latent musings

My muse just told me to fuck off! She’s been knocking at my door, on my ride into work, on my ride home from work. I kept telling her, not now, just wait another hour, another day,  just one more minute and I’ll get to you. When I finally open the door to say, “hello”, she turns her back to me, flips me off with both hands and stomps away before my mouth can move to utter, “Come in and sit with me.”

My muse just told me to fuck off! She left me with images and letters too jumbled to be placed into words, too mangled to be ordered into sentences, too ragged to be dropped into paragraphs. I am left bereft and wanting as she looks back to glower at me.

My muse just told me to fuck off! I am trying to find a way to offer her my condolences, to relinquish my mistakes, but my words fall on deaf eyes, my voice tumbles out to whisper on unseeing ears and my tongue is thick with regret that will not be felt by tasteless hands.

walling reflections

a sense of place

a notion of time

a feeling of remembrance

all of these things

can be held within walls

within grass

within trees

within moments of lucidity

too grand to speak

the realms of meandering thoughts

too wondrous to be ignored

the silence is the least of my concerns

there is no longer a need for white noise

the air is ringing with intention

the words hold every reflection

the last love story on Earth

The sun was setting and their whole world was quieting down for the night, as the night crawlers began their ascent. The breeze felt warm on their skins and the world pushed away by the force of their coming. The roots and branches of the trees made way for their passage and the rocks stood still and whole in their grandeur, waiting for the moment when they would provide a surface for their joining.

Two walked hand in hand down the path, the shadows of the moonlit trees playing across their skin. Silver mixed with grey, darkness mixed with light, there was no definition to be seen, there was no boundary they needed to adhere to.

Their bodies became mirrors of this mix, moving with each other to their own rhythm.

The world came down to this. There was no sight left unseen, there was no shadow that could not receive the light, there was nothing that was held between them. They were all that was beheld by the other.

The world came down to this. Their movements flowing from one to the next, no hesitations, no hidden nuances to discern the truth. They were all that was beheld to each other.

The world came down to this. There was no line between them, there was no darkness left enshadowed, there was nothing but truth held between them. They were all that beheld by the other.

The world came down to this. This moment, this truth, this love.

They were all that there was. They were all that there is. They were all that needed to be.

legacies

“My gardens are my legacy. ...” ~ Morgan Botanicals, FB Post 6/28/2012 ~

My life is my legacy. The paths I have taken, the trials and tribulations I have prevailed over, the lessons I have learned, both hard earned and almost always too late for me to put them towards their intended use. The cherished moments with family and friends. All of these, and none of these, could be influenced by the greater of the whole, but I have never found anything more true than this: my path cannot be foreseen, my windows of opportunity do not always bring forth an easy road, my lessons have never come on a silver platter. The paths are full of twists and turns, the windows can always use a good cleaning, and the knowledge gained from the lessons never materialize until I crawl to them, on bloodied hands and knees asking them to forgive me for my naiveté.

My survival is my legacy. I jump around the obstacles in my path. I go over the tried hills and run down the valleys of tribulations. I have learned too many lessons to count. I have honored my time with family and friends. I wreak havoc with plans, I bring chaos to their wake, smashing along the edges of outlines and structure. The twists and turns become commonplace, the windows began to crack at my passing, and knowledge begins to bow down to me.

My wisdom is my legacy. The paths I have traveled, the obstacles I have concurred, the trials I have overcome. Lessons have been learned from all of them, the small and the large adhering to form a truth that has been had earned.  I am no longer a victim of circumstance. I will no longer cater to the whimsical notions of others. I am no longer compliant to those who appear to have power.

My life is my legacy. My survival is my legacy. My wisdom is my legacy. My life is my legacy.

peace world

The world comes down to this:

hand

pen

paper

sun

light

wonder

bird song

water

green

life

flowering

am writer, will travel

Am writer, will travel to seek the company of other writers. I don’t care where they meet, I don’t care what time of day it is, I don’t care the genre they write in.

Am writer, will travel to seek the words of wisdom scribbled on the page, to hear them spoken within the confines of safety, to know that a truth has been spoken.

Am writer, will travel to seek the challenges of the mind, to harbor no judgments save the fine crafting of letters typed on a screen, to ponder another time when minutes are flightless and the world is confined to the outside.

in triplicate

“… a yawning cat converts stretching into praise.” ~ Lance Larson ~

               ****

Converting stretching into praise

one must find the center within

Where all breaths are made

Within this space there is a melody that sings to every life

The notes blend in harmony

With nothing more than a glance

Where valleys and hills come together in a dance

It is here you’ll find the space

To bring the world its grace

It is here you’ll find the rhythm

Where minds can explore

Within the shallows of the shore

Converting stretching into praise

one must find the center within

 

                ****

Wandering notions of my mind,

tear into the fabrics of my thoughts,

practiced lines become null

while grandeur leaps into the void

there is nothing like a good knock

to bring your head around to the point

across the space of sound

rejoicing within the lanes of time

hoping for events to rewind

leaving no stone unturned

hoping it will not burn

through the layers of defense

before you are stricken hence

too little

too late

too much

want more

want less

never before

will forever be enough

for thine is the power

of the third circles lore

               ****

To thine own self be true they say,

but no one knows which truth you are holding.

No one can see the depth of your heart,

the breadth of your soul,

the distance of your logic.

What ifs

and never befores

give way to why nots

and what would happens.

Tomorrow is another day

and the sun will always rise in the east

and set in the west

so why should the rain fall into the hinterlands of lust

and loathsome valleys of pleasure and pain?

Why not heed the tides of deception

and gather the reigns of truth

whilst the paths are diverging

into the shadows of the soul?

The world will not end.

The rain will still fall.

The moon will still wax and wane

among the stars and clouds

and the sins of the father

will be forgotten for the actions of the son.

There will never be a time

when more becomes less

because the legends live on

and the myths cater to the whims of the masses

too slow to change before the stories have begun.

There is no hill too steep to climb.

There is no river too harsh to cross.

There is no time

except the minute that is before you.

There is no change

except the desires held in one’s heart.

There is nothing except you.