My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Friday, August 24, 2012

3 Can I Have This Dance?: Spark of Love

Artist:  KT Tunstall
Album:  Eye to the Telescope
Genre:  Pop

Notes:  This song struck me the moment I listened to it.  Oddly, I think it inspired quite the opposite of it's intent.  But I've come to conclude that we will all take from someone else's words our own meaning regardless of their intent.  That doesn't mean we disregard the author's ideas, just fit them to ourselves.  If we couldn't do that--fit ourselves to someone else's words--what good are the words.  I'm off topic.  I'll just let my words speak for themselves--whatever you might make of them.

Spark of Love
I saw my future in the stars
long before you walked through the door
seeking to understand my scars.
Oh, how I wish I could give more,
but in leaving behind the shadows
I'm stepping out into pitch black--
stumbling to reach the light that grows
within you--trying not to look back
to the life alone I would build.
There's comfort in the loneliness;
wishes and desires unfulfilled,
but an odd comfort nonetheless.
Now I find myself reaching out,
longing to find you in the dark.
While I fight back the fear and doubt,
I cling to the hope your love might spark.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

9 With a Kiss

"Do I amuse you?"  she asked with a look and tone that would wipe the smile off a hardened criminal.

He leaned back in his chair, overtly eying her carefully.  With a sparkle of laughter glistening in his eyes he replied.  "Yes."  Ever so slightly (he noticed) her jaw tighten.  Before she could speak again--chastise him for his answer--he stood, closed the small distance between them, and continued.  "I enjoy the way your jaw firms, the way your brow furrows, and the way your nose flares.  But what truly excites me, entices me, is the way your lips thin begging to be ravished back into their natural succulent state."

As the last few words exited his mouth, he raised his hand curling his fingers in and gently grazed her cheek with his knuckles.  All the laughter gone from his eyes; instead they spoke gleamed earnest and sincere.  "Tell me you don't feel it too?"

He watched the subtle dilation of her eyes, the slight droop of her shoulders, and the barely noticeable intake of breath.  That was all he needed.  He closed the last bit of distance between them and silenced the lips plea.

After toying with this week's Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>amuse, excite(s), sincere] as the potential for a poem, I desided it might be nice to tap into a bit of prose.  It has been a while since I last used this form of expression.  It was fun.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

12 Last Call: If I could, this would be my suicide note

If I could, this would be my suicide note

I shuck clams
Like the pearl hunter dives down
into the dark depths of the ocean
searching for a precious pearl--
a rare natural beauty that encases
within it a shimmering happiness
I shuck clams
open myself up everyday to
posibilities--scrap my hands
raw to the bone looking for my
pearl of happiness just to drown
in a sea of discarded hope

How do I forget how to breathe?
If I could....

I bleed black
Like the cutter glides the razor
'cross pale scarred skin
searching to feel in control
of the pain--to bleed
life back into themselves
I bleed black
'cross blank white canvas
wielding my blade deftly
to expunge the agony
searing my veins--each stroke
mine and mine alone

How do I forget how to breathe?
If I could....

This is where I'm supposed to
thank these gifts
the ever present glimmer of
hope that draws me each day
into this world--a world intent
on draining the life from me
the endless supply of bitter tasting
words that still the tirade allowing me
to walk this world--a world intent
on bleeding me completely dry
This is where I'm supposed to
thank these gifts
This is where I instead
curse these gifts
the belief that one day...
the relief that one day...

How do I forget how to breathe?
If only I could, I might finally
leech myself of this hope(lessness)

I normally am not fond of when a poem decides to consume me while I'm driving.  It means having to repeat lines over and over to myself in the hopes that I might remember them just right.  This was a case where I was quite content that this poem began to shape as I drove home; it gave me a chance to work through the emotions and distill some of the rawness.  I actually started this last week, but let it stew for awhile.  (Last week was not such a good week.)  Initially, the title was intended to be dispersed fully within the poem.  I, after some time with it, decided to truncate it.  Honestly probably could have left it out completely and used a title more like "Black Pearl," but I'm not quite ready to release it yet.  So for now it will stand as the title.

I also thought about leaving two couplets out completely...which also would have meant leaving out the last stanza, but....  I did end up deciding not to include it as the lead in stanza, but...

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.  

Sunday, August 19, 2012

2 Time Capsule: At the end of the day

Title:  At the end of the day
Date:  02/19/01
Setting:  Life after college--during first post-college job
Form:  Free Verse

At the end of the day
I stand back and look at myself
And what I have accomplished
I replay the words of praise offered by others
And I try to glimpse myself through their eyes
Hoping I too will see what they see
And I begin to cry.
It’s not there
what ever they see in me
It’s not there
At the end of the day
I stand back and look at myself
And see nothing but a pathetic soul
I look at what I’ve accomplished
And see everything that was lacking
Wishing, that just once I might see what they see
And I continue to cry.
Notes:  I don't remember much about this one, but it is quite easy to guess my mood.   This was written right after a poem called The Eyes of Social Anxiety.  It also preceded to poem presented in my last post.

Based on the artifacts below you'll notice my poor choice of color.  I had a vile of multi-colored lead that I just dumped into my mechanical pencil...whatever color popped out, that's the color I wrote in.  You can see from this one (as well as last week's post) that the next color was a nice purple.

Artifact I:  Top of page with the initial construction/start

Artifact II:  Bottom of page with the redesigned construction