1 Another One Bites the Dust

The End
07/06/2014
: P

On March 17, 2013, I made the decision to say goodbye (or sort of goodbye) to this site.  I decided it was time to start anew.  While I had been thinking about it for awhile, an unique event occurred; I finished my first notebook ever.  I have always been entranced by notebooks...have more than I need...have even written in a few.  This, however, was the first time I had managed to continually write and make it to the end.  Shortly after, I began two new adventures...a new blog and a new notebook.

Today (July 6, 2014), marks the second notebook that I will be retiring, having filled it quite well.  It took me quite a bit longer to fill this notebook, but the important part is that I did finish it.  I was amazed the first time this happened...astounded as I sit here staring at the last page of yet another ending.  And so tomorrow (or the next day or the next) begins another journey with a new notebook.

Anyway, I was so...for lack of a better word...impressed that I needed to write about.  And where better to share the news than on the site that began it all.

1 Just Over a Year Ago

I made the decision on March 17, 2013 to close the doors on this blog.  It was not an easy decision, but I felt I was in a place where ...don't open...don't throw away... had filled it's purpose...like the notebook I finished (the first I have ever filled from start to end) on March 13 of the same year. 

I did not go "cold-turkey;" instead, I threw up an occasional post (11 total) since making the decision.  Nor have I stopped writing, though I have had moments of "quiet" since that I wasn't sure I'd make my way out of...but I did.  On March 19, 2013, I started a new notebook; on March 21st, I started a new blog (Like the Feathers of an Arrow).

Since I have a thing for year reflections, I thought I'd return for a moment and...reflect.

There are a couple of things that in closing this blog have been left unfinished.  Number 1 on the list is With Just a Touch, a story that started out quite unexpectedly...which in my head has had a conclusion for quite sometime prior to the last post for the piece.  Then there is Diary of an Anorexic Love Life, which while I haven't quite given up on, I just haven't given much thought to.

I also admit that my mood as of late makes me wonder if I was premature in thinking this space had filled its purpose.  I miss my ramblings a bit.  I manage them occasional on my new site, but not in the same fashion as they were used here.  My "Two Brains" continue to battle one another with me caught in the middle.

hmm....I think that is enough reflection...while I think looking back on occasions is good for the soul, it is also important to look to the future and live in the moment.  That being said....

4 teardrop (part 3)

She is still the most hauntingly beautiful entity...

poster artwork entitled
"Teardrop" by Paul Hogg

In my second post on this poster that dons my wall and continually captures my eye, I stated, "before writing the post, i tried to do a little research to see if (a) i could find this poster somewhere still for sale or (b) find more by Paul Hogg.  my attempts were fruitless."  Well...

a most interesting thing happened this past week.  I received a comment on my first "teardrop" post by none other than the artist. 

In addition, (after he managed to hunt down the original artwork) he reached out to me on Facebook.

What have I learned?  Well...the poster I located and posted in the "teardrop (part 2)" was a follow up to this piece in response to the demand on the above pictured piece.  So while not part of a series, as one earlier commenter mentioned, it did not stand completely alone.  I also learned that Paul Hogg's work nowadays does different quite a bit from this piece (http://www.behance.net/Ultramarinedesign). 

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.