Spark

Singing songs

Raising hell

Beating drums 

Breaking shells

Lighting paths

Throwing stones

Touching hearts

Cradling bones

Teaching how 

To see a world

Unknown to me

What a girl

She is the spark

Igniting flame

In our souls

Sing her name

Gina!

The Muse smiles inside you.  She has graced you with talent and skill.  Time to stand up and show the rest of the world what those who love you and care about you already know: You Inspire. 

Mightily.

With adoration and respect on your Birthday.  And with love (for no other reason).

M

And a song that reminds me of you:

"The Art In Me"
Images on the sidewalk speak of dream's decent
Washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament
Dirty canvases to call my own
Protest limericks carved by the old pay phone

In your picture book I'm trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, "see the art in me"

Broken stained-glass windows, the fragments ramble on
Tales of broken souls, an eternity's been won
As critics scorn the thoughts and works of mortal man
My eyes are drawn to you in awe once again

In your picture book I'm trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, "see the art in me"

 

                                         -Jars of Clay

                                          

Spring Flowers

Sweetly doth mine eyes gaze

Upon your visage so adorned

With beauty in the morning haze
My life without you so forlorned

In the garden splendor found
Our hearts entwined and dancing so
Kisses spring from the very ground
Like blossoms ready for summer's show

And so it starts a love so fair
Swelling 'neath the warming sun
Two hearts brave and but to dare
Two hearts begin, now just one.

Rainy Days

The droning of the rain on the roof lulled me into a dream-filled slumber. My mind dragging me through the fields of my madness, the oceans of my joy, and the skies of love. In my dream, the sun beat down upon my wings and warmed me to my bones, while the breezes caressed my feathers with a constant, loving stroke.  I could feel the clouds passing over me, and I could taste the ozone in the air as a nearby thunderhead prepared to darken someone's world.  But here, mine was bright and glorious, your love touching me and making me dizzy. 

A loud clap of thunder woke me, and my eyes opened on the reality that it was all a simple afternoon dream. I sat up on the couch and stretched my arms over my head, my heart light and my eyes clearing of the remnants of the dream.  I felt something scratching my right arm inside my sleeve and tried to make sense of it. Reaching in with my free hand, I discovered a single glossy-black feather and realized that whether here in the real world or there in the dream, love transformed me and allowed me to fly, fly fly.

fin



"The air up there in the clouds is very pure and fine, bracing and delicious.  And why shouldn't it be? - it is the same the angels breathe."
  ~Mark Twain

Old Habits and the Invention of Toothpaste.

It is ten minutes before eleven o'clock on April Twenty-first, Two-thousand Eleven.  I have just auditioned for a play.  My first ever.  And I made it to the third reading.  Impressed with that fact, I suppose, disappointed that I believe this chance lost.  But hey, that's how it happens, right?  You try out, you don't get the part, you try out again.

Here's the rub.


I was nervous.  Really nervous.  Like stomach flipping and dry mouth nervous. All the old feelings of self-doubt, of not fitting in, of being totally out of place and lost came rushing back in a single fist that punched me in the face.  I wore my black bowler and a cashmere jacket...  I felt GREAT when I left the house, got lost due to strange directions, and eventually ended up getting there with plenty of time.  Then I looked around.  So many young people. Obviously, all of them more talented than I.  Standing waiting for the chance to go read, I listened to the others chat about being in this play or that one.  I paid attention to the weight they put on their experiences.  I had none.  And then the nerves took over.  I was dying inside.  A person I desperately need to be gone forever surfaced like Marley's ghost.  There he was, neither grave nor gravy.  The Asshole in the Corner.  "What are you doing here?  You are too old to do this! My god man...suck in your gut! The hat makes you look stupid, not distinguished, so take it off and while you find a trash barrel, leave.  Get out.  Stupid idea to be here..." And so on and so on.  You get the idea of who THAT guy is. It's not that I believe any of that shit, but that it was BACK, you know?  Like where the fuck did this all come flying in from?  I thought I was done with it a long time ago, and having it surface again?  Ugh.  So I am trying to Grok it. And evidently, I'm trying to Grok it while I wear it on my sleeve. 

Why does it bother me so much?  Not entirely sure.  I really thought I was past all this.  I thought that I could be ME rather than HIM for the rest of my life.  Nope.  There He was.  Again.  Back from the land of the dead. Who knew?  I suppose the reality is that the Asshole In the Corner (AItC) is a part of who I am somewhere inside.  As I think about it, I guess I should include the defense mechanism in some way that is meaningful to me.  Hm.  Embracing all that I am.  NOT just sweeping it into a dark corner and hoping it goes away.  I see.  And as some of you know already:  I do believe that we are ALL the same inside. So if I felt like this, I am sure MANY others did as well.  Which means that I should have spoken to some more of those wonderful people...those arty people. 

And I shall.  Next time around.  Next time I audition.
Now, there will be more going crazy if I actually GET the part.  I'll be checking my email tomorrow morning... just in case. 

Stay tuned.

Oh, and you know what?  Thanks so much for cheering me on.  It does feel nice to be be appreciated. For the record, it was a blast.  And if I didn't get this part, I will be doing this again and again.  I was nervous.  I'll kick that eventually...  <3 <3

Freestylin'

My path each day takes me nearer to you than I care to be. I can feel your proximity in my skin, my puckered, tightened skin, and I loath to see your smiling face.  I don't care that you moved on, I don't want to know your schedule anymore, and I don't dare even ask to be left alone as it will only spiral up and out of control like a three-legged dog chasing it's fourth down a dusty street covered in broken glass. I see that you've sent me a text again.  I try to resist reading it and make the effort to simply delete it, send it off into the ether as any bad dream would be sent.  But I cannot.  I open the message and once again I am startled by your ignorance.  I am taken aback by your raw hate, your brown-stained panties waving at me from under the fur-covered skirt of your personality.  I cringe thinking about your longing to be free of my affections, of my support. I hear your nonsensical explanations for your disastrous invitation to leave, how I was so terrible, how my emotional insistences dragged your poor heart all over town as though it were an alley cat looking through garbage cans for something good to eat. Sustenance from waste.  That works, now.  The story of  a pre-broken marriage torn asunder by the chat-land blitzkreig, real-world hurt fueled through emotional piracy, and the cesspool of vandalized secrets comes to a crescendo, the voices so loud and the hurt so real that the walls themselves packed their daydreams into coffee cans and threw them into the waves of the last pool of water. Somewhere in the ride my feelings became good ice cream, sickly sweet and melted all around the edges, an undefined mass of swirled delight waiting to be tasted and pressed into the restraints of your abusive sugar cone, the controlling nod to your underdeveloped esteem.  I feel it now that I have some distance, but it still lives, crawling about the world we share as though it could change anything at all. It can't.  And while I have pondered our severance, I have passed through your gravity well and moved away from your infernal pull.  I am moving farther away and feeling my skin loosen, returning to calm. I am free of your hold, and I am eternally grateful for it.

fin




Written in a single breath and inspired by the talented and imaginative poets I saw on the Poetry Slam Inc. website.  Oh to be so free.

For A Man I Never Knew

Once again I find myself at a loss.
I didn't know you.  I never knew you.  And now, sadly, I realize that I will never have the chance to.  Not personally. Your passing leaves a hole that can not be filled no matter time or volume of tears.  It is a hole I will be able to experience now that I am near enough to spot your missing form, hear your missing song, and join in your missing smile.  You touched so many, you made such a difference in this world, and you brought joy to someone I know.  She misses you, and through my love for her, I miss you.

I hear the stories she shares of you. I listen with happiness in my heart as she spins the fabric made from experiences that include your kindness, your smile, your talent, your dedication, and your love.  I have wept inside my heart when she wept openly for your wife, I laughed when she spoke of your dogs, and I long to hear more of those tales.  Those tales of you. I long to feel the texture of that fabric that was your life pass under my blind fingertips again.  I hope to meet others you have touched, to listen to them remember you as well, and be an ear that helps keep you alive with us for all time. I will share my own stories of the woman you made such an impression on in this lifetime, and I hope that honors you and your memory.  I hope to one day meet the dogs I have heard so much about, and the woman who proudly called you her husband.  If not, then let my respect for who you were, what you did, and who you touched be enough.

For you, a man I never knew and a friend I never had, I hang my head today while you are honored by a small group of those who DID know you.  And today I weep inside for the hand I shall never shake for being so good to my dear friend.

In Memory of Rudy Guess
February 27, 1953 - December 31, 2010

Merry Meet
Merry Part
Merry Meet Again.