Canon

We're wide open / waiting / for the single gust of wind that can carry a dream / into the next place / where nightmares aren't / as frightening as sounds of mourning /  that let you know you'll never see me again / with arms out / false wings, un-hollow, unable to fly / on the single burst of wind that can carry a dream / into the eternal embrace of what lies beneath / where feet once walked / on what is now the opaque sky...

We're wide open / running / away from the concussions of winds that bring fire / when we're already warm / heartbeats rapid and... breath... exhausted / from pulling wrists / of people whose names we've never known / in the same place by different means / paths varied / converge for a moment as a hurricane / who cares not for our beliefs / only that we're in the way...

We're wide open / dying / from the impact of currents against bodies / that cannot be pushed too hard / carried too far / against the limits of skies / beyond which lies no resistance / no life / we're too young to die / still we crumble / as long as we can be walls / preventing the passage of something else / we will be unable to fly / on that single thought of wind / that you once told me you dreamt...

Out in the Open

So, I've been caught. Red-handed. After several months of trying to keep it under wraps, I've been called on it. I have, despite my best intentions, fallen head over heels in love with a fellow blogger. She's ignored my hints, my emails, my less-than-subtle yearnings hidden in "fiction" pieces. I've even strongly considered, to save myself from abject embarrassment, deleting many of the posts I've written about her.

The kicker came when she posted a poem about fake, virtual love. You can read it here: "Not Your Average Love Poem"

Yeah, I tried to play it off with a joke, but it hurt. Maybe you're thinking I'm a little crazy right now, but I don't care. I'm not about "fake, virtual love." That was uncalled for.

And I know you really love my writing - you're not fooling anybody - so here's your not-so-average love poem...

And the Muses...
To convince, of love, words as art
What better way to show you
Syllables from my heart

I could quote lyrics, and I would
But better they'd be mine own
As they should

To read of your other men
I feel sick, disgusted
My heart abandoned

No, I shall not devolve immature
But hold my head high
As I imagine our future

Please don't unfollow
Leave me on your blog roll
For its absence, as my heart...

Would leave me hollow...

You are, forever, my Muse...

***

Yeah, I'm pathetic. Sue me.

Minds Ajar

The closed door
believes it to be open
as it pretends to clean its window
it doesn't look out anyway
open only for what's already in the room

But, oh, its designs come
from places yours do not
and therefore they must be true
a religion of opposition
worshiping the false facade in the mirror

Anything can live in an apartment
of its own creation
but unlike the closed door
the open door knows
being shut is the easy way out

The closed door
believes it to be open
as it checks frozen locks and rusted hinges
screaming futility
as others happily shift in the wind outside

Hide behind itself
and blame those with minds ajar
though it smiles at its own decorations
it offers no solutions
and nothing notices, or cares, when it slams to the floor

The Art of War

an actor's violent act
scripted in a blink
the sculpture holds, bleeding
salients salient; perceptive; aware
as its audience slumbers
until nightmares invade sleep
and penetrate lifetimes

poets without war
lack blood for ink
images in mind, mind's eye
no longer recognize those in hand
songs on a radio
a thousand miles away
scream in memory

a hero's welcome
after a friend's goodbye
tell his mother he loved her
and be thanked for it; reluctant
watch the badge fade in color
its honor misplaced, lost
for those deserving are already buried

*For Tom, Dave, Glen, and everyone else who now only reside in memory...

VVG IDK

*This was supposed to be an entry in Magpie Tales a couple of weeks back (the image of the hand), but I wasn't in the mindset to "get it right." I was trying to be competently funny. As a result, it's languished in limbo for a while. I still haven't worked on it, but given my travels, I'm posting it anyway in order to make my writing life a bit easier. So there.

Dear Sir,
We aren't friends.
You don't understand
proper means to ends.
Not what I meant...
to lend me your ear;
something on my mind
I wanted you to hear.
You are far too insane,
craziest of man.
Thank goodness
you didn't lend a hand.

My dearest Vincent,
please work on your verbal comprehension.
And don't give body parts to prostitutes
in vain attempts to alleviate tension.

-Paul Gauguin

Weight

apathy's laughing
at your selfish collection
crushed by an earthquake
gadgets, gizmos, and toys
staring in disbelief
hoping the insurance covers
while your neighbor bleeds

sympathy's laughing
at your selfish reflection
the visage of a mistake
pollution, air and noise
Atlas' shoulders in relief
the weight of the sky smothers
while your hypocrisy breathes

Irrewind, 20100227: Adult Fiction

*Yes, I know that this is not the 1st or 3rd Saturday of February, but because of the River of Mnemosyne challenge at The Tenth Daughter of Memory, I had to adjust my posting schedule... and I didn't want to let February go "Irrewind-free," so nyah.

I certainly didn't mean for this to happen, but it sorta did. Wait... you have no idea what I'm talking about, so let me back up.

Somewhere along the way I developed a reputation (a small one, but a reputation nonetheless) for writing "adult fiction." Some might call it erotica, I might call it porn, whatever, but you get the idea. Whatever it's called, it was an accident. In an attempt to learn how to write women (and characters in general) better, I went the way of sex. Primarily as an exercise, mind you, but also because I, well, like sex and am intrigued by the notion of being able to write it well (I'll get there one day!)... so why not?

Anyway, in recognition of this new, er, goal of mine, here you go:

"The Anniversary"
It was a cool Texas night. Autumn was fading into winter. But she did not know it. Had she thought of it, she might have had some poetic inkling concerning the weather or the changing of the seasons, but her mind was elsewhere. Hundreds of feet up in the air, protected by the shatterproof windows of her hotel room, the temperature and time of day were far away from the landscape of her mind... Read More

"Push"
There's both a shy and aggressive nervousness in fumbling around in the dark. Lips struggle to stay locked together as two bodies sway clumsily around the room, as if separation might signal the end to it all. A subtle scent of alcohol mixes with faded perfume and cologne and only adds to the vertigo. The edge of a bed strikes the back of knees in silk stockings, and the free fall begins... Read More

"A Kiss by Extension"
His hands move slowly, aware of her heightened sensitivities. Lips place themselves against lips, resistant at first, but gradually relaxing. There's a hint that he's tasting her, though she's not quite ready to return the sensation. A tongue rolls gently in circular motion, offering subdued exhilaration in its attempt to encourage. He wants more, but she's unsure... Read More

"Linger"
A foot falls, then another. Timed to the breathing of approaching surprise. Ambient sound creates shadows in which to safely exhale. The gentle beating of a ceiling fan whips the air, further inhibiting the long-obsolesced ability to feel movement. Her silhouette, perfectly curved in the dark, tunes itself to the music of this silent dance. A foot falls... then another... Read More

"Amid Hints of Sensation"
The stain on the dress is not hers. Hidden amid the black and white polka dots, Natalie can only imagine what her roommate might say - or worse, ask - were it more obvious. She bundles it to further hide the spot, hoping to prevent any possible revelation to any possible visitor, blithely unaware that her confused but all too revealing smile is cause enough to elicit questioning. Feeling the grin, Natalie raises the dress to cover her face, unsure if... Read More

There's also that rather (as one reader put it) intense sex scene in The Storms of Dust, but I'll let you find that one on your own. However, as a bonus, here is the original version of the poem "Arson" that went up this past Tuesday:

"Arson" (original)

flick, switch
match strike
a burst of flame
quenches
a lustful thirst
her room is afire
beneath his friction
and though she drips wet
it is not water
she comes to him
and he in her
as lovers burn
to the ground

Arson

flick, switch
match strike
bursts of flame
quench
lustful thirsts
her room afire
beneath his passion
though wet
not water
lovers burn
to the ground

Dramatis Personæ

Permit me freedom
to be
or not
with apologies to Bill
maybe, perhaps, Chris
pending belief
quite sincere
for setting the Globe alight
and rebuilding
in Its image
for playwright
or poet
nor prophet
of profit
one, the same
storytellers telling lies;
lies themselves
let my undiscovered country
be only beauty
and let my ships set sail
into the face of truth

Neptune Radio

opposite actions
and equal reactions
without consideration
are the strangest things
like space cowboys
listening to Neptune Radio
playing songs in reverse
trying to get their lovers back
not stopping to wonder
why there's a radio station
on Neptune

The Burning Bridge

It's time to pack up and go
while the bridge can still be traversed
before it turns into ash
and the water underneath no longer has reason to flow
Time, then, to go
before he's going nowhere

Across the horizons
there will be horizons crossed
and called yesterdays
tomorrows, new enemies and old friends
antiquate nascent dreams again
leaving them nowhere

For the weary, rest
they may sleep but he may not stay
lest he watch it all go by
counting the heartbeats she has left
The compass points West
and has taken her nowhere

It's time to pack up and go
while the ford can still be passed
before it turns into mud
and the span overhead can no longer hold
Time, then, to go
anywhere but here

The Heartbroken of Narcissus

Your buried past
above ground, once
when it all began
with a whimper

A pity, then
you did not think
among instinct
to write it down

I wonder, then
in all your vanity
was she your lover?
or just survival?

Did you speak?
or did you whisper?
those who care
still listen

to the echoes left among stone
left among stone

The Snowbird

Feathers of ice
falling from a dying bird
that I cannot see
Though you've not told me
I'm certain your wings are bare
under the blanket of white
and your body will not be there
come Spring

Today

remember when the conversation
turned from orange to violet
an end to ends, all over again
until then
dream that it all happened before
spinning around an axis
spinning around a star
what's spoken was spoken
who's listening is what's different
thinking, therefore being
the mind's eye
the mind's sky's precipitation
an instant within an instant
is when everything changes
it's a new day, today
... feels like the rest of yesterday

A Mighty Wind

Wind of change, unwanted
With her gale in the wrong direction
Wildflowers, once gently caressed
Wilt away slowly in her soiled hand
Were they not content
Where she found them?

Symphony

There's a song between breaths
Lyrics, subtle
from respiratory winds
heard only with dying thoughts
and remembered with fading dreams
Truth escaped your breath
Words, false
from lying winds
believed only with loving hearts
and held with longing embrace
An orchestra tires of the song
and the less I've said, the less I'm wrong

Tabula Rasa

a blank page
like blank mind
instinct formed between the covers
before life passes by invented symbols
the story turns
a new chapter
and memories that do not fade
perhaps rewritten
or simply edited
by authors who deigned to choose their fates
it is endings that are published
on slates above heads
whose words stand in eternity
until The End
there are words to change
and characters with new beginnings

Flight Index

Well, I'm afraid I have to be a bit lazy with writing at the moment, as I'm packing up to move... off to the wild blue yonder, so to speak, tomorrow morning. Fun times.

But as I've often written about flight or the sensation of flying, I decided to offer an index of sorts to some old pieces. Feel free to read them all, or read them none. I'll be back on track in a couple of weeks, I'm sure.

Too Sexy to Fly?
- a satirical commentary on the strange decision by a flight attendant to not allow a passenger to fly based upon her attire.

Blue Wings - a creative non-fiction from days of yore.

Tales from the Airborne I: You Gotta Go When You Gotta Go - another creative non-fiction from military days.

Abandon - metaphoric prose about taking chances.

Falling Through Life Like Sky Through Rainbow - metaphoric prose about being lost in purpose.

A Dramatic Prologue - creative fiction about an airborne assault by Army paratroopers, interspersed with references from famous works of theatre.

The Whale and the Albatross - metaphoric prose about the strange journey that is life.

Oceans - biographical metaphor about sifting through choices.

Borne - descriptive piece about the diversity of Airborne paratroopers.

Stardust - poetic prose about falling in love for a brief moment in time.

As a special bonus, here's the poem version of "Stardust." Both the original and the poem were written at the same time as I couldn't decide which was better... ultimately I went with the prose, but here's the poem in all its aborted splendor:

Stardust - (August 11, 2009)

A slumbering impatience burns away
as falling star touches the crown of the world
light scatters as aimless journey finally reveals destination
there's a melancholic realization
as ground approaches quickly
this view is captured for the first and final time.
but, oh, what a view it is

An all too brief glimpse of beauty
blue and white
as friction melts away fear
her body, once imposing reflection in the distance, now inviting
a scream of triumph as youthful lust streaks through cloud
finally knowing what it means to fly
and, oh, what a flight it is

The lives of others pass by
emotion and sensation
frozen for so long and long since forgotten, or misremembered
reawaken in time to enjoy falling in love
the impact but a mere moment, in her arms
the mystery of gravity finally solved
and what a woman she is

Once a Time

dust covers the house you grew up in
the street you grew up on
winds of change kept nothing clean
and merely carry memory away
familiar smile amid unfamiliar place
somehow she's found you
in time to watch you spread your wings
there's no wave goodbye, because you'll fall

dust covers the love you grew up in
the wind you grew up on
desert roads tell no secrets
and take you nowhere
familiar song below unfamiliar skies
somehow she's remembered you
in time to listen to you leave

sidewalks disappear beyond horizon
destinations unknown
there's only one way to begin this journey
a foot in front of the other
one at a time, upon a time
and there's no time for dust

Neverland

Teach me to ride the wind
and away we'll go
my shadow is lost this close to the sun
but my wings are fine

Save your needle and thread
for when you tear my heart in two
and a laugh breaks
into a thousand little pieces

You'll be waiting
where dreams can be remembered
between sleep and awake
...the only place you love me

The second star to the right
will lead us nowhere
but death is an awfully big adventure
... the only place you love me