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, October 12, 2012

1 Can I Have This Dance?: Uneven

Title:  Breakeven (Falling to Pieces) 
Artist:  The Script
Album:  The Script
Genre:  Pop

why am I still chained
to this broken heart of ours
while you find peace somewhere else?
how could I live up
to "you're the best part of me?"
the pressure was far too much.

Notes: "I'm still alive, but I'm barely breathing." I have found this line to be quite addictive; and while i thoroughly enjoy the song and tale it tells, i must admit the line stands alone for me in an unrelated personal way. I steered away from this line for the poem above and delved a bit more into the lyrics themselves.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

1 Last Call: Transformation


deep in his bones he felt the time was near
the clock ticked like an itch he could not scratch
this burden he carried drove him crazy.  burning with fear,
he drew in a breath thinking with a grimace of the impending rematch

the clock ticked.  like an itch he could not scratch
he felt his muscles twitch out of his control
he drew in a breath.  thinking, with a grimace, of the impending rematch
and the constant fight for his soul

he felt his muscles twitch.  out of his control,
his body flung itself out of the chair;
and the constant fight for his soul
began. as he stumbled to his feet, he felt the despair

his body flung itself out of the chair
his reaction to the pull of the night's moon
began.  as he stumbled to his feet, he felt the despair
from within--how he wished he were immune

his reaction to the pull of the night's moon--
that which conjured such pain--brought to his lips a cry
from within--how he wished he were immune
rather than cursed by the phase of the moon that would soon grace night sky

that which conjured such pain, brought to his lips a cry
as his body contorted and reshaped.  he wished to be free
rather than cursed by the phase of the moon that would soon grace night sky.
he could feel the change from the poison no one could see

as his body contorted and reshaped, he wished to be free;
this burden he carried drove him crazy.  burning with fear
he could feel the change from the poison no one could see
deep in his bones.  he felt the time was near

An Aside:  okay so I'm cheating a bit this week.  things have been so crazy my mind has not had a chance to breathe.  So I'm posting an older poem, but am including an audio of it.  

for those of you who may not recognize the form, but know it is a form....this is a pantoum.  I first met this form back in August 2010 on a site called Shadow Poetry.  This here was my third attempt at the form (also in August 2010).  I toyed with the form twice since.  Once for the fun of it and a second time when the form was introduced on FormForAll at dVerse Poets Pub.

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.  

Monday, October 8, 2012

2 More on 'Save the C.O.N.E.S.'

In yesterday's Time Capsule post, I made reference to a 'story' which is technically a personal narrative told from the point of view of a road cone. 

The story was written by a close dear friend of mine, Queen Cone.  She was too shy to pose for a picture, but I'm still trying to sneak one.  Queen Cone is a real cone given to me by my friends from high school.  I can't recall if it was sophomore or junior year, but she was a gift they hoped would lift my spirits.  The idea that I'm good at masking my depression is really just a farce to make me feel better.

Anyway, she was kind enough to dedicate her story to me...

In return, I let her use my poem, which I posted yesterday.  Along with some photos I enhanced that depicted her life and story.  It was fun toying with photoshop and all the different effects;  adds a bit of character really to such dismal images.

I know you're all dying to here her story, but I'm not so sure she wishes to go completely public with it.  I'll ask her...maybe if your lucky....  But here is just a taste of the beginning of her story.

One would think the idea of my own kind being torn apart and butchered would horrify me. One might believe seeing them patched haphazardly together in the likeness of the species that brought about their death and destruction would enrage me. One might think that. But it does not bother me in the least. Truth be told I am a bit envious of my fellow comrades; they have transcended our pitiful existence becoming something that provokes an array of emotions from those who abuse us daily. The thought that I might follow, preferably in a less painfully manner, in their footsteps seemed impossible. Nothing is impossible.

I wasn’t so much born into this world as I was made. My first real memory was being stacked with others like me and shoved into a large white and orange vehicle. I recall being like that for quite some time. I immensely disliked being in the back of the vehicle and often wished that I would be released from the restrictive space. It wasn’t long before I realized I should be careful what I wish for.


Sunday, October 7, 2012

1 Time Capsule: Save the C.O.N.E.S.

Title:  Save the C.O.N.E.S.
Date:  01/23/02
Setting:  Life after college--during second post-college job
Form:  Free verse

They were worked to the bone
Their fragile shape
tossed and beaten
left to the elements of nature
drenched and frozen 
They were regarded as tools
Their obvious color
exploited and marred
left to fend for themselves
trampled and broken 
They were more than that to us
Their humble existence
tortured and abused
left us to save them
relieve and relinquish 
They were more than just road cones 

Notes:  When I was in high school...well let's just say we did some odd things, but then again who didn't.  Right?  For the life of me I cannot remember what C.O.N.E.S. stood for, but it was made up well after we had concluded the senseless acts of youth.

Three years ago, I was working with an eighth grade teacher and her class as they wrote narratives; the honors class was challenged to write a narrative from the perspective of an inanimate object.  Inspired by this, I wrote a narrative from the point of view of a road cone.  It was quite an interesting idea, but it had within it a touch of reality.

Artifact I:  A copy of the poem printed with a cone in the background.