbye...little more than desperate cries of the heart. Do you welcome such honesty?

* * *

The claim of perfection doesn't sit on this page. You will not find Shakespeare near. Sweet nothings fall short when expressions of a soulful love are actualized and there is always room for growth.

"Our energies continue to build on one another...I don't see that ending soon."

Is that a truth to hold tight or another way to placate?

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A Settled Reality

2011-02-17T08:41:00.001-08:00

Time dragged me through the reality of thoughts I avoided until this morning. Hitting like a rouge wave pushing me deeper into the surf. Struggling for a hold and air, I turned to look at him...a mistake, I freely admit, because the very sight steals my breath, turning the world.

It took all my strength to pull back the tears he saw precariously perched behind these saddened blue-green eyes. Why I attempted to hide anything is beyond comprehension, the truth is he always knows no matter how deep I bury my thoughts...so I sit waiting for time to betray me once more.

Captured in a fickle sense of fear, my heart tosses between the urge to run and the unending, all-consuming need to be in his presence. But even I can't keep out reality forever. The question lingers, heavy on the tip of my tongue. I choke it back, so as not to ruin the moments, but it sticks in my throat. A whisper of thoughts, I try to clear.

What are we to become?

He'll never let me in completely...into his life. The price paid really isn't worth what he receives from me. In the end, he lives alone. Besides, love can't overcome all fears and sometimes it isn't enough. Feel the sorrow of those statements? Did the wave hit you too?

I live in stolen moments...for the sake of love. No, that's wrong...for the sake of selfishness, because I can't let him go. So I settle into a heavy heart with the knowledge he will never truly be mine.

~The Sky Tumbles~

Sitting in silence
letting time drag me
through the reality of thoughts
I tried so desperately to avoid

Watching moments
pool at my feet
to mix with the sorrow
of a loss yet to settle
into reality

Constructs of images
falling empty into the spaces
between the words
we so carefully avoid

While the sky tumbles
with the weight of stars
burdened with the truth
of the nothing
we are to become

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The Language of Us

2011-02-11T08:58:00.000-08:00

* * * * *

It’s a perplexing set of circumstances leading me to this post. I’ve spent many nights sitting with pen and paper attempting to describe this feeling…the emotions that have turned my world right side up. To say I’m in love seems to leave out all the subtle layers of detail that make this love so unique. Though I wrote a tweet poem or two the words are always just out of reach…until last night.

It was a revelation, of sorts, that tipped my mind just enough for me to understand the undeniable truth of who we are…together. This love isn’t meant for the books….it’s not one for epic poetry that will transcend all barriers bringing lovers across the universe together. No it is soft, gentle, soulful, connected on a level I was –until this moment—unable to quantify, because it’s not meant for words…this love is meant to be lived; fully completely, without reservation, hesitation, or requirement.

Having said all that, I do think it requires some type of documentation, because this is more than just a passing fancy, a whim of the heart. So here is where I begin:

The Language of Us

He sees me;

the Me hidden in words,

trapped in universes,

endlessly swimming

in a perpetually moving mind.

Soothing tones calm the spin;

a rhythm of thought ,

set to the tempo

of gentle urgings

and heartfelt sighs.

In the silence,

soulful whispers finding union;

stringing our beings

beyond requirement for conversation;

a language of gestures and sound.

Connection of souls,

sent down through the ages;

a wave of knowing,

captured in feeling,

a love that’s meant to be lived.

Possibility of Angels

2011-02-07T10:02:00.000-08:00

I woke to the possibility of angels,

neatly lined on my duvet.

The glow of laughter still present,

on petaled pink lips, as they pray.

A sight, these angels three;

Come down from the heavens

to sing to me,

of tales I have to sew,

places my mind has yet to go.

Fertile I sat, patiently waiting,

eager to hear it unfold;

spinning the threads , hung in my head,

looking for me to take hold.

"Within you lies a universe

of tales the world must know.

Take to pen, find the page,

it's time for us to go."

"But wait," I cried as uncertainty

took me by the hand.

"I haven't the words to write

such tales, I hope you understand.

My poetry is soft, the prose is lacking,

and I'm sure the language is off.

My rhythm has faltered, the rhyme has left,

And I'm afraid my courage is lost"

Her smile was so much softer than

the cooing of a dove;

She took my hand and led me here,

giving a gentle shove.

Through the window I tumbled,

waiting to hit the ground;

Listening for my breaking bones,

but nothing made a sound.

Eternity stretched before my eyes,

the crystal path was clear.

It washed away insecurities grasp,

so, too, did it take my fear.

I saw the vision in the angels call,

the tales I’ve yet to tell;

adventures of my many lives,

and handled it quite well.

You see there was no beginning

Or end, I simply had to start;

allow the words forming in my mind

to fall upon my heart.

Now I write this tale for you,

the night the angels called;

letting the words float through the air,

watching where they fall.

If you hear them singing now,

take to pen and write;

it's through the stories yet to tell,

you'll see your soul take flight.

Melted Psyche

2011-02-06T10:45:00.000-08:00

Subtle ways

A delicate trance

of words and passion

Fixated in the mind

push towards growth

to peer inside

at thoughts caught

on insecurity and fear

necessitating the urging

Hesitation still sits

on the hem

Waiting for strings to fray

Releasing the drops

from a psyche melted

by the pain of time and being

Lessons learned

memories and voices

Lived without choices

Held back by walls

Constructs of the mind

Unknown to the unconditional

Backed by the irrational

holding me up sometimes

A Heart Removed & Faded Cast

2011-02-03T20:56:00.000-08:00

The emptiness consuming my eyes should be the first sign. But then it's likely you never truly spend time looking into them. Missing the first, you could go on to see the casually indifferent way I nod when you speak. Yet still I find the clues too subtle, for these are the same messages sent over years of conversations that contain one subject...you.

I pat you on the back, nod, or smile and hope that the poison dripping from your lips hasn't infected my soul, but the knowing gets the better of me. It was infected so very long ago by hearts far more indifferent to the reality of me than you. No your dipped darts haven't the virility to take me down though I must acknowledge a fervent attempt. Few have been so passionate in their pursuit of my attentions, in truth I wish you weren't.

The affections you seek are far removed from this heart; if they ever truly existed, but even with that fact aside, they are not present now. If it is pain you desire there are those far better equipped to provide for you.

This heart does not live in that chaos. My mind prefers silence to the constant search for revelation. These paths we follow do not cross. Our maps are separate; topography unique to our own journeyed lands.

Should you find someone, anyone along your road, take hold by heart and walk together, but know that it is not me. Gaze into her eyes, note the smile ~the perfections of imperfections making her soul unique to yours~ and then cherish the fortune. In the knowing, your soul will find peace, but the choice is yours to make.

Open yourself to the truth of it so that revelation has a road to follow. Enlightenment simply needs consent to fall upon your soul. When it’s time, when you are ready, the reality of the nothing that we were will wash over you softly and you will find comfort in the knowing. There isn't a we or us...there never was...only you and me, but then that is precisely how it should be.

~Faded Cast~

Staggering ignorance

Set to course

A beating that's off

to a rhythm that’s faltered

Evidenced in a cringe

not seen by your eyes

The same that peer

at me in surprise

Faded cast of glowing embers

Loss of warmth

Loveless splendors

Held outside an empty heart

Knowing hidden

from the start

Even if these words were true

The meaning would be lost

to you

Vortex & Dream Light

2011-01-30T18:16:00.000-08:00

Caught in the vortex now

That place where the compass

Spins round and round

Because there is no up or down

No instruments to guide us

It’s unlikely they work anyhow

We are blind

walking through a dream

Shadow images of ourselves

Waiting for life to happen

***

Dream light breaks

across his eyes

This realization brings

Concerns of longevity

A familiar pondering

Tugging at the fray

As my hopes drop

Such a look is not unknown

Discernment of reality

crawls inside their hearts

Becoming a muse, a vision

Cast with flowing wings

An illuminator of paths

Yet hidden in unyielding hearts

The task is wearing

For all the giving

My place of emptiness

Perhaps a punishment

for leading so many astray

If this Problem Persists

2011-01-25T13:44:00.000-08:00

If this problem persists

assistance may be required

to sort out the details

of missed connections

If this problems persists

Incessant, relentless

hiding of self

Facts left in darkness

Cause created

for deeper examination

If this problem persists

Held in secrecy

caught from view

Perched on the corners

of eyes unable to see

Truth

If this problem persists

Fates will be rendered

Consequences manifest

Never have existed

such Sadness…as the loss

that…this never was

If this problem persists

communication break downs

will start to build-up

resulting in a lack

of us

Faceted Relief

2011-01-24T17:40:00.000-08:00

Step back from the keys

You can’t quantify this with images

No qualification of words

will enhance the colors

Without destination

It’s a journey

of emotion and time

compacted with thought

Creating a faceted

relief of love

That’s right…I said love

cause that’s what we got

I feel it seeped into the creases

tucked in the folds

of forever, sitting on my lips

It’s what we have…a forever love

There’s no need to explain

these thoughts with flowered words

It’s inked on our souls

a connection that rolls to the bone

Let them craft their words

never knowing the true art…of love

cause it sits in silence

through the darkness

on a whisper

in eternity

That’s…

Our Love.

Sweet Temptress

2011-01-18T14:39:00.000-08:00

silent cries of the mind

taught to be good

because boys don’t cry

over past regrets

stories hidden in each, she finds

revelations of sorts

darkness that sometimes

leaves a mark on their heart

drowning souls

desperate to impart

past affliction to someone

but not just anyone

in her arms they lie

reminiscent murmurs of jaded events

colored by anger and regret

pouring from their lips

yet still she stays

holding each gently

caller of Men

she beckons such thoughts

pulling them from darkened hearts

comfort is her power

the ease in which she speaks

vulnerability carefully wrapped

in soft silken words

singularity of desire touches her lips

a wish to see the glow

when the sun rises in their eyes

because they know

…with her

they are Men.

Enjoy the wonderful poetry posted by the incredibly talented poets at One Stop Poetry today - Where Poets, Writers and Artists Meet: One Shot Wednesday - Poetry Week 29 http://t.co/eemyqz8

The Craftsman

2011-01-11T15:42:00.000-08:00

Contemporary contemplation

Masterfully ripped

in thoughts dripping amber

each glistens as they enrapture minds

Removed from the confines

of the rational

He toils to lay silken lines

across the beating

Filaments spinning

to liberate the fleeting

whims of those passing by

Expertly crafting melodies

Strung on the hopes

of the ones left beating

the rhythm of language

mapped out in the soul

His thoughts pull them together

making each whole

Left behind in silence

the words still resonant

as antiquity falls

fading to amber

My thoughts are a whisper

Exposed to the rational

reality falters

Faced with the truth

we melt into darkness

He has that affect sometimes

Visit One Stop Poetry and link your own poem or spend some time enjoying the incredibly talented poets posting or both! - Where Poets, Writers and Artists Meet: One Shot Wednesday - Week 28 http://t.co/guHs9Zt

Destination Unknown

2011-01-10T22:03:00.000-08:00

The Rickshaw driver in my mind never stops to ask directions. He continues to travel at breakneck pace rocketing across the sky faster than any star could fall. No peace to be found on this never-ending road leading to destinations unknown; at least, unknown to me.

On occasion it seems as if he stops to ponder a passing image. Something brightly colored catches his fancy and off he runs in search of new stimulations. It’s wearing on me…the constant movement is exhausting. So much so that sleep is nearly impossible.

I seek out things to sooth the gyrations. The ocean never stops the surge, but the movement is soothing. There is an order to the waves that steadies my mind. It allows me to focus long enough to form coherent thought, but much beyond that is useless.

You would never know when I talk to you a hundred other ideas are spinning. Little things caught on the spaces between conversations. I hear what you say…all of it. I understand the meaning in your words; it’s just that he won’t stop to let me enjoy them. You have to understand it’s not that what you’re saying isn’t important to me. Nothing could be further from the truth. It’s the man who keeps me from holding onto the imagery you so faithful layout.

If you look into my eyes…past the sparkle, you can see him moving. He hides in the flow of ideas shifting from one side of my brain to the other. When I speak of insanity, I speak of him. The prospect of total sanity is impossible in a mind moving too fast for thought.

I see all the paths my life might take. All the opportunities and where they lead…all at once. It scares me to have such clarity; like seeing the future, or futures, without any real control over which path I will follow.

In one of those moments, I felt sheer terror wash over me. The cold hand of fate reached down to touch my mind sending a chill through eternity. I saw a future void of us and my breath caught on the nothingness we were to become. It was far beyond frightening and I do not desire to feel that way again. It’s not that I want to keep you, because I do not wish for such a fate.

The reality is that I want you to be part of my future. You take the time to explore the world and people in it as will I, but at the end of the day, when night has fallen, I want to find myself in your arms. I understand the limitations. We both have lives to tend, but if we let the pieces fall, the picture will clear and a rhythm will begin. So I have one question…I know it’s a lot to ask, but…

“Can I keep you?”

Burning Silhouettes

2011-01-07T12:14:00.000-08:00

In the golden dawn

black birds screech

a faithful warning

Blazing beyond my sight

the sky liquefies

from transcendent dreams

crawling from the flames of despair

flowing across landscapes

holding on to a silent moon

removed from the grasp

of world-weary beings

In these dreams of gold

the sky drips cobalt

its sorrow thick

from the indifference

of a universe

fallen from faith

Yet still he stands

watching the burnt-orange silhouettes

traverse towards an empty horizon

Searching for hope

detached from the reality

of a hopeless world.

Certain Love

2011-01-03T21:56:00.000-08:00

weighed with precision

love confined

each drop measured

fancies defined

set to rules

no one can follow

conditional parapets

make the heart hollow

always a string

thin strips hidden

an alternate reality

doing whatʼs bidden

unknowing, unwilling

something more spilling

turn in the tickets

unfettered drilling

without circumstance

dive through the glass

towards shifting thoughts

leading unfeigned stance

unconditional

is the only condition

love should live within

total attrition

can your heart stand the strain

emotions bared

but without all the pain

step forward to the edge

removed from provision

plunge into the uncertainty

of certain loveʼs fission

~ Poem by @jtwhitaker & Ranee Dillon

One Last Breath

2011-01-01T16:09:00.000-08:00

tiles shifted

arranged in order

by direction

wipe the table

tossing each to the floor

they land, soul up

Heart exposed

the picture haunts me

truth revealed

it screams in my mind

there is no silence

to hush the din

it falls on my ears

though sweet, the words are sharp

my soul turns

trying to hide from revelation

but the absence of him

brings clarity, to a muddy mind

there in the tiles

arranged in order

brightly colored

a story told

of emotions bared

i step back

taking one last breath

for the Fallen

as i take my place among them

On the Edge of Sanity

2010-12-30T16:29:00.000-08:00

Light fading

Falling into darkness

My mind is lost

to the gravity

Of insanity

It stalks just on the edge of sanity. Like the ever setting

sun sitting on a milky horizon coming as a brilliant flash of light

while the sun is pulled into the outer corners of the universe.

That's where my mind balances, on the edge of the universe

between reality and fantasy. A darkened gravity has taken hold of

my mind. I feel the pull, and though I know the call, my soul is afraid

to fall.

The path is familiar to me. It leads to a place littered with

the broken dreams of sanity. All who travel into those depths rarely

return completely intact. With every passing year, I'm more convinced

that insanity will take me. How long can I live in the fantasies dancing

in my mind before they consume my soul?

On the edge of my mind

the aroma of sanity

Assaults the senses

Leaving behind

the bitter taste

of reality

I see the line, know it well, but there are times when I much

prefer to live in those fantasies. The draw becomes greatest when I am

faced with turmoil of the heart. How easy it would be to let myself

tumble into the lost realities found in my fantasy worlds.

They say it's imagination, but I know better. The dreams are

far too real. The taste of them lingers in my mind; so flavorful are these

imaginings that I often become lost.

I reach out for the real world...for something to anchor me

to reality. When those precious few reasons are gone, what will keep

me in your world?

A broken smile

touches your lips

never reaching

The cold light fading

in unforgiving eyes

Ahhh...I see the look in your eyes; the fear behind your smile.

Though you won't admit to the thought, it's there dancing in the back

of your mind. You know the truth, but fear it as much as I.

Do you see the sanity slipping? Is my mask beginning to fall?

Turn now before I lose myself completely. Do not travel down this path.

I could not bear to watch you fall. Better that I should lose myself to

insanity alone than carry the eternal pain of bringing you with me.

Wild Imaginings

2010-12-28T16:51:00.000-08:00

It courses through my soul

A pounding rhythm beating

To the melody

of this hummingbird heart

It’s a sound of you

Stolen to thought

Trapped in perceptions

I cannot release

Ever present I fight the urge

But still I run into the vision

flames dancing on the sands

Unquenchable all consuming

Though it burns my fingertips

I reach out to hold you

Because I crave the fire

of your wild imagings

They blaze through my mind

Blinding me with brilliance

A light found hidden

On the edge of insanity

Please stop by One Stop Poetry to view the the incredibly talented poets posting for One Shot Wednesday http://bit.ly/dUDCS6

Melting into Silence

2010-12-28T15:15:00.000-08:00

It is in the knowing of my heart

the love for self, that I find you

for one cannot love another

without facing the reality of self

Falling into silence may seem like a funny concept, but I find myself doing it far too often lately. Perhaps melting might be a better word for I melt into the silence between the words each time I hear his voice. There’s a rhythm we’ve found. It’s soothing and comfortable following the coming tide. A tide that flows over my being…is it love? Possibly…and you may even say that I’m falling, but all I care about are those moments. The sound of his sigh...a hum on his lips…the way he laughs at all the silly things I do. He is so very accepting of my wild imaginings. It may be due to the fact that he lives in such dreams or that he is comfortable living in mine for a time.

In the still, I hear U

a souls whisper

contented silence

washes over my being

I'm left, speechless

no words can give weight

to such feelings

Either way I live for those moments. The ones we get lost in without thought of time. Time passes quickly for two beings connected on such a deep level. I have no idea where this leads. Though I suspect with my ever cautious heart that it will lead to the one place I fear to fall completely. It will lead to love….soulful love. Something that happens between two people who have a knowing of self. Each has faced the demons of loneliness and feel at peace with the pain found there.

A journey traveled

through the mountains of sorrow

of falling too fast and landing too hard

dancing between our souls

and the world lived in reality

and the perception of our reality.

Perception is an important part of any love. We tend to give ourselves weight based on the view points of others. If they love us then it follows that we are lovable, but the reality is that our value is not based on outside perception. We exist on this earth. That fact alone gives us worth as a human being. Add to that the talents and love that are ever present within our hearts. This combined picture may not always be visible to others, but my point is that it doesn’t matter if they see it or not. A jump in my journey came with the realization that I needed to see my value. I do not give weight to opinions that go against this core knowledge. The demons of the past have no hold on me because I refuse to allow them to control my perception of self. Without control the voices have no power.

I do not step forward

into the future

that will come in time

instead, I sit

in comfortable silence

listening to your heartbeat

So where does this leave us? The simple answer: here. Does that answer leave you wanting? There was a time in my life when it would have done the same to me, but I find that the road less scary. The future will happen with time and I am comfortable with the silence. Perhaps because I can live in the still by myself now…though it is nice to find a likened soul to share the journey.

The Universe in a Heart

2010-12-25T14:43:00.000-08:00

A Christmas thought on the Heart & Love:

The heart is like the universe. Its expanse so great that it never fills. You could place the stars, the planets, and the sun within still there is room for more. The stars are those people who have touched our souls. Some remain while others pass through our lives, but each has left a stardust trail in our souls. The planets are people who live in the everyday. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and children. They are large ever present forces revolving with evolving love. They laugh, cry, and sit with us through every solar storm ripping our universe apart.

The sun…well, now that’s an important part of our universe. Though many need a sun to help light the darkest parts of their soul, few have found that ever elusive love. Make no mistake; the sun isn’t always a boyfriend, girlfriend, lover, wife or husband. No, the sun is that one person who, even in their worst moments, still has light to share with you. They can put aside pain and frustration to focus on your universe; to share the light of wisdom and knowledge with you. We all need a sun.

So my wish for you is simple: Find peace in your heart, love in the eyes of the planets around you, and hope in the warm touch of sunlight from a soulful sun.

All My Heart....eternally....Ranee

Enlightenment

2010-12-24T16:09:00.000-08:00

My heart falls silent

in the still

the chilled hand of

loneliness

reaches out for my soul

I welcome its touch

for with it comes

enlightenment

People are often afraid to look within and face the loneliness haunting their souls. I find comfort in the still. Though, at times, it may consume me, loneliness brings enlightenment. I am able to see my insecurities clearly laid out. There was a time in my life when I would have done anything to avoid myself. I would look for comfort in the arms of another person. It didn’t matter if there was love…or even lust….that they wanted me for that moment was enough. Willing I would lay beside them thinking that a warm body would fill the ache, but the truth is that nothing ever made it go away. Only when I turned to face the loneliness did I start to understand how much I needed it.

I welcome silence

hoping that it will bring peace to my soul

though the voices tell me to run

I hold back

waiting for the light of a new day

That was no mistake. I said it...I need the loneliness; not only for my writing, but for growth. I have come to terms with the fact that the only way I can move on emotionally in my life is through the pain. It is the one time I am vulnerable enough to open myself and face those flaws in my character holding me back. I’m not perfect. The flaws may not be evident to you, but I see them all too clearly in the reflecting pool of my soul. There are times I am insecure, I cling to thoughts and passions until they strike me down. I search out love, sometimes recklessly without thought for my personal well-being…though I keep the safety of my children in mind always. I find little beauty in the mirror, even when you tell me it exists. There are many days I find little beauty in my writing. These are a drop, a small part of the things that haunt me. I try my best to push them aside…ignore the voices telling me to run.

I do not seek

completion in your love

that lies within

instead share laughter & happy heart sighs

long nights near the fire

with me at your side

This journey has led me to one of the greatest truths I live by: I don’t need you to complete me. That may seem harsh, but there is purpose behind the statement. I am complete in myself. My happiness comes from the knowledge that I have value. My talents and love have a place in this world. That isn’t something you can give me. It has to be found within. Instead, share this life with me: the giggles and laughs during late night talks, sitting by the fire in comfortable silence, walking along the beach talking about everything and nothing. Few things could be simpler, but you have to want that; the simple everyday not so special me. I can’t force such things upon your heart. In truth, I don’t want to force you to love me. If we are meant to be together we will. Another simple truth I’ve learned about my existence.

I see words

caught on the page edge

not written, left to thought

sitting with the light

hidden in the depths

of your soul

Still here? Ahhh…perhaps there is hope then. ~smile~ A final note about sharing this journey with me, because in the end I do want to share it. I listen for words hidden just between the breaks. Write to me of love and peace and hope…that’s a start. Open your heart, because there is truly nothing you can say that will make me run. I listen with an open mind always. Be with me in silence, in laughter, in tears, in the everyday. I’m not quite as complicated as I may seem. I love...openly…I live…fully…I hope…eternally.

Blindfold On

2010-12-18T20:18:00.000-08:00

I’m worried, because I think there is a part of me that craves loneliness and heartache. Not that I’m looking for pity or to wallow in sorrow, but pain seems a far richer source of inspiration than passion. Perhaps that is why I willingly jump into love under the most unlikely circumstances. It’s not that I want to be in love. No, I think it is that I want to be in pain. What better place to find such torment than in a love lost?

I look through the eyes of my heart

hoping to witness a soulful love,

but I'm left wanting.

I seek the impossible relationships. Walking into the fire, blindfold on, because I know it’s all consuming. Eventually the passion burns out, the lust fades, and I am left with the reality of a love lost. It’s a convenient place to hide. In my experience, most men’s passion is fleeting. It tends to be a seasonal love, growing quickly at first slowing as the summer’s sun warms our souls, and then fading when the cold of winter blows down from our hearts. Though I am left heartbroken, my smile remains because each has left a deposit of inspiration to fuel my pen.

I would find a soul to share this journey,

but I do not wish to burden others with such sorrow.

Better that the walls hide it from the world.

This brings us to a wall. It is probably the biggest I’ve built. I fall, but there is always a part held back; something hidden in the depths of my soul that never sees the light. I let them in enough to entice, a lover’s dance, just a touch of mystery before the wall goes up once more. So very careful not to let love in completely; to risk that type of heartache would be far too great.

Catch these words

dripping from my heart

find a place of light

where they may bloom

into soft petals of love

I suppose this post stands as a warning…or challenge. In the end, I am working on the walls. There’s a part of me that desperately wants to get lost in love. The pain is so sharp it makes my heart weep at the thought. But then my idealistic youthful passions left long ago. I know the chance of finding a soulful love, to get lost in the arms of my soul mate, is rare. So I do not hope to wish for such a thing. Instead, I hold fast to reality. Falling in lust and passion, but never truly finding love.

Featured Poet: The Incredibly Talented Nomar Knight

2010-12-17T07:13:00.000-08:00

There are times when words touch us so deeply that we must take to pen and pour our hearts onto the page. It is my great honor to present three poems written by the incredibly talented Nomar Knight inspired by my Images of a Lonely Heart Cast to Sea post. Nomar pulled out and captured the sorrow of those poems with such beauty that it brought tears to my eyes. Thank you, Nomar, for sharing your talent with me and the world.

There was a warning in the fog

I listened, but didn't understand

The echo of heartache

Visible amongst the pounding waves

Music to my ears

I stood, waiting in anticipation

For my lovers touch

Praying she'd stay

Not just in heart… in spirit too

Hope blinded me with fogs of mystery

Because, you see, I'm stubborn…always

My heart needs your soft caress

Lovers dance feeding flames

All consuming desire

Awakened from a trance

Realizing I was lost in a dream

Shocking illusion

Lifted as the fog

Scattered, shattering this crystal heart

Words of passion become daggers

To bleeding souls

Slicing bits of my heart

Maddening isolation chips away sanity

Its pain breathes despair

Haunting my waking dreams

Empty promises carried on whim

Tortured hopes killing passion

Yet here I stand

A shadow of yesteryear

On life's angry shores

Indifferent to strangers

Giving them a taste of invisibility

I gaze at the sea

Its steady rhythm soothes my essence

Stabbing reality deep inside me

The dream built on desperate whispers

In soft pained cries

Collapsing at the touch of another

Embattled at what may come

Even the shining of heavenly lights

Dimmed by liquid skies

Fails to cleanse away

The sins built by stormy seas

Let the siren's call pull me down

To the darkest abyss

Entrapping me forever

In an icy prison

Where once I had hope

Let it seal, lost to memory

Where passions buried illusion

And the souls ravaged

By the echoes of silent screams.

Somewhere between tied tongue I lost you

Your heart slipped through broken breaths

Like the emotions I meant to convey

Perhaps voiced words are dense

Or the ideas dripped through wounded veins

Either way I see your weak, constipated smile

Empty eyes vacant of love

The sparkle a mere memory

But when I think my senses failing

Illusion masking truth

Feeding me a glimmer of hope

That our soulful love is still strong

It's not love, no it never was

I knew when the song broke down

Lyrics of plastic love carried no weight

But my heart mourns the loss just the same.

Nomar is dedicated to the support of all artistic talent. This fact is evident in the regular features of writers and artists on his blog. Please enjoy more of Nomar's talent at his blog KnightChills http://knightchills.blogspot.com/ .

Temporary State of Being

2010-12-16T12:34:00.000-08:00

~I accept sadness as a temporary state of being.

A cycle of moments we pass through.

It fades as the words hit the page~

A tweet I sent to one of my followers.

It’s no secret that I’m nursing a broken heart. Though I can hide behind my smile, when the words hit the page my feelings are all too clear. It’s always been that way for me. The page has edges, not walls. So there’s nothing to stop the words and emotions from spilling over. But in life, my heart has walls that will not fall.

~I fall away from truth,

my heart is not predisposed

to handle revelation well,

I hide behind this smile,

watching words shatter,

against the page~

I found myself in a reflective state this morning. Considering my current situation, wondering where this path leads. There are some days when darkness covers the road. It’s a mist, hiding the future from my eyes, but then the sun rises and the mist dissipates. My vision, once clouded, gives way to clear thought. I understand my place in the world.

I treasure those moments….and fear them. My heart is not predisposed to handle revelation well. The same may be said for others, but I find that the truth hits hard against my soul knocking me to the ground. With eyes wide open it is difficult to run from the reality of my existence. I am nice to have, but not to keep. My passionate words may touch a heart, but the affects soon wear and the passion fades. Then I am left empty…and alone. I run to security, falling into the arms of those who promise relief, bringing pain and sadness to both our souls.

~The pain in his eyes steals my breath

A heart breaking from unkind words

I long to hold him

And wash such thoughts away~

The pain in his eyes when I said we were not going to be together was heartbreaking. I lost someone dear to me…a man I love, because of those walls. It’s not that he didn’t want to keep me, I just don’t want to be kept. Therein lies the truth of these walls I hide behind. I love unconditionally. I give everything…except myself. That part of my soul I keep hidden from the world. Though it pains me to see him walk out of my life, I know that heartbreak is a temporary state. It fades as time goes by. Never truly leaving my heart. There will always be cracks, echoes of our love visible to those willing to take the time to look. I will live in the sorrow of a broken heart. Find hope in the light of a new day; because I am tired of running away…from myself.

~Turn from me now

Before I lose my heart

The slightest touch

Will send it falling~

Perhaps the problem is that I lose myself in love far too easily. I crave sweet passionate words; they bring such energy and creativity to my soul. Spurred on by the rush of emotion, the words fall easily onto the page. I think, in truth, that I like being in love. When passion fades giving way to the everyday I flounder and become bored, because in the stillness of daily life I find little fuel for the fires of creative thought.

~Walk with me

Through the rain

On a moonlit night

Let it cleanse our souls

Of broken dreams

So we may begin anew

In each other’s arms~

Still, to find love would be grand. I will keep an open heart…try to pull down the walls one at a time. It’s a slow process and the pace leaves me wanting, but I know in the end the effort is worth it. All the while, I put myself out to family and friends. The best way to practice living with an open heart is to find those people willing to love you unconditionally; willing to accept the ups and downs of a heart struggling to find its place in the world. They sit with you through heartbreak, knowing, too, that it is a temporary state and soon you will find your footing again. The trouble then becomes finding someone who’s working on his walls as well.

~My heart waits

For a kindred spirit

Of thought and desire

To transform the light

Flickering within my soul

Into a raging inferno

Of passion~

Do you have walls? Most everyone does whether they see them or not. The trick is recognizing what’s holding you back so that you can, at the very least, crawl over the walls. There are scars which never go away. Sorrow that will live eternally in our hearts, at some point we have to move forward. And should it be that we are moving in the same direction, all the better.

The last two poems are tweet poems about the sorrow of loss and living in the words they evoke.

~Fall

From my eyes

Drip down

Into an upturned palm

Settle there

Pooled in sorrow

Until my being

Soaks you in

Once more~

~Stand removed

In silence

Feel the words

Seep into your skin

Rushing through pulsing veins

Until you are lost

In the language

Of sorrow~

Rendezvous by Sean Vessey - One Shot Wednesday Post

2010-12-14T15:46:00.000-08:00

Rollin, in cold light,

Rendezvous with busy Death,

At the coffee house,

I found a note waiting there,

"Three times I missed you,

Love well until we meet again,

Then I will love you,

With my cool lips and bone hips,

For the endless night,

Where you, my steed, meet my needs,

Until the Riders, Ride."

Check out other incredibly talented poets at One Stop Poetry - Where Poets, Writers and Artists Meet: One Shot Wednesday - Week 24 http://t.co/Z1qHeQf

Living with an Open Heart

2010-12-14T11:26:00.000-08:00

I wonder sometimes if living with an open heart is the wisest thing to do. A heart completely open to love is also open to pain. Don’t get me wrong, both are equally necessary in life, but the pain can cut straight through to the soul. I remind myself to breathe; when my heart is aching. Just as love can capture my breath, so can the pain of your silence. Perhaps there’s nothing to say or maybe we already said too much. Either way the words sit empty on the page. Passion fading as time moves forward.

I flounder trying to find the imagery to convey my precise thoughts. So the meaning is not mistaken. I know in the end you will read into my words, just as my heart, at times, reads into yours. There’s no crime here. Though my heart is bruised it is not broken. And so I walk again into the flames, because they call my soul to live. I decided long ago that I would not hide my heart behind vague references. The passion and feeling is clear. I live with the pain. It makes me stronger…and should I, along this winding road, find a person willing to walk along side me, hand-in-hand through the flames, I will count myself among the lucky. For such love is rare and should never be cast aside.

Images of a Lonely Heart Cast to Sea - 3 New Poems

2010-12-13T11:40:00.000-08:00

There was a warning in the fog

I didn’t listen…I never do

The echo of heartache

Hidden by the crashing waves

Missed my ears

So there I sat waiting

For my lovers touch

Knowing that he was removed

In heart…in spirit

Another warning left among the fog and waves

Because, you see, I don’t listen…ever

My heart longs for a passioned touch

To walk within a lovers flame

All consuming desire

Haunts my heart and mind

Until I am lost in a dream

An illusion of emotion

That waits in the fog

To shatter this crystal heart

Words of passion become daggers

To wanting hearts

Cutting through my soul

The loneliness eats away at the edges

Its hunger is endlessly

Haunting my waking dreams

The ones your words promise

To fill with passions essence

Yet here I stand

Alone on this shore

Nodding at the indifferent faces

Of strangers passing by

Who all but ignore my presence

I gaze at the sea

It pulls the loneliness from my heart

Making the sting sharper still

The dream created by whispered words

In soft sweet cries

Fall and melt when touched by a soul

Pained at the loss of hope

Even the shining of heavenly lights

On the liquid sky

Fails to ease the ache

Cast me now to the sea

Let the siren’s call pull me down

To the briny deep

Locking me away forever

In an icy prison

Where once I lost my heart

Let it stay there as a memory

A memorial of passions illusion

And the souls ravaged

By the silence of empty words.

Somewhere between the words I lost you

Your heart fell through the line breaks

Like the emotions I meant to convey

Perhaps the imagery was soft

Or the ideas left your heart wanting

Either way I feel the loss of passion in your smile

Empty eyes once full of love

No longer sparkle for me

But then it may have been a play of light

That fooled my heart

Made me think the glimmer

Was light from a soulful love

It’s not love, no it never was

I knew when the words were written

They carried no weight

But my heart feels the loss just the same

Echo in my Heart

2010-12-11T23:01:00.000-08:00

I’m feeling empty right now

There’s an echo in my heart

A hollow place where love should sit

I want so desperately to fill it

With something, anything

Anything except pain

It’s already there coating the walls

So everything slides back in

Everything except love

Because something so beautiful

Floats on silver lined clouds

Blanketing the heavens waiting

For lovers, true lovers

To walk along moonbeams to reach it

But that’s not where my heart lies

No, it sleeps in a place I don’t speak of

When I talk of goodness and giggles

The emptiness I keep hidden

Beneath the words, under the smile

Behind the eyes where people don’t look

Because it’s an ugly thing

Consuming all those it touches

I think it’s always been there

In my heart…tucked away in my soul

I don’t listen to the pain

I turn away and put on a smile

To mask the tears dripping down my chest

Becoming a river, drowning my soul

Turn away now, before you see through

The colored glass shielding my eyes

Before the light fades and the emptiness returns

To consume you.

No Tears to Give

2010-12-07T22:27:00.000-08:00

I have no tears to give you

My heart is emptied from the pain

Of love lost to indifference and time

Yes, time wears on all of creation

Pulling things apart at the soul

We are victims of gravity, the faster we spin

The farther you move away

Soon the horizon will take you

But that’s no great loss

Because your heart left long ago

Don’t flatter me with words of love

Tone dead dreams that no longer bear meaning

For they hold no weight in my heart…or yours

Turn from me now before the guilt deepens

Burdens your mind with more than you can carry

The load is light now, weak smiles…indifferent nods

Our robotic love is worn at the circuits

The battery is drained no warning light

No need, for we know…the emptied smile

Spills into your eyes, revealing the hole left

In a blackened soul, no longer willing to fight

For love…if it ever really existed

No, my dear, turn now to light and find

A new dawn before the twilight takes you.

Lavender Laced Soul

2010-12-05T16:49:00.000-08:00

Dive into my flesh

Lips soft, smiling as they glide

Down a pulsing neck

Catching the edge of my soul

With each jagged breath

Roll me over in your mouth

Until you become lost in the flavor of me

Senses overwhelmed by passioned essence

Become wild cravings for soft curves

Warm to the touch

Enjoy the pleasure flowing

from my lavender laced soul

through fingertips sliding

down rose flushed thighs

Let love drip from crimson lips into my being

Until I become enthralled in the poetry

Whispered by the motion of our bodies

Swaying to a timeless rhythmic lover’s song.

Featured Writer: George Pappas Author of "Monogamy Sucks"

2010-12-01T22:58:00.000-08:00

I recently had the opportunity to interview a very talent writer and poet for my blog. Please welcome George Pappas author of the book “Monogamy Sucks”.

George Pappas is Los Angeles-based novelist, blogger, poet and lyricist. Lazy Day Publishing is released his second novel of erotic fiction Monogamy Sucks as an e-book on Dec. 1, 2010. Pappas launched the first six chapters of his novel on his blog in summer 2010 after more than 12 years of writing and researching his work. His novel explores intriguing notions about monogamy, relationships, casual sex and the world of swinging.

Pappas is a lifelong resident of southern California and has been writing fiction since he was 15. When he’s not writing, Pappas enjoys traveling, music, reading his favorite novelists Henry Miller and Anais Nin, watching films, exploring life’s many adventures and pleasures, and living near the ocean.

1) Are you a poet or writer by nature?

I’ve always been creative and wanted to tell stories for as long as I could remember.

So I guess you could say I am a writer by nature. I write novels, short stories, poems, but I think of myself primarily as a novelist.

2) Do you write at home?

Well, I write at home a lot, but not always. I like to write in different settings. Actually, I can write anywhere -- at the beach, at a noisy Starbucks or cafe, bookstores, on a plane. I am constantly writing in my head, thinking of new stories or working out new scenes for projects I am currently working on.

3) Do you have a special place you steal away to that is a particular source of inspiration?

One of my favorite places is a hidden strip of bay in Belmont Shore. It is nicknamed “Horny Corner” by the locals. In fact, I write about the place in my novel Monogamy Sucks. I like to sit against the small concrete wall facing the bay and write. I wrote a lot of the chapters in Monogamy Sucks while sitting at “Horny Corner”. I guess there is a sort of fitting symbolism in that.

Santa Barbara, California is also a very inspirational place for me. I consider it my writer’s retreat. I like to go there by myself every few months to get away and focus only on my writing. The place rejuvenates my writer’s soul.

4) Do you feel that the California beach town lifestyle lends itself to swinging?

No, not necessarily. I think the California beach town lifestyle that I love in Belmont Shore in Long Beach, Huntington Beach, Santa Monica have the reputation of being swinging towns, and there is some truth to it. But swingers come from everywhere. I met swingers from Riverside, Ontario, Bakersfield, Claremont, Torrance to name a few cities. There are swingers in every town, city, and state and in every country. Swinging is a state of mind, not a destination.

5) You mentioned in another interview that your novel “Monogamy Sucks” is loosely based on personal experiences, but you “enhanced” the experiences with your main characters uninhibited thoughts. Isn’t it still a reflection of you untethered by societal norms? Free to express what actually goes through a man’s mind while meeting and sleeping with a woman?

Well, my intention was to reveal through my character Jake Dalmas what I believe a lot men think about during casual sexual encounters with women. I don’t think this has always been explored in fiction. I wanted the scenes to hold nothing back in their explicit nature so it would make my character’s sarcastic, and even sardonic comments about what he was going through even more powerful and controversial. I wanted to bring the readers into the male mind as a way to explore sexual myths about monogamy, marriage, swinging, desire and potency. My character chooses to be untethered from social norms because of his unhappiness with monogamy and conventional relationships. I believe a growing number of people in our society share his dissatisfaction.

6) In the excerpt, your main character, Jake Dalmas, suggests that the drive for physical intimacy is so strong at times that he is willing to put aside his “standards” for the sake of fulfilling his desires. Do you see this as a common dilemma for many men?

Oh yes. Lust is a very powerful thing. It can make us men (and women, too!) do things we could later regret. In my case, the regret was only short-lived. Lust was only one of the factors that let me on my own erotic journey into the swinging lifestyle. But when I participated in a regrettable experience, I could always write about it later. So in the end I have no regrets. However, I detail the pitfalls of unchecked lust quite effectively in my novel through my character’s commentary.

7) You are clear that monogamy doesn’t work for you personally, but in our discussions you said that you feel swinging can strengthen a relationship. Would you care to elaborate?

Swinging is not for everybody, but neither is monogamy. The swingers I met during the research and writing for my novel told me that expanding their sexual lives through swinging did improve their relationships. They no longer felt the need to stray or cheat. If they had sex with someone else, their partner was right there to share the experience with them. Everything is out in the open. No sneaking around or lying to the other person. They are realists in dealing with the natural sexual boredom that settles in long time relationships and marriages. The thrill of the new as I call it in my novel is powerful. It takes down a lot relationships and marriages. Always has. Yet these swingers still loved each other, had kids and stayed together. A lot of swinger couples also stressed to me that if they didn’t open up their sexual lives, they probably wouldn’t have stayed together. They were already cheating before they started swinging and were fighting about it. Now, one couple told me all they do now is fight about money not jealousy.

It is apparent that monogamy isn’t working for a lot people. I mean just look at the headlines. So what’s wrong with discussing alternatives.

8) Do you ever see yourself moving away from the swinging lifestyle permanently?

I would hardly consider myself a full time swinger, but I think I’ll always keep an open mind toward the swinging lifestyle. All I know is that monogamy doesn’t work for me, which led me to write this novel. Swingers and swinging still fascinates me as much as it ever has.

9) Where will “Monogamy Sucks” be available for purchase?

Monogamy Sucks is available as an e-book by Lazy Day Publishing -- www.lazydaypub.com My novel will also be available at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com, Borders.com and other online retail sites.

Follow George on Twitter: @gpwriter @jakedalmas

Blog: http:\\www.monogamysucks.wordpress.com

Publisher: http:\\www.lazydaypub.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Monogamy-Sucks-An-Erotic-Fiction-Novel/171812426178729?v=wall

Available for purchase at these fine retailers:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Monogamy-Sucks-ebook/dp/B004E113X4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1291192325&sr=1-1

B & N: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/books/product.aspx?ean=9781612580050

Featured Poem: release by jtwhitaker

2010-11-24T22:10:00.000-08:00

springing forth inside a maze-like cavern

i toil in sinuous oscillation toward my destination

to be combusted by the friction between your fingertips

my purpose, your utility

building into the crescendo of our release

ebony waves crashing on the shores of our alabaster universe

i believe everyone has poetry lying dormant inside the deep wells of the soul.

blood pumps from the heart, feeding & carrying oxygen through our bodies. so too, words of passion & authenticity flow within the soul like a heavy petroleum-waiting only for the thrust of creativity and ignition of life to be caught ablaze.

we are all closet poets. we commute through life meditating on yesterday & today,

formulating a plan for tomorrow. all of this quiet contemplation is energy that if we

stopped long enough to record, would fill up volumes upon volumes of self-analysis and universal truth.

the next time life happens, write it down. let the emotions trapped inside your mind flow from your heart to your arm, to your fingertips. let your stream of consciousness bleed onto paper. you just might find that your internal poet is the kindred spirit you’ve always wanted to meet but never knew existed. without fail, you’ll experience a profound release, as the pressure bubbling inside gives birth to the tangible.

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JTW writes here. follow him on twitter here.

by JTW