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, January 18, 2013

9 CIHTD?: It Brings Me To My Knees

Title:  Over and Over
Artist:  O.A.R.  (of a revolution)
Album:  King
Genre:  Rock

Notes:  It is the following lines that captured my attention, though really the whole song spoke to me:

     Why do I draw these line 
     They keep me out of reach 
     It's not what I wanted, no 
     but it brings me to my knees

I've talked about building walls in the past (in a poem or two); the idea of drawing lines--boarders so to speak--seemed to hit the same chord for me.

It Brings Me To My Knees
Stuck--as one tire spins in the mud
the other does nothing--that's me
stepping on the gas and going no where;
I'm baked and caked in this crud
with no way of escaping this cell.
I itch to break free
scribble outside the lines
drawn by my own hand;
this is no way to be
stuck out of reach.
Lost--that pesky rabbit's turned the signs
this way and that--my sense of direction
no longer pointing due north leaving me
no where; I'm sitting on the sidelines
of my own life watching it pass me by.
My destination
eludes my grasp
so turned around
in frustration--
lost to my own self.
Falling--like Alice Through the Looking Glass
plunges down the hole--I seek
to find hold of something - anything -
the smallest bit of hope to blast
away the lines, to clear the path ahead
The sky is bleak
but somewhere
up ahead I know
the sun will peak
lighting my way.
At least that's what I tell myself, for I dare
not allow myself to live in utter despair
when I can fall to my knees in prayer.

An Aside:  The final stanza was suppose to be a couplet.  At first the last line was "not allow myself to fall to my knees in prayer."  But then I wasn't so sure about going there (with praying).  So I changed it to the current second line of the stanza.  It wasn't until I went back to write the note above that I thought the line "but it brings me too my knees" kind of fit the idea of prayer.  So I debated between the two for a bit before deciding (for now at least) to let them both stand.

An Form Aside:  With the exception of the final stanza, the above was an attempt at a Weave.  This form was introduced by its creator over at dVerse Poets Pub along with another form called Karousel.  To read more about either form and to check out some Karousels and Weaves from the talent dVerse pub-goers, stop on in for a pint or two of delicious verse.

A Final Aside:  My Cousin Vinny (stuck), Bugs Bunny (lost), and Alice in Wonderland (falling).  Quite honestly in my current frame of mind I can't even guarantee that the above poem makes sense, let alone explain how these three references made there way into this piece.  I don't really think this is where I had expected to end up when this song first struck a chord--I may even end up revisiting the song again once my head clears--but I've learned never to question inspiration.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

6 Last Call: In a Heartbeat

In a Heartbeat

You fall in love
You breathe in
In the blink of an eye
In a matter of seconds
Seconds fly by
Seconds seem to last forever
Forever isn't long enough
Forever scares you to death
Death is evaded
Death becomes a reality
Reality bites
Reality dissolve into fears
Fears are breathed away
Fears take you by surprise
Surprise tares through your soul
Surprise awakens the real you
You see yourself in some else
You collapse in a fit of tears
Tears of sorrow
Tears of joy
Joy walks out the door
Joy brightens your days
Days last forever
Days fade into memories
Memories are made
Memories are lost
Lost to the world
Lost moments
Moments capture your heart
Moments give you pause
Pause the tv and listen
Pause your life
Life is meant to be lived
Life waits for no one
One is a lonely number
One with "I do"
Do take chances
Do not wait
Wait on me
Wait your turn
Turn around
Turn to me in time of need
Need me
Need overpowers wants
Wants toy with emotions
Wants quicken heartbeats
Heartbeats still
Heartbeats sync together

An Aside:  The above is a blitz poem that I actually started about a year and a half ago.  The problem was that I wrote the title before the poem--the title is derived from specific lines in the poem.  So I ended up stopping 3rd and Goal with 5 lines to go.  Somehow (I could explain it but I'm sure you'd prefer not),  I found my way back to it and managed to run the last few yards.

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, January 13, 2013

1 Time Capsule: What Mama Said

Title:  What Mama Said
Date:  between 08/01/94 and 05/31/98
Setting:  Some time during college
Form:  Prose

My mother always to’d me, like I’m showr mos’ mothers do, “Joshua Henry Patrick, if you don’t have somethin’ nice to say, donsay nothin’ at all!”  Yep, tha’s wha’ she always said.  An’ like a good mama’s boy, I listened.
It wasn’ always a bad thing; tha’ sayin’ got me out ov a lot a troubled spots.  Granted everyone called me a wuss and wha’ not, but I never listened to ‘em.  See, I know, ‘cause mama to’d me, she’d say, “Joshua Henry Patrick, youra good boy.  Yes, sir, you are.  You remember that.  Never listen ta anyone tha’ says otherwise, alrigh’?”
Boy, di’ my mama raise me righ’.  She tried raisin’ the perfect little boy.  She tried ta instawl values and morals in me.  I don’t suppose anyone could ov asked for a more lovin’ and kin’ women an’ mother.
Yes, I loved my mother, I truly did.  I’m just sorry it had to come to this.  Mama always taught me, she’d say, “Joshua Henry Patrick, violence is bad.  I don’ ever wanna catch ya doin’ tha’!  Ya understan’ me boy?”  Hmm, the funnay thing was, once when she did, catch me that is, she whooped my ass real good.  I could never understan’ that.  Yet, some how, she instawlled tha’ upon me too.  And I’m truly sorry tha’ she did.  Otherwise, this would ov never have happened, never.
She was a good women, yet now I ques’ion how good ov a mother she was.  If it wasn’ for her, my boy wouldn’t be dead.  Mama always told me, “Joshua Henry Patrick, two wrongs don’ make a righ’, they make ya even.”  I guess tha’ was sorta how she explained why I gotta whoopin’s every now an’ again, when violence was bad an’ all.  I guess she never thought that tha’ would bring her life to an end.
Hmm…  I know I’ma justa ramblin’ on.  And I know, tha’ you hava no idea as to wha’ happened, so I’ll explain.  I jus’ like ya ta keep in min’ all the things my mama always said; they hava lot a bearin’ on whata went on.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *                     

It was Friday day.  Josh, tha’s my son, had jus’ returned from his school.  Mama was over.  Me, her and Marybeth, tha’s my wife, we were havin’ tea an’ cake.  That was our normal Friday day.  Mama, Marybeth and me, we always had tea an’ cake on Fridays.  Mama’d bring the cake an’ Marybeth would make the tea.  Me, I’d get the table readay. I always got the table readay
Anyway, there me and mama and Marybeth were.  Just sitting havin’ tea an’ cake an’ Josh, tha’s my son, walked in.  He smiled, gave his mother and grandma a kiss an’ a nod ta me.  Then he wen’ an’ grabbed a piece a cake from the plate.
Marybeth slapped his han’, she said, “Joshua Henry,”­ she left off the Patrick so as not ta get the two ov us confused.  She said, “Joshua Henry, you know bedder than tha’.  If you’ra goanna have a piece, pick up a plate, sit down an’ use a napkin.”
Josh was always stubborn, but he nodded an’ took a plate an’ sat.  I know he didn’ like bein’ at the table with the three of us ol’ foggies as he put it, but he joined us just the same.  We started talkin’.  ‘Bout nothin’ inparticular, jus’ stuff.  We were a talkin’ fur quite a while.  Josh would even pitch in now an’ then.
Soon, one thing led to another, an’ we were a talkin’ abou’ love at first sight.  Marybeth was so cute; God how I love her.  She wasa talkin’ so pretty like.  She was talkin’ abou’ how sweet love at first sight was, how roman’ic it was. Josh just laughed.  He said, “Mama you’ra fool, plain an’ simple.  You’ra fool.”
I could understan’ wha’ he was talkin’ abou’, all tha’ sappy stuff an’ all.  We men, we ain’t suppose ta think tha’ way, but it was sweet wa’chin’ Marybeth talk like that.
Anyway, my mama, well, she took one look at Josh an’ she said, “Boy, hasn’t your father taught you nothin’?!?  Don’t you know if ya ain’t got somethin’ nice ta say, ya don’t say nothin’ at all?!?  Now opallogize ta your mama.”
Josh looked at his gran’mother an’ said no way, “I ain’t apallogizin’, she’s a fool for believin’ in all tha’ sappy stuff!”  Then, Josh got up an’ walked outa the room.  Mama, she followed.
“Boy, I said opallogize to your mother!”  I could see through the doorway; Josh shook his head.  “No ma’am, gram.”
Oh, how the adrenaline musta been pumpin’ in her.  She slapped Josh.  He flew half way across the room.  He landed on the floor, hittin’ his head on the fireplace.  I ran in as quickly as I could, but blood was a gushin’ everywhere. Josh was dead.
I know a grown man ain’t suppose to cry, but I cou’da feel the tears swellin’ up inside.  I stood up an’ turned an’ looked at my mama.  She musta saw the anger in my eyes.  Ails she could say was, “Joshua Henry Patrick, remember wha’ I said, two wrongs don’t make a righ’, they make it even.  An’ tha’ righ’ there was wrong number two!”
Yeah, well I could do math as well.  I said, “Mama, we may be even, but now we’ra at odds!”  I drew back my hand, without even thinkin’.  I punched Mama righ’ in the nose. ‘Parently, her nose bone went up, righ’ into her brain.  Mama was dead.  Josh was dead.  Marybeth was justa kneelin’ there at her son’s side, cryin’.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *         

Tha’ was how it happened.  I’m sorry i’ did, truly I am. I loved my mama.  I loved my son.  Now they’ra both gone.  Ov course now, I still have Marybeth.  Together we’ra workin’ on gettin’ over wha’ happened.  Tha’ an’ forgettin’ wha Mama always said!

Notes:  I thought I'd switch things up a bit.  There was a stint (during college) where I toyed around with prose.  I wrote a handful of rather twisted and unusual pieces.  This one was a bit fun to write because I chose to incorporate the dialect not only into the dialogue, but also the narrative as well.  I do quite enjoy reading it with the appropriate accent.