1 Can I Have This Dance?: Postcard, Unnecessary

Song Title:  Vanilla Twilight
Artist:  Owl City
Album:  Ocean Eyes
Genre:  Electronic

Notes:  This song was one of my potential choices for last week's first installment of CIHTD?.  There were two parts in the song that really strung a note (no pun intended) with me:  "because it takes two to whisper quietly" and "cause the spaces between my fingers / are right where yours fit perfectly."  I've listed to the song a couple of time since then.  The song gained some additional interest when I picked up on what I thought was "I send a postcard to you," but was actually "I'd send a postcard to you."  I don't know the truth behind why the postcard could not be sent--there are varied stories--I opt for the more positive one and thus write from the females point of view.

Postcard, Unnecessary

Memories haunt the spaces between
her fingers--so strong
the phantom presences, her fingers
curl inward; her eyes close
lost in the perfect fit
spanning the distance of space
and time.

Whispers echo in the silence
surrounding her--so intoxicating
the lingering essence, her thoughts
answer unwittingly; her eyes close
adrift in words once spoken
reaching beyond the scope of logic
and reason.

Loneliness skirts the edge of
her mind--so intense
the heartsick spirit, her mind
wraps her in the warmth
of long ago arms; her eyes close
clinging to the memories
and whispers.

3 Last Call: Longing for Someone

longing for someone.egg on Aviary.

---

Longing for Someone

she weeps 

silent tears

drenched 

in hollow fears

clinging to the hope

that someone hears

weep with me until every last tear is
wrung from your dehydrated body

she walks

lonely streets

tarred

with groundless deceits

praying for someone

to know her foot beats

walk with me until the soles of your
shoes are stripped raw to the bone

she wails 

anguished refrains

saturated 

in hardened pains

wishing that someone

might pick up her chains

wail with me until your lungs can no

longer bear the fire searing their walls

she waits

for peace

if you could just weep with me

(to) wipe away her tears

if you could just walk with me

(to) sync with her foot beats

if you could just wail with me

(to) release her chains

you might just set me free

---

In search of inspiration, I have turned once again to a pom seed (x3).  This is the second collection of three pom seeds turned poem.  And interestingly enough, they both have the same dual voice thingy going on.  Also, the first (When They Come) included a recording with a little audio toying.  This one I took a step further to include overlap in the stanzas....what fun!

Pom Seeds:  With Me

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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. 

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0 Time Capsule: Young

Title:  Young
Date:  02/03/92
Setting:  Sophomore year of high school
Form:  Free Verse

Young so young;
to face death,
he must be brave.
to fight hard,
he must be strong.
to face war,
he must be sacrificed.
to die hard,
we must be proud.
for young so young,
he gave his life.

Note:  If recollection serves me, this was inspired after watching a video in history class.  I can't tell you what war it depicted--never really paid much attention in history.  Sorry to those history buffs out there.

This is my first piece of writing where I did a revision from the original content.  This may not seem like a big deal considering this was so early in my writing, but I'm not really one for doing revisions--at least not major ones.  I tend to spend so much time laboring over what I write that often I just can't bring myself to make changes.  I can probably count the number of poems I've done rewrites on with just my typing fingers.  

The original poem had an additional three lines.  

Artifact I:  Original version of the poem.

2 Can I Have This Dance?: Live In A Smile

Song Title:  I Feel Home
Artist:  O.A.R. (of a revolution)
Album:  Any Time Now
Genre:  Rock

Notes:  For my first "Can I Have This Dance?" posts, I admit I was a bit hard pressed to find a song to provide inspiration; I think I was just looking to hard.  A couple of songs popped with lines that spoke to me in one way or another, but I felt like the first post had to be more than just based around a line in a song. 

I chose CIHTD? as a theme because of the way music speaks to me--the way it reaches into me, unraveling me and soothing my raging emotions.  I don't really have a favorite artist or band.  I don't really have a favorite song.  Although song-wise, I do songs of the moment--those that stay with me for months at a time and slowly fade until other comes along to take its place.  I don't really have a specific genre of music, though I must admit country seems to out weigh other genres on my iPod.  But that is not to say I don't have quite a span of genres:  alternative, punk, blues, christian, folk, jazz (especially big band), latin, pop, rock, etc.

All of that is beside the point and completely off topic.  Last night as I lay in bed trying to (not) sleep, I started thinking again about my song choice.  And I realized it made the most sense to start a group (reminder I have no favorite) that--no matter how I am feeling or how far gone I may be--has a way of seeping into my veins and coursing through me.  A song that makes me feel home.  That was it, that thought right there, "makes me feel home;"  I knew exactly what song to find my inspiration in.

So without further ado ('cause there was way too much already)....

Live In A Smile

he has no home--like the woman
stretched out on the park bench
layered in too many clothes
with a newspaper blanket to keep warm

so he wraps himself in the warm smiles
of childhood friends who unwittingly
provided sanctuary from the roof
crashing in bruising his skin; from the
walls burning around leaving welts;
from the house not a home.

she has no home--like the muttering man
tucked away in his cardboard box
upgraded from the too small to stretch out in
water logged roof barely keeping him dry.

so she shelters herself in the warm embraces
of childhood friend who but briefly
provided stability with each new roof
hovering over her ready to move on; with each
set of walls crumbling around her;
from the houses not a home.

They have no place to call home--
no dwelling to return to,
arms open ready to catch them
should they fall.

Beaten and Bruised;
Tossed Aside and Misplaced.
They have
                 no physical
                                    home;
(not yet.)
But they have the materials--
beams shaped from the warm smiles
insulation fashioned from the warm embraces
of childhood friends, who armed them
with the knowledge of what home
can be.  And they'll build it,
so one day their children
will have a place to come back to--
a place
             to feel home.

2 Last Call: Direction Impaired

Direction Impaired.egg on Aviary.

---

Direction Impaired

Never lost -- only misplaced

I remember the lesson well,
the words spoken
upon encountering
a poorly posted detour.
It's all about retracing your steps
finding your way back--
locating that last identifiable marker
before all went south.

Never lost -- only misplaced

I can't begin to count
the number of times
those words
have echoed in my head.
It's all about remaining calm;
taking the next U-Turn--
making a K-Turn,
so you can reverse the traveled path.

Never lost -- only misplaced

But what...
                 what if you take too long
to realize you're misplaced?
                 what if you can't recall
every twist and turn?
                what if in retracing your steps
you end up in an endless cycle
passing the same landmark
over and over and over again?

Never lost -- only misplaced

I'm
       lost
and asking for directions
not an option;
there is no GPS for life.
So how do I find my way back?

Never lost -- only misplaced

Perhaps finding my way back
is
    the wrong direction;
perhaps my logic
is
    misplaced;
perhaps I need to stop trying
to find where I went off course,
but rather focus on where
I wish to be.

Never lost -- only misplaced

those words
                    keep echoing
in my head.

---

It took awhile for this pom seed to take root; I didn't use the original lines I thought I might, but we should just be happy it found its footing otherwise I would have had to write about paper towels.

Pom Seed:  Just Misplaced

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Having decided to hop back up on the stage, 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.

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1 Time Capsule: Haiku

Title:  Haiku
Date:  between 11/15/93 and 06/14/94 (probably in or about April)
Setting:  Senior year of high school--written as part of a poetry unit in English class.
Form:  haiku (technically speaking it merely follows the 5-7-5 syllabic three line criteria for a haiku, which means haiku is a tad incorrect)

In the thick moonlight,
   a mourning dove sings its song,
      while death takes its toll.

Notes:  

I know the title was not very creative.  I should probably take the time to reevaluate and perhaps find a more appropriate title, but....  

When I first started exploring poetry as an outlet, I wasn't very good about dating things.  Luckily, I was good at maintaining chronological order.  The poem directly following this--which I also wrote as part of English class--is called Earthday (again not very creative on the title front for this acrostic poem).  Given that Earth Day is in April, I can say with some certainty that this was written in or about that month.

One of the reasons I chose this poem as my first Time Capsule entry was because of my English class.  As part of a culminating activity, each member of the class was asked to write one of their poems on a blank sheet of white paper.  We then all sat around in a circle, passed the poems around, and comment on them.  As I mentioned in my last post, I have never really been big on the whole sharing thing.  I actually had two poems sent around.  In inevitably I will probably share the other one as well.  

Artifact I:  Original poem written on yellow paper during class.

Artifact II:  The results of sending my poem around the circle of classmates.

0 ...DODTA... reset

January 9, 2010...I kicked off this blog with a poem called my subconscious.  It had been a long while since I had written anything.  Dry spells like that have never really been unusual.  Starting this blog gave me a chance to rediscover a part of me that I have a shaking love-hate relationship with.

This was not a side of me that I cared to share--not even really with myself.  There are very few people who were privy to this part of me.  I got a little bold in college when I started my Poetry List (a group whom I sent impromptu poem emails to whether they wanted them or not).  After college the Poetry List went by the wayside.  I tried several years ago reinstating it with a different medium, but I wasn't really ready to be out there again.  Considering all this it is seems odd that I would have started ...don't open...don't throw away....  But then again, just because I put myself out there in a public place didn't mean anyone would find me.  


Maybe if I had realized how insanely irrational my social anxiety is, I may not have taken that chance.  It seems crazy that this medium (even though relatively face-less) would only stroke my irrational anxiety enriched brain.  As much as I would like to deny it...as much as I may have tried to fight it...the truth is this most resent dry spell was induced by the part of me I try desperately to fight against.  It just isn't so easy to fight on two fronts (real-world and cyber-world).

I'm not really sure I'm ready to come back.  Not sure I want to pick up this fight again.  Part of me thinks I should start over from scratch and see how long it takes for me to once again be noticed in this quite public--global--world.  I don't know.  I guess I'm not quite ready to give up.

So on that note, I am taking up arms.  When I first started this blog, I set up a set of rule to assist me in dedicating myself to the task at hand.  Those rules will remain inactive as they have been for quite some time.  But I think it is important for me to find something that forces my hand (or typing fingers).  Instead of rules, I will follow three theme days.  If I write in between them...then yeah.  If not, at least it is a start.

Sundays:  Time Capsule--the idea here is to travel back in time...way back in time.  I took a look back over my Poetic Journey (02/19/2011) in a post inspired by OneStopPoetry.  I think it might be fun to delve a little deeper; see where I came from; maybe even poke a little fun at how bad some of the things I wrote were.  And while this post may not include something new, I do hope to reminisce about the inspiration (or whatever) that lead to the creation being presented.

Wednesdays:  Last Call--(if I was smart I would neglect this one, but I believe in facing one's fears.)  On these days I will once again stand up in the spotlight, stretch my vocal muscles, push my nerves aside and take the mic up over at the dVerse Poets Pub--I figure if I make it in just in time for last call most everyone will have left for the evening....one can hope right?

Fridays:  Can I Have This Dance?--the one thing that I can always count on to provide solace is music.  To that end, I dedicate this day to a song inspired piece...whether some inane ramblings, a poem or a wicked tale...my fingers will dance to the soothing sound of song. 

Tomorrow starts things off.  I'm taking myself all the way back to high school for this first piece.  See you then.