Category Archives: reflection

Refuge and haven – this is why I write

There’s a secret place within
me, and long well I’ve known it.
A hidden, sheltered space where
light and shadow dance with my Muses.

Only here am I safe, if no Continue reading →

“Flights of Fancy & Plumes for Thought”

First, the inspiration for this poem:

I’ve held a lifelong love of birds. I’ve owned many (among my mother, sister, and me, we’ve had parakeets, lovebirds, cockatiels, an African grey, moluccan cockatoo, double-yellow naped Amazon, and a blue & gold Macaw), my grandfather used to feed and watch the birds around his house (binoculars and the Audubon’s field guide to north American birds (which I inherited) were never Continue reading →

“Shame”

I lack the courage
To forsake this bondage
Confined by shame
Myself to blame

Scars I won’t expose
Once my pain’s ambrose
Now life’s great inhibitor
Leaving me embittered

Words & Whims…

…was one month old on the 3rd!

96 followers and 576 views later, and I can only thank YOU! Thanks for reading, liking, commenting, sharing, and obviously, following. Hopefully we can keep growing together.

Also, I hope you all enjoyed NaPoWriMo. This was my first year participating, and it was incredible! Challenging, but fun. I can’t believe how much poetry I wrote! Now, though, my updates will slow a bit as I return to work on what someday, hopefully, will maybe be a novel. I also have a short story in the works that will likely be finished and posted within a few weeks. (It’s inspired by my first book spine poem, if that whets you’re appetite and curiosity for what the story may contain.) Convenient, since this is short story month!

😀

“Innocence & Childhood: Reflection & Longing”

Every year I live, growing
older, realizing what I
have yet to learn, recalling
earlier years with fondness:

I miss the innocence of
childhood, I long for the
summers of my youth….

Long-lasting days were filled
with tree-climbing, friends,
and riding our bikes.
Strenuous games of tag,
rounds of epic hide an’ seek.
Creating stories to play
out with our toys: Pound Puppies,
My Little Ponies, Beanie Babies….
Hours lost in play without a care.

Warm summer nights, no
rules, sleepovers and staying up late.
Gathering with our families around
giant, crackling bonfires,
making s’mores til midnight,
filling jars with lightning bugs.

Simple pleasures fueling
childhood joy.
Reality was whatever we wanted.
Life was full and happy;
we were indomitable.
In childhood, we dreamed of bright
futures and where we would go,
the dreams we would reach….

Only twenty years later, and
I barely recognize my reflection.
Happiness and innocence
bowed to tragedy and
responsibility even as
childhood yielded to adulthood.

Long since, my hair began to
grey, calluses formed (both
figurative and literal).
Now fine lines make their
entrance, mirroring those
of heart and soul upon
face and hands.

Such is the wear and
tear of life upon this state of
humanity, of time upon
mortality.

Responsibilities now weigh as
age keeps encroaching.
In adulthood, I remember the
joy of innocence, yearning to
return to a time, a place,
where dreams could come true.
Reality proved harsh and
unexpected; life
is mundane,
and I feel
empty

Note: Lack of ending punctuation is intentional.

Far from my best, but this has wanted out these past several days that I’ve been wallowing in the mire of my funk.

“Memories” (from 12/6/2010)

This is just to tide you over til i complete today’s poem:

Memories, like a secret lover,
Visit me beneath night’s cover;
Snippets of days long past,
And dreams that couldn’t last.
Presently they’re before mind’s eye,
Lest in the past they die.
Keep every memory alive,
Never forget – for that I strive.

NaPoWriMo: Day 16 – In response to Boston:

By no means a very good piece, but sincerely meant. Sometimes words really can’t suffice… I wish peace and comfort for all affected by what happened. May they recover to run another day.

Impossible to understand,
Such senseless acts of violence.

Yet possible to hope for humanity’s
Healing, as people help each other.

Impossible to understand, the
Scenes of unfolding horror.

Possible to hope for unity, as
Our strength is found, together.

Impossible to understand, a
Tragedy where triumph should be.

But possible to hope for that
Triumph in surviving, in
     Healing and
   Remembrance, in unity.

Triumph in hope itself.

And for today:

Because i don’t foresee myself composing today. And besides, these fit my mood mostly, except for the last lines that are slightly more positive, hopeful, and forward-looking. Those three descriptors do not work right this moment…

From February 26, 2013

Captive forever, I am held
Hostage to ball and heavy chain,
My mind – my prison – confines me.
Depression forges dark links that
Shackle me to each of my fears,
Fettering me here, endlessly
Stationary, unable to
Move. I can fight if I want, but
‘Tis no use, for depression’s grip
Holds fast, constant, drags me quickly,
Under supervision of fear,
Back to my invisible cage.
Sometimes, when angry I grow, and
Weary, of such small enclosure,
Near delirium, I erupt
In frenzied rage that changes naught.
My perpetual torment: the
Life I desire lies beyond
Reach. Closer I cannot will it,
Nor wish it easier attained.
Fury misdirected and heat
Of wrath this chain won’t melt, nor ball
Crack from my bitterness frigid.
A life with depression and fear
Must be endured until strength and
Resiliency are trained. Then still
Will they follow, ever-present
As a shadow, haunt my steps; though
Now, their prison’s disempowered,
They remain leaden memories.

For now,…

…I will share this much: I’ve never truly given Charles Bukowski much time. Not a huge fan. Too…I don’t know. Too modernly raw, maybe? I’ve not read all of his poetry, only maybe a dozen. I’ve found three or four that I like. This one, I’m quite fond of:

“As the Poems Go By”

as the poems go into the thousands you
realize that you’ve created very
little.
it comes down to the rain, the sunlight,
the traffic, the nights and the days of the
years, the faces.
leaving this will be easier than living
it, typing one more line now as
a man plays a piano through the radio,
the best writers have said very
little
and the worst,
far too much.

Throwing Stones in a Thunderstorm (from 4/12/2008)

God, i remember that night as if it were yesterday. So beautiful; it was one of those moments. I can’t believe it was 5 years ago. I did exactly whatyou will read: sat in the dark, feeling and writing. Nothing spectacular, really, just thoughts as i observed my greatest Muse. Only later did i decipher overlapping lines, across pages, of nearly illegible scrawl….:

Walking home at dusk while a spring thunderstorm is born. It is raining lightly, and each raindrop falls inescapably on my face like cold needles. Rarely have I ever felt so refreshed and cleansed. 
    
Later, when it was storming in earnest, I stepped out out into the darkness and forces of nature to smoke a cigarette, where the cool wind caressed me and held me in its embrace, yet did not touch me. I was warmed against the chill by a warmth coming from inside, completely independent of the weather around me. Now I have deigned to bring a chair, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter to scribble away blindly in my notebook and write purely from the heart. And to be a silly, stoned hippie and enjoy the look, sound, smell, and feel of this night. It smells so fresh. A sign of great powers long dormant reawakening. It is so inspiring. I am completely awed by the power of a simple storm, of nature, for the first time in far too long for such a beautiful, amazing occurrence. I stare around myself, stunned by the beauty. Thunder rocks through me, my entire body and being, and lightning streaks across my vision, blinding me. All the forces of life seem to envelope me. My mind is freed. Not only by substance, but by the simple act of writing in near darkness, not even looking at it, but writing directly from what my eyes are seeing and my heart is feeling, not caring or knowing how it will come from the tip of my pen. Again, for right now, this is enough, and it is all of me. 
    
Sitting here, it is altogether thrilling, comforting, and frightening to spectate on nature left to itself. The sounds of frogs, crickets, falling rain, rolling thunder, and the occasional crack of lightning is the most beautiful symphony I could hope to hear. We should try to spend more time secloistered with nature. It tames the mind to a state of inner tranquility. We should not let life stress, tire, and enslave us so much that we miss the beauty of the world around us. We need daily time to be at peace, to just be still and listen to the music of the earth and be soothed. Even in the turmoil of a thunderstorm there is a certain peace. All is as it should be. The world is waking up again, and it is a new beginning. 
    
I look on with such sadness as people shuffle hurriedly to their cars with heads ducked down against the rain and chill, ignorantly missing this beautiful display of nature of which we are fortunate enough to bear witness. They miss the simple pleasure of locating the stars and moon under a veil of clouds as the thunderstorm fades away. 
    
I feel so blessed to have had this experience tonight. I do feel an exquisite joy, but there is also an exquisite sorrow. As always, it seems that I have a masochist’s curse to always feel pleasure accompanied with pain. I wish I could share this experience with someone, anyone, who appreciates it and aches to take it all in the way I do. When I’m with them, I try to make other people see it and appreciate it the way I do, but they just don’t get it. They don’t feel the way I do. They look at exactly what I am, but they don’t see it, they don’t feel it. They look at it, then back to me with an inquiring eye and ask, “so?”
    
That breaks my heart.

Open your eyes!

 

Every morning when I wake up, I experience an exquisite joy.
~Salvador Dali

That is how I want to live my life…

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