9 Un-Spun Crazy

Life's been crazy—

each breath a luxury of late.  

Life's been crazy—  

no time to write or be lazy.

I long to once again create—  

spin words in hopes I might abate  

all this crazy.

---

they're exploring rondelets over at dVerse today.  it's been awhile since I last tested the waters of this form...really I just threw this together in a stolen moment of craziness (so those wondering will know I'm still alive)...hopefully it makes sense.

Glistening Streams

I breathe tears to life
as though all of the oceans
depend solely on me.

---

I've been trying to find my way outside of myself.  The past week or two it's been rather hard.  Sleep calls to me like a lover whose arms wish never to let me go.  I long to escape into them, allow life to fade away around me, dissolve into a world of dreams where I can hold comfort in knowing nothing is real.  Still I hold on to life with a death grip...an odd statement for sure.  How much easier it would be to just let go?

9 Sevenling (To my angel) & Last Call (At the Sidewalk Cafe)

Sevenling (To my angel)

To my angel (you know who you are),

Silence is golden, liberating & lonely;  

the latter is the most haunting.  

  

To my angel (for whom silence seems a new word),  

I was (am) content, satisfied, & appreciative  

to hide in the rarity of reciprocal visits.  

My dear sweet angel, thank you for carrying my voice through the doors.



Last Call (At the Sidewalk Cafe)

anxiety spikes
(unusually so as of late)
each time Mr. Linky
steps up to introduce me.

he looks at the note card in hand
announcing the next performer
and knowingly looks stage left.

the last time these spells arose
I disappeared – left – went into hiding.
scarcely a word escaped
leaving only silence in my wake.

upon return I waited for last call –
closing time, when most had come & gone.
leaving only a few stragglers to see my frays.  

how brazen I got
as time passed and words flowed;
it's like a roller coaster though – ups & downs –
but those drops lift me out of my seat.

so here I sit now at the sidewalk cafe
listening to the voices spill out the doors & 
tip my hat as they leave for the night.

& I scribble away in my notebook
for no one else but me
and the occasional passerby
who sits down with a smile to share.

---

another silent contribution....

they'll be opening up the doors over at the dVerse Poets Pub at 3:00 pm (EST), so if you get a chance to stop in, check out some wonderful talents showcasing their voices today and tomorrow.

12 Dee - p - Rest

From out of the blue
I feel them --
tears perched on eyelids.

A quiet settles
within;  a
hush before the storm.

Each breath stratigi-
cally  placed
to lesson the wrath.

I long to crawl up
-- disappear --
escape from myself.

But the past has shown
like a sinking ship
I must ride it out.

---

the above is a series of Kelly Lunes, aside from the last stanza.

another silent contribution....

if you get a chance, there are some wonderful talents showcasing their voices today over at dVerse Poets Pub for OpenLinkNight.

7 Last Call: I See Myself in Black & White

It's time to step out of the darkness;
dust off this cloak of shadows;
unfurl these dormant wings intent on flying.

Too long I've been surrounded
by brilliant colors unable
to feel their sweet caress as
they poke at me so eager
to wrap me in their warmth, but
they bounce off me like ping-pongs.

It's time to step into the sunlight;
enrobe myself in lustrous colors;
awaken all that lies within me.

---

An Aside:  As stated in my tagline for ...don't open...don't throw away..., the purpose of this blog was/is to release the toxins that build up within me.  Since the start of this year, I have been feeling as though I have become too buried in my own head; I needed to escape myself.  I think that is one of the reasons I started a new blog.  I think it was a smart move; I've tapped into somethings that I might otherwise have not done. To be honest, getting outside of myself has been quite liberating (and taxing).   

In making the decision, I was hesitant to completely shut things down here.  I still have plenty of poisons seeping through my veins that need to be expelled.  So, I decided to cut down here to posting for two events:  dVerse Poets Pub's OpenLinkNight and on the last Wednesday of the month for Three Word Wednesday.  But an odd thing happened....  I missed a week.  Then I typed up this piece and posted it with the intent of sharing last week.  After about ten minutes of it sitting out there in cyberspace, I realized that I couldn't do it.  So I took it down.  That didn't stop me from visiting those brave souls who week after week step through the pub doors, but I couldn't bring myself to the stage. I think I have finally come to the conclusion that (at least for awhile) I'm tired of fighting my "stage fright."  

So while I will continue on the rare occasion to add my voice, for now I think I'll stick with just enjoying an amazing selection of poetry offered up by others.

Anyway, I think I've rambled enough...

---

This is my silent contribution to 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.

7 CRAVE

CRAVE

thirst for

intense need

putrid rotting flesh

shudders in pure delight

with the scent of fear soaked brains

"all consuming hunger attacks."

---

I went a little freaky with this clarity pyramid - Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>crave, putrid, shudder(s)] combo.

14 Quieting the Silence

I'm grasping at straws
as words slip
unseen through fingers.

I cannot sit here
lined paper
just laughing at me.

I grab my pencil
awaken
the muse within me.

Words finally pour
drowning out
the blank page's taunts.

---

I thought it might be fun to toy a bit more with the lune -- more specifically the Kelly Lune.  The last (and first) time I worked with both the Kelly lune and Collum lune, creating a pairing on the same topic.  With this go around I thought I'd try a string of lunes that (might) alone stand as independent poems, but linked to tell a story of sorts.

---

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.

6 Last Call: What Will Become of Our Words?

---

What Will Become of Our Words?

The waiting is over, but
what have we lost in the process?

where are our word?

when time meant something,
our words abounded
desperate to close the gap
of space and time.

(now) we converse in clips & phrases
whittled down to an alpha-numeric code
creating for the future an ancient dialect
only a few will be skilled to translate.

where are our words?
                our love?
                our passion?
                our essence?

when distance made the heart grow fonder
our words poured like rain
down from the heavens
nourishing and grounding our roots.

(now) we connect with little connection
our fingers caress sleek metallic bodies
spreading words across a shrinking world
as a chasm grows between us and those next to us.

where are our words?

(now) we catch glimpses of the past
in faded tissue-thin tear-stained letters
correspondences that lived and breathed
with precious words -- words unfolded,
read, caressed, smelled, smeared
time and time again.

someday our words will be unbound
by a double-click, as pristine and
untouched as the day they were sent;
no stories hidden in their creases
or the letters bled with tears,
just words -- clips & phrases.

where are our words?
                our beauty?
                our passion?
                our selves?

when touch could be invoked
with each physical-tangible
unfolding word, distance and
time meant nothing.

(now) we communicate in zeros & ones
relying on the single sense of sight
where words alone must invoke
more than they ever needed to before.

where are our words?

---

An Aside:  I can't recall exactly when, but sometime ago I read a poem by Brian Miller.  While commenting, I pondered the following, "what will become of the letters that bleed with tears?"  I tucked this little thought away in my notebook figuring eventually I would come back to it.  Eventually I did, though not as I had expected; I wrote a short poem, Faded Memories (Ribbon-Bound Letters).  It in no way shape or form held within it the original essence of my pondering.  While still not 100% where I thought it might lead, this piece here definitely does a better job at capturing what I first felt.

An (Aside) Aside:  I was originally going to make my pondering the title of this poem, but I don't know...it didn't quite feel right in the end.

---

I'm ahead of schedule once again, 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.

6 SLIGHT

SLIGHT

write off

disparage

his terse retort, "lame,"

spoke volumes on how well

he'd cooperate with us

"lack of respect drives in a wedge."

---

This was an interesting write.  The middle came quite quickly using this week's Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>cooperate, lame, terse] prompt.  Normally it is a simultaneous struggle between the first and middle verse; they tend to go hand in hand.  I get a general idea for the initial word (though it is subject to change) while pulling the middle and end together with the given words.  For this one, the middle came so quickly I was at a complete loss for what the initial word and its followers should be.  The last line is basically impossible to write with out the initial word.  Maybe it is the way this poem unfolded that has me not quite content...ah...but then again, when am I ever content.

---

On a Side Note:  Recently I posted that I would be limiting my use of this blog.  I feel it has fulfilled its purpose and that it is time for me to move on.  Unfortunately, letting go is not all that easy...or maybe it is fortunate, because I will (at least for a time) be maintaining two things here: my weekly contributions to OpenLinkNight over at dVerse and my last Wednesday of the month "clarity pyramid meets 3WW" for Three Word Wednesday.    I have just recently taken up residency elsewhere in case you care to drop in.

4 Last Call: Tumor Vision

---

Tumor Vision

Busy casino carpets should be just that,
an array of visual designs intended to stir
the bustling atmosphere — NOT
a twisted version of Munch's "The Scream"
head burning in hellish flames.

I so long for the artist's hand
to sketch out what only my eyes seem to see.

Dark volcanic clouds should be just that,
billowing plums of smoke and ash
casting an ominous fear — NOT
a demon awakening from a long slumber
intent on destruction and death.

I so long for the artist's hand
to outline what only my eyes seem to see.

Bird poop on a car window should be just that,
a disgusting nuisance foretelling good luck
that should be wiped away — NOT
a mustached man wearing a bearskin hat
standing guard at the window.


I so long for the artist's hand;
I itch to unearth these visions — unseen,
to breathe life into them with a skillful hand,
in turn distilling the crazy notion
that (a)
I'm crazy and (b)
there's a tumor
pressing on my brain.

Oh, how I long for the artist's hand.

---

Is it just me....  Or can you see what I see?

For some reason most people I've asked see an owl.
(image by rmp, that's me)

photo taken by Martin Rietze
(http://www.mrietze.com/)

Mustached Man in Bearskin Hat
(image by rmp, that's me)

---

An Aside:  Photo #2 also inspired a poem called, Volcanic Eruptions (which can be found on my new blog). The post also includes a version of the image where I attempt to point out the demon in all of his glory.

---

I'm ahead of schedule this week, 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.

18 Last Call: (Poet) On a Microscopic Level

---

(Poet) On a Microscopic Level

I'm an open wound
stitched together – painstakingly so –
word by word;
each pull of the needle,
a cross-stitchers heaven,
delicately weaving a collage of colors,
textures, fibers, patterns
meant to hold me together.

From a distance, I'm seamless,
but if you could see inside my words...
there you'd find the key – the secret –
to unraveling me.

---

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.

2 Finished (Notebook)

This week a first has happened.  I honestly did not think it was possible, but alas I was wrong.  It has gotten me to thinking—a dangerous act, indeed.  Unfortunately when my brain kicks into gear like this it is often hard to follow its stream of thought.  

June 27, 2012 — I opened up a new notebook and broke my drought.
June 30, 2012 — I reset ...don't open...don't throw away... and invented my themes to revitalize things.
July 1, 2012 — I posted my first Time Capsule and launched the first of three themes, which I've maintained up until today.
January 9, 2013 — I celebrated three years and thanks to my revival, I managed to turn my dry spell around from 12 to 118 posts during ...dodta...'s third year.  That's right, 12 posts in the first prior to July 1st and 106 after.
January 9, 2013 — I began to ponder whether ...dodta... had finally run it course.  It was the first time I had actually thought about it without being in a emotional rut.  But making such a decision is not something that can be made rashly.  I put a lot of blood, sweat and tears here, to let it go with serious contemplation would be wrong.
March 13, 2013 — I wrote on the last page of my notebook.
March 15, 2013 — I actively searched for an empty(ish) page in order to write a piece for this past Friday's theme of Can I Have This Dance?.  There are a handful of pages that have tidbits on them that never blossomed, but I'm thinking I'll add them to another notebook and look to them for inspiration when the juices seem to be running a bit dry.
March 17, 2013 —  I officially have made two decisions.  One...my notebook is being laid to rest and classified as full, finished, done, kaput....  Two...I am letting go of my themes and of ...don't open...don't throw away...

So that last little note is a doozy.  I am not leaving the blogging world, just moving on.  I'm not sure exactly where I will land, but I think it is time.  On the flip side, while technically I'm closing up shop, I've decided to keep the doors open for two things...

The first is what has been themed as Last Call, also known as my contributions to dVerse Poets Pubs OpenLinkNight.  Partly because this is the face (mask) they know and partly because...well, I need an excuse not to truly say goodbye to ...dodta....

The second occurs on the last Wednesday of every month when Three Word Wednesday meets the clarity pyramid.  Over the course of the three years, I have written 17 clarity pyramids.  All but the first one was in conjunction with 3WW.  All but the first two were written on the last Wednesday of the month.  So, I will also maintain that post here as well.  

Okay, maybe saying I'm letting go of ...don't open...don't throw away... was a tad misleading.  Still...(I guess I'm not really good at saying goodbye.)

For those of you who have drop in from time-to-time or on a regular basis, thanks for tuning in...

5 CIHTD?: Traffic Light ("It's over!")

Title:  Red Light
Artist:  David Nail
Album:  I'm About to Come Alive
Genre:  Country

Notes:  I mentioned in my last post I wanted to write about traffic lights....  So I went out and found a song that had a traffic light in it to lend inspiration for this week's CIHTD?.

A Form Aside:  Over at dVerse Poets Pub they have introduced a short little number called the cinquain.  I thought I'd give it a whirl.  I'm not the only one...so if you get a chance, check out some of the talents that chose to walk through the pub doors for this event.

Traffic Light ("It's Over")

stopped dead—
blood drains with words
no lies—no fight—just words
crashing down. light turns green; still I
can't move.

13 Last Call: Crumbling Within

Crumbling Within

Just the thought of a hug
stirs an emotional rock slide
threatening to unravel
the carefully woven shield
surrounding the loss
yet to be dealt with.

It's a mistake
keeping it buried within
but the only remedy
that ever worked to clear
away the looming boulders
was the feel of your arms
wrapped around me.

---

I was hoping to try to escape myself for a little bit, try to find something outside of me to write about...something random like traffic lights.  But this week's Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>careful(ly), hug, mistake] seemed to have something else in mind.  Odd though, because I look at the words (even read them aloud several dozen times) and I do feel disconnected.  Maybe that is more about the emotions rolling around than the actual poem, but at the moment I'll be truthful and say I don't much care for this piece...maybe time will change that...

---

I've decided to double up this week and so ...

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.

4 Silent Suffering

---

Silent Suffering

Do mimes ever escape the box they've made?

The invisible wall built around me

closes in with every passing moment

I wait for it to collapse -- folding in

on me 'til it becomes skin I can shed.

I wait for someone's touch to set me free,

but how can they possibly get so near

with this invisible wall around me.

I try to hold on as paralyzing fear

closes in with every passing moment

my heart races, my breath catches.  It's clear

I wait for it all to just collapse in -- 

torn between the idea I'll disappear

and the chance I might awaken within.

I scratch at skin that refuses to shed

waiting for the touch that will set me free

but hope dwindles with each passing moment

that the real me might awaken within.

Do mimes ever escape the box they've made?

1 Time Capsule: To Know Love

Title:  To Know Love
Date:  unknown (though if I dig a bit, I can probably come up with an estimate)
Setting:  Life after college--during second post-college job
Form:  Free form

Notes:  Over the past years, starting back in 2002, I have written three poems for friends and/or family as they were on the verge of getting married.  I have posted the first two (A Wedding Song--a poem for two voices and In the Eyes of a Friend) already here.  This was the third poem, written for my best friend--the one in my last post that brighten my day with images and videos of her two little ones.  Anyway, without further ado...

3 CIHTD?: A little sunshine...

Title:  Oh, Mr. Sun
Artist:  unknown
Album:  unknown
Genre:  Children's

Notes:  It's been a trying couple of weeks; so much so that even my typical tricks of music and breathing.  When things get this bad, I have another little source of pleasure.  I texted my friend and told her I could really use a picture or video.  She sent me a picture of her little one with a cucumber for lips.  A few seconds later, I texted her again asking where the older one (my goddaughter).  As I was doing so, she was recording a video with my goddaughter singing Oh, Mr. Sun at the top of her lungs.  I watched it multiple times and slowly (for me) the sun did begin to shine.  I have a feeling that I'll be playing that video several more times before the end of this month.  Hopefully April showers will help to wash away some the craziness pressing down on me.

9 Last Call: Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions: Seething & Breathing

---

Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions: Seething & Breathing

I'm still alive, but I'm barely breathing;
I've been practicing slow intakes all week—
In----n---Out      In----n---Out     is of no help.

Still I search for that equilibrium

to still the emotions that are seething.

I am beginning to feel like a freak—

a statue shutting out the world around

as I've practiced slowly breathing all week,

but the world just pushes back pound by pound;

so each breath In----n---Out is of no help.

I find it impossible to rebound;

still I search for that equilibrium,

itching to stand once more on solid ground.

I long to wake from this delirium—

to still the emotions that are seething.

I'm beginning to feel like a freak

with each breath In----n---Out.  I just can't help

loosing myself to this delirium.

I'm still alive, but I'm barely breathing.

---

My mind is racing with so many thoughts and amazingly they seem to all be focused on this piece—so maybe breathing wasn't the answer and writing was...

#1 — The first line of this poem is from a song.  From the moment I heard the song, I was addicted to this line far beyond the confines of the song.  It held its own meaning for me that had absolutely nothing to do with the lyrics themselves.  Still the song itself has also inspired two poems (Uneven and—without realizing I did this—Uneven) that have made their way here through my Friday's theme, Can I Have This Dance?.  [FYI:  The song is Breakeven (Falling to Pieces) by The Script.]

#2 — When I went in search of the title for this piece I got caught on the words seething and emotions.  This led me to think of a series I've developed here (which I recently rehashed on a Sunday for my theme Time Capsule).  Though the series is called Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions, I could hear word seething stealing the place of raging.  Even though the majority of the series has focused on music, it took little for me to decide it would be a good addition because the original poem also speaks toward breathing.  

#3 — This is my fourth exploration in expanding my original form of nota.  While I still like the original version, there is something about this "expanded" version that feels like a better entity.  

An Aside:  I am going to admit for those of you who choose to listen to this piece that I have a very bad habit of recording and not listening back to the recording.  (I don't particularly care much for the sound of my voice.)  So if there are any anomalies, you'll know why I posted it with them in it...

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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.

3 Time Capsule: untitled

Title:  untitled
Date:  unknown
Setting:  unknown
Form:  Found Poetry (made from magazine clippings)

Note:  For posting purposes, I modified the original.  The "E" in "awhile" was black on brown making it hard to see when transferred over digitally.  So I filled the "E" with white to make it visible.

1 CIHTD?: Silence

The music is silent today...

9 Last Call: PURGE

PURGE

erase

get rid of

a pale face flickers

as naughty pictures doused

blaze--a relationship ends

"burn away lingering evils."

---

It is the last Wednesday of the month and with that comes another union of Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>douse, naughty, pale] and the clarity pyramid.  I'm not too fond of homophones.  I had something in my mind until I realized that it was pale and not pail.  I had to do some rearranging; I'm not 100% happy with the results, but...

---

I've decided to double up this week and so ...

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.

3 Time Capsule: Intoxication

Title:  Intoxication
Date:  07/29/01
Setting:  Life after college--summer between first and second post-college job
Form:  Free verse

As I opened the drawer
To put away my clothes
I found your shirt
folded neatly among my own
I paused
and sat back on my legs
I stretched out my hand
touching the fabric
suddenly I felt you near
I drew the shirt from its spot
held it up to my face
and I could feel your touch
gently brushing my cheek
breathing deeply in
I could taste
your soft sweet kiss
Clinging to your shirt tightly
I stood
Slowly with my eyes shut
so I might hold onto your image
I slipped out of my clothes
and into your shirt
I longed to feel you
against my bare skin
I spent the day cuddled
in your shirt
When night fell
I crawled into bed
still wrapped in your shirt
just so that I might
wake up next to you
And as I lay there
ready to drift off
I felt extraordinary
and amazing
And I knew
I was intoxicated
by you

Artifact I:  Original piece written in green pencil.

8 CIHTD?: Self-Loathing

Title:  n/a
Artist:  n/a
Album:  n/a
Genre:  n/a

An Aside:  So I'm going off script again with this week's CIHTD?.  I figured I could get away with it since I incorporated musical notes in this piece.  Plus, over at dVerse Poets Pub, they are talking about graffiti poetry.  So, I took a tweet(oetry) and graffiti-fied it.  Note, no walls were actually marred in the creation of this piece; I went the legal route and used the computer.


Self-Loathing

6 Last Call: Stealing Shadows

---

Stealing Shadows

In the shadows of who I long to be,
I stand waiting for you to take my hand;
steel my fears, so I might finally shine
and rejoice in the warmth of light's sweet kiss.
There's so much in me longing to break free!

Yet here I am wandering in this wasteland,
consumed by darkness both inside and out,
blindly searching for you to take my hand.

It's naive of me to think you'll wipe away doubt--
stealing my fears.  Oh how I long to shine,
unearthing the me striving to break out.

and rejoice in the warmth of light's sweet kiss.
Still the darkness muffles my cries and shouts.
I'm scared I shall live forever like this.

There is so much in me longing to break free,
but I'm lost, wandering this wasteland.
Fears steal my will making it hard to shine.
I'm scared I will forever live like this
in the shadows of who I long to be.

---

This one took quite some effort.  Although part of that would be due to an overwhelming amount of work-related stress stealing my motivation to do much more than focus on breathing.  I started this on Monday in the hopes of making it into dVerse Poets Pub by Tuesday.  I finished about a third of it (though given the repetition of lines that isn't saying much).  Tuesday, unfortunately, disappeared from me leaving me to finish it today.  I'm impressed I managed to make it in before last call.  It's actually been awhile since I made my way through the doors this late.  Although I am quite familiar with taking the stage so late.  I think I actually prided myself in doing so.  

This particular expanded nota sprouts from a pom seed.

---

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.

2 Time Capsule: The Submission

Title:  The Submission -- the turmoil of critique
Date:  between 05/24/00 and 08/27/00
Setting:  Life after college--during first college job
Form:  Free verse

They were just pieces of paper with words

Yet letting them go was quite trying

and

      exhilarating.

The fear of allowing another to view the words

In a critical mindset was horrifying

and

      intoxicating.

Though just pieces of paper

Though just simple words

They materialized from the heart and soul

Each word

On each paper

Melded into verses of great meaning.

To some they may just be pieces of paper with words

But for one they invoke hardship

and

      love.

To many it may be a foolish fear, allowing another to view the words

But for one the fear is debilitating

and

      welcomed.

Though just pieces of paper

Though just simple words

They embody the mind, heart and soul

Each word

On each paper

Completes one making everything worthwhile.

Artifact I: Original typed version of poem.

4 CIHTD?: G(r)in & Tonic

Title:  You and Me & a Bottle Make 3 Tonight (Baby)

Artist:  Big Bad Voodoo Daddy
Album:  Live
Genre:  Jazz

Notes:  It's been about 10 years since I was introduced to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.  I had a student who had learned I liked big bang music and told me I should check them out.  He definitely wasn't wrong.  There is part of me that when I listen to this song am not 100% sure who the "you" is in this.  I can't decide if he's talking to someone or if the you is the drink in his hands.  Either way, it definitely is a catchy tune.

G(r)in & Tonic 

I drank away my sorrow
drown my dreams of tomorrow
focusing on you -- only you --
and what might be tonight  

Pour me another 

We click our glasses together
clear our minds of whether
there's more to us -- to this --
than what might be tonight 

Just leave us the bottle 

You steal away my troubles
stir an emotion that bubbles
around me -- surrounds me --
and what might be 

You're my last drink of the night

15 Last Call: Love's Allure

---

Love's Allure

Love is pain and sorrow wrapped in disguise;
I hear its sweet whispers calling to me.
"Come to me my dear.  Love is all you need."
And every time I fall into its trap,
it laughs at me with its seductive lies.

For far too long my heart has run carefree
unwilling to be tamed--that is until
I heard your sweet whispers calling to me.

With your enchanting words my world did still.
"Come my darling; my love is all you'll need."
Ensnared by this intoxicating thrill--

so easily--I fell into your trap.
I bared all of me and you drank your fill
then pulled back leaving my heartstrings to snap.

Love laughs at me with those seductive lies
knowing my heart has longed to be set free.
So softly, love calls, "I am all you need!"
then tugs waiting for my heartstrings to snap.
Love is pain and sorrow wrapped in disguise.

---

Inspiration for this piece comes from a pom seed written quite some time ago.  Due to syllable count, I had to modify it slightly (replacing intoxicating with seductive), but I did manage to get my original word back into the piece in another spot.

This is the second time I've toyed with the expanded nota.  I'm not really sold on this piece.  Not 100% sure what exactly bugs me.  I think part of it might be that the first and last stanza address love as a whole, while I chose to have the middle sections focus on a specific someone.  I'm not sure they blend so well.  I'll have to think on it, but for now it is what it is.

---

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.

2 Time Capsule: Love at First Sight?

Title:  Love at First Sight?
Date:  02-10-02
Setting:  Life after college--during second post-college job
Form:  Free verse

Love is a mystical connection
between
two people
A connection of mind
knowing what the other is thinking
finishing one another’s sentences
answering before the question is even asked
A connection of the body
knowing what the other wants
reading one another’s signals
longing for just the simplest of touches
A connection of emotions
knowing what the other is feeling
allaying one another’s fears
comforting each other without even a word
Love is a mystical connection
Can it be found in a simple glance?
a single moment in time?
Can such a bond
of mind, body, and spirit
be struck without even a word
There are those who believe so
and though I am not one of them
I cannot deny
that with a simple glance
in a single moment
one person may be drawn to another
not because of looks
or appearances of wealth
but by some mystical force
which hopes to spark within them
a desire to discover everything
there is to know about the other
leaving them susceptible
to that which is love.

Notes: I will go on record here...though I am a romantic at heart, I do not really believe in "love at first sight"--at least not in the truest sense of the phrase. I did my best to capture my thoughts awhile back in this particular piece.

Artifact I: Page one of original.

Artifact II: Page two of original.

5 CIHTD?: Methods...

Title:  n/a

Artist:  n/a

Album:  n/a

Genre:  n/a

An Aside:  I've been sick...still sick technically...and my brain has been a bit too fuzzy to compose.  Every time the music plays I want to close my eyes and fall asleep.  So I am taking a different approach to this week's CIHTD?.

Notes:  I can remember coming in late on a debate between my brother and cousin about whether it is the lyrics or instrumentals of a song that were more powerful.  Each was on a different side of the fence.  I, myself, have always found myself in the middle.  

There is definitely something to the lyrics that touch the mind and heart.  They can stick with you and follow you around.  You can relate to them.  And sometimes having words that you can sing out (whether you actually know the words or not) as the music plays can be very cathartic.  

Now the instrumentals ..the instrumentals have a way of getting under your skin--syncing with or altering your internal rhythm.  I have always found this to be very therapeutic.  A couple of years ago I wrote (and posted here) the poem below.  Eventually this turned into a bit of series where each of the poems that followed incorporated music as an entity to soothe.  

So with out further ado...

Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions

gritted teeth
hold tears at bay
a flimsy dam of sticks
bombarded by raging emotions
longing to pour freely

rioting music
course throughout
a volatile tidal wave
melding with raging emotions
longing to find rhythm

breath moves
slowly in, slowly out
a soft gentle breeze
releases the raging emotions
longing to suffocate

Followed up by four additional poems with music playing in the background:

• Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions:  Music Echoes
• Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions:  Rage On
• Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions:  Perscriptive Drug
• Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions:  Out of My Misery

11 Last Call: Burning Flame

---

Burning Flame

candlelight flickers
     flick(flick)flickers
casting me in shadows

my core projected
across the ground
mocks me.  its silent
full-body laugh
surrounded by golden hues
emulates my everyday existence--
shedding light on the truth.

When will I let the love in?

---

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.

3 Time Capsule: Pining

Title:  Pining
Date:  01/12/06
Setting:  Life after college--during second post-college job
Form:  Free verse

Notes:  I spoke about my Poetry List emails before.  I had originally started them in college.  Years later, as part of a New Year's Resolution, I thought to reinstate my poetry list emails.  This poem was the first one sent out when I finally brought it back up.  I admit the new Poetry-List emails did not last very long (only to Volume 1 Number 7 -- which was a total of ten poems).  I believe I tried blogging a couple of years later; that didn't go to well, but I eventually found my way back to it and started this here blog.  So yeah...at least for now.

Artifact I:  Front of original.

Artifact II:  Back of original

Artifact III:  Blurb from the bottom of Poetry List: Resurrection email.

15 CIHTD?: Tune (Stuck Inside My Head)

Title:  Day that I Die
Artist:  Zac Brown Band (feat. Amos Lee)
Album:  Uncaged
Genre:  Country

Notes:  There is something about the way he sings "a guitar in my hands."  I don't really know why but I do. I had thought I might use that as my 'radif' (see information on form below), but I found myself instead utilizing a phrase from the line "I just kept chasing that melody."  I even initially used 'that', but 'our' just felt a better fit by the time I uncovered the first stanza.  Yes, in the scheme of things, I wrote four stanzas prior to coming back to the one that used the 'radif' in both lines.  A couple of other lines from the song played into the poem, but for the most part the topic is not aligned with the song.

A Form Aside:  This is a ghazal--more specifically it is intended to be a ghazal sonnet.  This was not my first attempt at a ghazal.  I tried one (back in August 2011).  Normally I try to give a form several goes before I make a decision on it, which is why when it popped up at dVerse Poets Pub for their FormForAll, I thought I'd give it another go.  Still not really sold on it, but...

Tune (Stuck Inside My Head)

I never shall erase our melody
nor could I dare replace our melody.

You are the only tune I care to know,
though I might have to chase our melody.

My fingers long to graze your skin
allowing me to trace our melody.

How long, I wonder, must I wait for you
to finally embrace our melody.

I know how fear can still the beat,
but please do not deface our melody.

Until the very end I'll sing of us
and strum across my bass our melody.

Guitar in hand with roses at our feet
together we'll retrace our melody.

---

my humble offerings for dVerse Poets Pub FormForAll.  If you get a chance, check out what some amazing talents are doing with the ghazal form.

2 Batch #9

Bursting with Pom Seeds
(image by rmp, that's me)

It's been approximately six months since my last Pom Seed update.  I admit that as with the last post I have not been very active in using my twitter persona to hold some of the little ideas and thoughts that pop into my head with the potential to become something much more than they are.

In accordance with my last batch, I will only be posting new pom seeds and ramblings along with any leftover pom seed/old rambling that managed to burst into some juicy little treat.  I have also decided that there really is not much difference between pom seeds and ramblings, so as of today I'll be merging them all under the pom seed listing.  I will allow all previously labeled ramblings to keep their title on the Pom Seeds page.  Still, I have also decided to assess some of the old ramblings that had tweetoetry potential and add them into the tweetoetry collection that usually follows pom seeds.

So...without further ado...

---

Pom Seeds Batch #9
(bold have already burst to life)

• I feel like I’m trapped in a left-brain’s body ~ creativity screaming to be unleashed
• on day I will accept the truth ~ even if it's with my last breath
• is it possible to know love when you've never known heartache?  is it possible to know heartache when you've never known love? (The First That Wan't)
• the sun blazes brightly ~ and yet the sky cries softly
• I see them in shadows; standing shoulder to shoulder; as they did on that fateful night (High Noon)
• this social anxiety is not bound by the physical world...

Leftovers

• my heart quakes; earth-shattering tremors; only I can feel; course through me; I search for safety; the open embrace; of... (Fabricated Love)
• how long will I wait for someone to show me my worth before I except the truth (Worth)

Tweetoetry

#106
~Fluttering Laughter

her laugh
is like butterfly wings
tickling every one of
my senses


#107 (tanka)
~Floating Laughter

she twirls—skirts flaring
opening like a flower
casting love my way
her laughter floats through the air
like dandelion wishes


#108 (tanka-ish)
~Homeless

howling winds stir--cut
harsh paths--left in their wake
whispering remnants
speak of hearts torn from homes
as destruction lay at feet


#109
~haunting slumber~

sleep lives outside my peripheral vision
taunting me with flashes of eyelids
beckoning me to give chase


#110
~beneath the covers~

your warmth encases me
pulls me into your spell
of dreams ready to be fulfilled


#111
~Desire

moonlight dances
along the ripples of your surface
I long to dive in
alter the tempo--the rhythm
to match the beat of my internal fire


#112
~sweet words~

spun sugar is
a web of white lies
you don't want to get stuck in


#113 (tanka)
~Unique

you're like no one else
how I long to make you melt
my love--my snowflake
I open my arms to you
tilt my head towards your sweet kiss


#114
~Self-Loathing

I put a pulse
to my hate
and it beat
for me


#115 (haiku-ish)
~Moonlit Dreams

beneath evening's gaze
moon kissed eyelids awaken
dreams of pure delight


#R1
~ Wishy-Washy

fickle tears  

  they pour when sad 

  they pour when happy 

  they thunder when hurt 

you'd think 

  they'd pick an emotion 

and stick with it

#R2
~Static

I wish I had the words 

to heal this wound 

but they seem to elude 

still I try 

pouring out word after word 

hoping I'll find the perfect mix


#R3

~A-Part

pathetic really 

the way anxiety grips my heart 

as I step outside myself 

reaching out 

to those on the inside of the circle 

I skirt

#R4

~Involuntary Verbal Spews

anxiety's peace 

tastes like profanity 

on virgin lips


#R5

~Delicate Balance

he walks backwards 

along a fine line with ease 

not batting an eye 

through his omission


#R6

~Awaken Dreams

sleep evades my tired body 

dancing before my eyelids 

taunting my restless mind 

I so long to just...


#R7

~Release the Mask

I'm tired 

              tired of smiling 

it takes too much energy 

      wears on me 

eroding me from the inside out


#R8

~A Taste of the Future

I taste a little 

bit of sunshine 

on your lips 

a whole 

lot of tomorrows 

in your kiss

#R9

~Not I

random thoughts float about in my head 

longing to spill out 

but who would wish to listen 

to such randomness


#R10

~ Upside-down Frown

i need a happy thought 

my lips 

long 

to feel the contours 

of a smile

8 HEART

HEART

passion

affection

tendrils creep intent

on breaching still chambers

reviving a lost drab core

"pulsating love quickens its beat."

---

It's that time again!  The last Wednesday of the Month brings forth a marvelous combination Three Word Wednesday [3WW=drab, pulsate(s), tendril(s)] and the clarity pyramid.  I always find this day to be a treat and a half.  

9 Last Call: Embodying Her (Embracing Myself)

---

Embodying Her (Embracing Myself)

she wades through my dreams just out of reach--
a dancer in the shadows of my grief.
I'm not sure how long she'll wait there for me
to realize the beauty I possess
while I struggle with a heart I can't breach.

Every once and again I catch a brief
glimpse of the person I'm supposed to be;
she dances in the shadows of my grief

bound to the darkness--longing to break free.
I wonder how long she'll wait there for me?
Full of pure love, she implores me to see

the amazing beauty that I possess--
dares me to embrace all that I should be
if I banish fear to love's sweet caress.

As I struggle with this heart I can't breach,
every once and again I feel a brief
ray of hope knowing she waits there for me.
Still I fear I'll never feel love's caress
for she wades through my dreams out of reach.

---

I realize this rambling probably will make no sense to anyone but me, still....

The other day while in the car (go figure, that is where all my harebrained ideas come from) I got to thinking about the nota (an invented form...because I was bored and have a thing for repetition).  Something about it being fourteen lines nagged at me and I wondered if it would be possible to expand it.  With my driving-hazed mind, I could picture the potential for adding the two additional lines with their repeating in the middle stanza.  Of course, when it actually came to putting it together I realized the patterned for the initial two middle stanzas didn't lend itself well to the expansion.  It did not take me long to puzzle through the issue and uncover a solution.  The additional line in the first stanza (technically #3) could be repeated not twice, but three times and surrounded in the middle stanza by the rhyme from the center of the other two triplets.  On a side note it was just coincidental that the non-repeating line rhymes also rhymed with the middle line of the first/last stanza.  

For those who can follow the pattern is such (with letters denote ending rhyme, capitals denote repeating lines, numbers assist in identifying where line will repeat--minor variations on repeating lines allowed as long as the final word remains intact)...

A1-B1-E1-C1-A2 / B2-d-B1 / d-E1-d / C1-d-C2 / A2-B2-E1-C2-A1 

I decided not to throw off my original lettering, just added in the repeating line with E, which works well seeing as how this is an "expanded" nota.

---

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

2 Time Capsule: I saw your picture on a carton of milk

Title:  I saw your picture on a carton of milk
Date:  03/28/01
Setting:  Life after college--during first post-college job
Form:  Free verse

Your eyes tell a story
of a small girl with little worries
who swings peacefully along the playground
with her mother close at hand. 

The playground swing, now stands empty
as a mother’s gaze turns away
what joy and happiness once belonged here
has been taken without a trace. 

Your smile tells a tale
of a small girl’s love and passion
who dressed up in princess clothes
to parade before the king, her father. 

The clothes lay now, tucked away in drawers
as a father’s brow turns inward
what laughter and love once belonged here
has been torn from its proper place. 

Your picture tells a story
of a small girl who once belonged
about the playground and in princess clothes
a small girl taken from her home.

Notes:  The line, "I saw your picture on a carton of milk," was written after watching a lifetime movie about a girl who had seen her own image staring back at her on a carton of milk.  Over the years, even now, I have found the most trying part of writing a poem is unearthing the title. I would say that 90% of my poems found there title after completion and 9% have found it somewhere in the midst of writing it.  Very few of my poems have started off with an intended title.  This poem was the first time I had ever written a title prior to the poem.  In fact, the line was written two days prior to the poem.  Since then I have probably written a poem or two with the title already in my head.

Artifact I:  The page were I first wrote down the line that would become the title of this poem.

Artifact II:  The original write of this poem which shows the order the stanzas were written in and the numbers that reassign them.

3 CIHTD?: Tied Together with a Smile

Title:  Tied Together With a Smile

Artist:  Taylor Swift
Album:  Taylor Swift
Genre:  Country

Notes:  I can't tell you how long I have had this album, but honestly until recently it seems this song has never 'shuffled' across my path.  The title drew me right from the get go and then came the words.  The first verse into the course really struck a chord for me.  It use to be much easier for me to maintain / sustain a smile no matter what was going on behind the scenes.  Nowadays I find it much harder to do so and the idea of finally just letting it go...

Tied Together with a Smile

The thread just hangs there
teasing and taunting

a needle could help sew things back up--
maintain appearances 

a pair of scissors could keep things in limbo--
bordering on becoming undone

and a tug
               a tug could unravel it all--
setting me free

I'm tired of holding it all together--
putting on a pretty face

This smile is all I've had to keep
me from falling apart at the seams

But each day it gets harder and harder
to stitch up this facade

The thread just hangs there
at the corner of my mouth
daring me to release the smile

13 Last Call: Laughter Times Three

Breathless Laughter

a small laugh at first
erupts into so much more
tears spill from laughter
as the world twists out of shape
it’s so hard to catch my breath

---

Paint a Laugh

what does a laugh look like
as it floats on air
planting a seed in one’s heart
i imagine a white puff
like dandelion seeds
floating on the breeze
planting a seed in one’s heart

---

All It Takes

her fluttering laugh
that bursts from her lips
like a magical stream of bubbles

her floating dance
that flows from within
moving to a rhythm only she hears

her twinkling smile
that brightens her face
lighting up the world around her

her willful independence
that sparkles in her eyes
brings a smile to my lips everytime

her laugh, her dance, her smile
that’s all it takes
from this precious little girl
to inspire joy within me

---

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.