Did you ever think it might be you
Dancing fast or turning blue
Finding jewelry in the sand
Asking for another's hand
Did you ever think it would be you
Watching it crumble all around you
Losing battles and missing friends
Seeing your world come to an end
Did you ever think it could be you
Fighting against your point of view
Pointing out the things you know
Thinking you have nowhere else to go
Did you ever think it should be you
Allowing your dreams to come true
Remembering the things you'll never forget
Forgetting the things you said you'd regret
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
Monday, August 29, 2016
Words from Candy
recline
-willow
us
-beloved
-mask
-thus
-with
-larkWe met and talked and talked some more
And thus one day we fell deeply in love
Myself with you, and yourself with me
Like the morning lark or the turtle dove
My beloved, your mask is the morning lark
Perched in the willow tree where we would meet
In the morning mist and the morning dew
In the park with the lark calling whistles and tweets
My beloved, my mask is the turtle dove
Both sad and content to be alone
If I should ever lose you, my one love
I'll waste away, my song becoming a moan
Sunday, August 28, 2016
Dixit card #2 - Twins
Abigail and Amelia were sisters as far back as they could remember. And they remembered long ago and they remembered a lot. They shared much, the girls. They shared the same birthday. They shared most of their internal organs as well as their arms and legs. They shared their own language, both verbal and silent. Most twins do, but not to their extent.
The girls grew up at a hospital at the end of a spit of land. And there they continued to live. Only those with incurable maladies lived there. The girls assumed they were there because their mother had died giving birth to them and their father had gone and shot himself in the head, dead. They never considered the fact that they were two people sharing one body. It never occurred to them.
The people that knew the girls were cautious around them. Those who did not know them, but knew of them, were downright suspicious. For one, they were always together. That was inevitable. The main reason the twins gave their friends and neighbors the 'willies' was that the girls never spoke to each other, yet always seemed to be in sync. They were callow girls even though they were in their early adulthood. At least that was the illusion that was presented.
The one thing that Abigail and Amelia were moderately famous for, besides the fact that they were one body, was their singing. It was a difficult task for them. Even though they each had voice-boxes, they shared their lungs, and that made it problematic. But when they sang, it was as if the heavens had opened up to a chorus of angels. Their voices were crystalline and true. And they sounded identical. And they phrased their words identically. But they had to measure their breathing in a particular way in order to get the most out of the effort.
This is how they earned their keep, the Siren Sisters, and paid their room and board at the hospital. They toured sideshows and churches around the region in which they lived. They became somewhat of a celebrity, a curiosity, an oddity. But they brought in the patrons and that is what was important. Their appearances became more and more popular due to word spreading around the land by travelers and pub-goers. "You must see the singing Siren Sisters, if you are able. Don't miss the opportunity!" was repeated throughout the populace. They weren't wildly popular but they were embraced by the rabble, due to their peculiarity.
Soon word spread far across the land, and the Siren Sisters became the stuff of legends and campfire stories. The girls began to experiment with how they could change up the act a little bit. After a while it began to be boring to sing the same songs again and again. So Amelia decided to learn to play the guitar. She learned quickly and was quite adept.
Abigail, slightly chagrined, concentrated instead on more and more complex vocal harmonies. She felt ignored as an individual. She felt jealous of her sister as the spotlight was on her, or so she perceived. She did not share her feelings with Amelia, nor did Amelia pick up on them, so busy was she bettering herself on guitar and then mandolin and then lute to notice.
Only one of them could play an instrument at any given time, and that would be Amelia. So Abigail became a brilliant, but slightly obsessed, vocalist. She could never understand why no one wanted to hear her singing solo. If Amelia was playing, why couldn't Abigail be the only one singing? It didn't make sense to her. She just couldn't comprehend that all that accomplished was to make them like every other singer/guitarist. It made them common and not special at all.
One young man saw the sisters perform as they traveled through his town. His name was Ivan. He was enthralled. He was entranced. He was in love. In love with Amelia, for even though the sisters sang like sirens of the sea (hence their name), his love was for her playing of the guitar and then mandolin and then lute. He began to travel in unison with the sisters. but surreptitiously. He went to every performance. He contributed what he could when the basket was passed. Sometimes he gave what he would have used to purchase a dinner pasty at the local baker.
Soon he began to write to Amelia. He wrote her poetry and letters that forthwith professed his love for her but never did he send them off to her. For he was too bashful and introverted. He felt the need to express himself but could not find himself clear to share his feelings with the person who was unknowingly his muse. He was lovestruck and starry-eyed.
One day, Ivan got brave. On that day he mailed a letter to Amelia. He nearly fainted from the anxiety. Not long after, a postal carrier delivered a crisp envelope to the hospital. It was addressed to Amelia.
On that particular day, Amelia and Abigail were out of sorts and not speaking with each other. How they could, I do not know, but they ignored each other throughout the day. When mail call went out, the girls paid no attention. They never received anything through the post. Never ever. When they returned to their room for the day, they were surprised to see that there was an envelope that had been slipped under the door to their room.
Amelia picked it up and saw her name on it. 'Odd', she thought. Then Abigail snatched it out of her hand. She had a cruel look on her face.
"Oh! Hey, what's this? What's this?" Abigail sneered. "Look who's getting fan mail!"
Amelia was slightly panicked. "Just give it here, Abigail. Stop being so mean! What is wrong with you anyway?" She didn't understand her sister's behavior.
The girls continued to argue while Abigail was holding the letter aloft. Amelia was helpless to get at it. She took control of the girls' legs and off they ran. Out onto the end of the spit, out near the water's edge. Among the rocks and low brush they ran and stumbled. Abigail tried to throw the letter in the water but Amelia was finally able to wrestle her left arm down. The girls fought viciously for a few minutes, each coming up with a scrape and a bruise. But the letter remained intact, merely stepped on repeatedly and wrinkled during the fracas.
"Stop it! Stop it!" Amelia yelled sharply. Abigail abruptly stopped. "You know this is probably nothing. Let's just read it and find out." Abigail agreed with a shake of her head and by handing over the envelope and then helping to open it. They both began to read:
Dear Amelia, you don't know me. My name is Ivan. I feel like I know you, having seen you and your sister perform around the countryside for the past 6 months. I never have done this before but I have to tell you that I've become quite smitten with you. When I see you play your guitar or mandolin or lute, I am amazed at your skill and the grace with which you play. You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I just wanted to tell you that. There is no need to reply. I understand your need for privacy. Until I am able to see you perform again, I remain faithfully yours ~ Ivan
Amelia sighed. Abigail harrumphed.
Saturday, August 27, 2016
Dixit card #1 - Clock tower
The clock tower is at the center of the town. It is by far the tallest building in this bustling hamlet. Sturdily built of deep, red brick, it's spire points up into the sky and can be seen from anywhere in the surrounding area.
All day and all night, the clock tower keeps the time for all the citizens. It sees everyone that passes by. They all glance at his face, but they never look long enough to see him. He smiles as he ticks and tocks. He waves hello, but the people only see his hands move slowly around his face.
He is at his proudest at night, with all the citizens tucked in securely in their beds, just before midnight. He keeps the community safe under his watchful eyes. He can see up into the trees on the outskirts of the hamlet.
His only companion was the owl that comes to roost at night. It wasn't much of a talker but was good company. The owl was his friend but never stopped questioning him. Always with the questions.
The clock-keeper keeps his lamp burning after dark to help those still out and about find their ways safely home and to bed. Every evening he checks to make sure there is enough oil in the lamp to keep it burning all night.
The moon spills its quicksilver over the landscape. The woodland creatures come out at night. It's safe and quiet then. They can feed and play, having the whole of the forest and meadow to themselves.
Friday, August 26, 2016
My face
Rain across my face
And I have no place to go
My face wet with tears
Wind across my face
And I have nowhere to be
My face polished clean
Day across my face
And I cross a thousand miles
My face looking on
Night across my face
And I sleep under the stars
My face to the heavens
Time across my face
And I have wrinkles and scars
My face is my map
And I have no place to go
My face wet with tears
Wind across my face
And I have nowhere to be
My face polished clean
Day across my face
And I cross a thousand miles
My face looking on
Night across my face
And I sleep under the stars
My face to the heavens
Time across my face
And I have wrinkles and scars
My face is my map
Out and about - written at the coffeeshop
Folks scurry to and fro
Interacting sporadically and
with some suspicion
No one knows my story
They just assume
No one knows her story
They just assume
It's easy to make assumptions
It's hard to pay attention to
someone's life other than one's own
It's kind of sad
Interacting sporadically and
with some suspicion
No one knows my story
They just assume
No one knows her story
They just assume
It's easy to make assumptions
It's hard to pay attention to
someone's life other than one's own
It's kind of sad
A perfect haiku and random lyric bits
The music in you
forever in Harmony
with the words in me
======================
The leaves rain down
Their season is through
There is a nip in the air
And each morning is new
======================
Moved by her voice, I
followed her through the forest
Music trailed behind
The dreamer and the dream
Both at the mercy of each other
The slow dance between birth and death
Can be done alone or with others
we will love
Forever more
and ever more
forever in Harmony
with the words in me
======================
The leaves rain down
Their season is through
There is a nip in the air
And each morning is new
======================
Moved by her voice, I
followed her through the forest
Music trailed behind
The dreamer and the dream
Both at the mercy of each other
The slow dance between birth and death
Can be done alone or with others
we will love
Forever more
and ever more
Thursday, August 25, 2016
Grai-El teaches Anterra the importance of meditation in the hydrothermal pool - not finished
Deep in the forest there was a clearing and in that clearing there was a deep, cold pool. From high above, water thundered over a sheer basalt cliff, columnar and odd-looking. The water became froth and mist as it tumbled into the lagoon. Deep beneath the cliffs, underneath the wall of water, lies a labyrinth of caves. In the subterranean keep there was a pool, saturated with healing salts and heated by geothermic means. It was here that Grai-El brought Anterra.
She was becoming more centered, realizing her powers more and more each day. Grai-El was eager to see how she would react to having her senses blocked out. It would leave her with naught but her racing mind to command. The healer was certain she would react strongly, but in what way, she did not know.
The caves were deep and dark. Anterra could not see. She could not smell anything but the warm, slightly sulphurous smell of naturally heated waters. She disrobed and slipped into the warm pool. The air, the same temperature as her skin, caressed her with the very least of breezes. She lay back to relax and was delighted to find that she was buoyant no matter how she moved. She tipped her head back in the water so that her elfin ears were submerged.
So deep were they into the mountain, that no sound could be heard save for a slow drip, echoing off the walls and surface of the water. As Anterra tilted her head back to lie prone in the warm waters, she was taken aback at how loud her own heart sounded in this environment. She listened to it beat. She took deep breaths and heard the air go in and out of her lungs. She did what came naturally to her. She slowed her breathing and controlled the beat of her heart.
As she began to drift in and out of consciousness, Anterra became aware of a musical tone. A single note. It was sweet and piercing, and brought to mind sunlight and raindrops. She felt the tone vibrate throughout her bones. She felt a warm, inner glow begin to pulsate. Po came into her mind and she thought 'love.' Then she thought of Grai-El and she thought 'love.' She thought of her family and she though 'love' but noticed that her pulse quickened and her eyes teared up beneath her closed lids.
As she came out of her reverie, she realized there really was a musical tone resonating within the cavern, bouncing off walls and vibrating her solar plexus. She extracted herself from the pool after a while. She felt refreshed and vibrant and hyper-aware. She could see vaguely in the cavern. Near the center of the room, she made out Grai-El with her back turned toward her. She approached her mentor as she pulled her tunic on over her wet body.
Up into the center of the room came a large solitary amethyst, growing out of the substratum. Out of this massive crystal was carved a large bowl shape. Grai-El was tending to the crystal bowl with a baton made of elvish steel around which she rimmed the bowl's edge as she circled round and round. This was what produced the magical timbre. The crystal was vibrating from the friction of the baton. The sound was both heavenly and earth-bound.
Anterra was mesmerized. She was nearly moved to tears. Grai-El slowed and then stopped. She stood, lighting her torch, and turned to regard the girl.
"How do you feel, Anterra?" The elder asked her young pupil. "Did you have any visions, any epiphanies while in the pool?" Grai-El invited the girl elf to walk alongside her as they made their way slowly out of the cave system.
"Well," she began. "I thought of you and I thought of Po and I had very warm feelings and felt pleasant in the pool. Then I thought of my family and I started to feel like crying. And fighting! Grai-El, I think I must avenge my family's deaths." She continued after a few moments. "I realize this is not a normal thought for me to have, as an elf. I'm concerned because this is something that I've thought about very seriously for many years. Is my hatred for those who did it, who murdered my family, is that destroying my soul? Am I to still go to Ilthrae?" She wrinkled her forehead with worry. "Please tell me I am still to go to Ilthrae!"
"Young one, I believe there is still a place for you at Ilthrae. I would not worry so, if I were you." The old elf smiled as they walked, side by side, toward the wall of light and water ahead of them. She could tell Anterra had the maturity to know right from wrong and the courage to do what was right.
She was becoming more centered, realizing her powers more and more each day. Grai-El was eager to see how she would react to having her senses blocked out. It would leave her with naught but her racing mind to command. The healer was certain she would react strongly, but in what way, she did not know.
The caves were deep and dark. Anterra could not see. She could not smell anything but the warm, slightly sulphurous smell of naturally heated waters. She disrobed and slipped into the warm pool. The air, the same temperature as her skin, caressed her with the very least of breezes. She lay back to relax and was delighted to find that she was buoyant no matter how she moved. She tipped her head back in the water so that her elfin ears were submerged.
So deep were they into the mountain, that no sound could be heard save for a slow drip, echoing off the walls and surface of the water. As Anterra tilted her head back to lie prone in the warm waters, she was taken aback at how loud her own heart sounded in this environment. She listened to it beat. She took deep breaths and heard the air go in and out of her lungs. She did what came naturally to her. She slowed her breathing and controlled the beat of her heart.
As she began to drift in and out of consciousness, Anterra became aware of a musical tone. A single note. It was sweet and piercing, and brought to mind sunlight and raindrops. She felt the tone vibrate throughout her bones. She felt a warm, inner glow begin to pulsate. Po came into her mind and she thought 'love.' Then she thought of Grai-El and she thought 'love.' She thought of her family and she though 'love' but noticed that her pulse quickened and her eyes teared up beneath her closed lids.
As she came out of her reverie, she realized there really was a musical tone resonating within the cavern, bouncing off walls and vibrating her solar plexus. She extracted herself from the pool after a while. She felt refreshed and vibrant and hyper-aware. She could see vaguely in the cavern. Near the center of the room, she made out Grai-El with her back turned toward her. She approached her mentor as she pulled her tunic on over her wet body.
Up into the center of the room came a large solitary amethyst, growing out of the substratum. Out of this massive crystal was carved a large bowl shape. Grai-El was tending to the crystal bowl with a baton made of elvish steel around which she rimmed the bowl's edge as she circled round and round. This was what produced the magical timbre. The crystal was vibrating from the friction of the baton. The sound was both heavenly and earth-bound.
Anterra was mesmerized. She was nearly moved to tears. Grai-El slowed and then stopped. She stood, lighting her torch, and turned to regard the girl.
"How do you feel, Anterra?" The elder asked her young pupil. "Did you have any visions, any epiphanies while in the pool?" Grai-El invited the girl elf to walk alongside her as they made their way slowly out of the cave system.
"Well," she began. "I thought of you and I thought of Po and I had very warm feelings and felt pleasant in the pool. Then I thought of my family and I started to feel like crying. And fighting! Grai-El, I think I must avenge my family's deaths." She continued after a few moments. "I realize this is not a normal thought for me to have, as an elf. I'm concerned because this is something that I've thought about very seriously for many years. Is my hatred for those who did it, who murdered my family, is that destroying my soul? Am I to still go to Ilthrae?" She wrinkled her forehead with worry. "Please tell me I am still to go to Ilthrae!"
"Young one, I believe there is still a place for you at Ilthrae. I would not worry so, if I were you." The old elf smiled as they walked, side by side, toward the wall of light and water ahead of them. She could tell Anterra had the maturity to know right from wrong and the courage to do what was right.
Elves as peacekeepers - unfinished
Elves were known to be fierce fighters and loyal to the death, but deep inside they were a race that craved peace and harmony in the amidst all beings. Because of their advanced state, they understood that there is always war. For reasons unfathomable to elves, the other hominoid species fought between themselves and each other. It made no sense to the elves. It never did and it never would.
Elves show exemplary skill and deep understanding of the arts and earth sciences. This carries through to battle talents. Being deft of skill, the next step of course is to challenge oneself to become laudable. This was the kernel that held the secret behind the Elves' fierce fighting. Each was in constant competition to better him or herself.
Elves show exemplary skill and deep understanding of the arts and earth sciences. This carries through to battle talents. Being deft of skill, the next step of course is to challenge oneself to become laudable. This was the kernel that held the secret behind the Elves' fierce fighting. Each was in constant competition to better him or herself.
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
Elven song for travelers
All magical creatures that share in this earth
May you travel safely and in no hurry
And never you suffer from lack of mirth
And never you suffer from pain or from worry
Travel well - well rested and well shod
Travel well - well rested and well shod
Sing out o'er the hillsides and down in the dell
As you travel safely and in no hurry
And ever your wayfaring days and nights
And ever your trek and your journey
Travel well - well provised and well prevised
Travel well - well provised and well prevised
Welcome all weary travelers to my doorway
You, who travel safe and in no hurry
And rest well and with contentment
And travel on when you are ready
Travel well - well fed, well received and welcome
Travel well - well fed, well received and welcome
May you travel safely and in no hurry
And never you suffer from lack of mirth
And never you suffer from pain or from worry
Travel well - well rested and well shod
Travel well - well rested and well shod
Sing out o'er the hillsides and down in the dell
As you travel safely and in no hurry
And ever your wayfaring days and nights
And ever your trek and your journey
Travel well - well provised and well prevised
Travel well - well provised and well prevised
Welcome all weary travelers to my doorway
You, who travel safe and in no hurry
And rest well and with contentment
And travel on when you are ready
Travel well - well fed, well received and welcome
Travel well - well fed, well received and welcome
A Vision For Our World - Haikubes, not haiku poetry though.
Subject: A Vision - For Our World
Words: sleeping - cover - charm - her - every - away - trouble - after - fire - whispers - body - spirals
Every body whispers
Every fire swirls
Every heart gets broken
Every person hurls
Through space on this rock
Though no-one can feel it
No trouble can brew that will
Keep you from spirit
She'll charm you with poetry
With music and kisses
She'll wait 'til you're sleeping
Then steal away your wishes
You never will know
You never will see
She breaks up your heart
She'll cause you to bleed
Tears of hurt and anger and pride
Until you are turned inside out
Your soul will sing and shout
But you will be broken and burning
Words: sleeping - cover - charm - her - every - away - trouble - after - fire - whispers - body - spirals
Every body whispers
Every fire swirls
Every heart gets broken
Every person hurls
Through space on this rock
Though no-one can feel it
No trouble can brew that will
Keep you from spirit
She'll charm you with poetry
With music and kisses
She'll wait 'til you're sleeping
Then steal away your wishes
You never will know
You never will see
She breaks up your heart
She'll cause you to bleed
Tears of hurt and anger and pride
Until you are turned inside out
Your soul will sing and shout
But you will be broken and burning
Grai-El teaches Anterra the importance of the hummingbird
Anterra sighed, stretched languidly and opened her eyes to the misty morning of a new day. She felt refreshed and eager to spend time with her friend and teacher, Grai-El. As she stirred and extracted herself from her silk and gossamer bedding, she noticed a tiny hummingbird hovering at her window. It observed her with glossy black eyes set in brilliant plumage. It's iridescent throat, fluttering red then green. It's wings beating nearly faster than Anterra could perceive. The two peaceful beings regarded each other with respect and awe. And then, with a flit of his tail, the hummingbird flashed away.
After washing her face and donning her leggings, boots and tunic, she descended to the forest floor. She knew Grai-El would provide her with fruits and nuts to break her fast. Her mouth watered. She stretched her arms out wide and tilted her head back as she walked a zig-zag through the trees. She hummed and whistled along with the song of the forest. She felt fantastic this morning.
Grai-El indeed had her tiny table set with fruits, nuts and freshly baked elven bread, still steaming from the oven. A pot of hot tea and a pitcher of clear, cold water from the nearby stream rounded out the feast. As Anterra approached the healer's dwelling, she smelled the bread and she smiled. A special treat this morning from her friend.
Grai-El insisted on living on the forest floor. Most of the other living quarters were scattered throughout the branches of the grove, Grai-El chose to live on the ground, take her meals alone, indeed she preferred to prepare her own food rather than join the tribe as they gathered twice daily. No-one seemed to think anything of it. It was just her way. Her privacy was respected.
The creatures of the land seemed to know she was friend, not foe. They gathered or passed by in complete comfort and assurance that she was, above all, like them. A benevolent being.
Anterra reached the threshold of the elder's dwelling as the elf elder opened the door wide. "Peaceful morning to you, Grai-El." She bowed slightly as she entered her home. She answered, "And peaceful morning to you, young Anterra. Morning meal is served. Help yourself. Tea is ready to pour."
And so they sat together and chatted while they took their repast. Anterra told Grai-El of her chance encounter with the hummingbird earlier between bites of apple and bread. Grai-El asked the girl if she'd noticed how the wings of the hummingbird moved as they fought to keep the creature stationary in mid-air. She admitted that the wings beat so quickly that she could scarce see the motion. Grai-El said, "And so we have today's lesson." Then she bit into a blushing apple and threw the rest of it out the open door. Before Anterra could say a word, Grai-El said, "Your beast is outside."
"Peaceful morning to you, Po!" Anterra said aloud to which Po responded with a quiet whicker and the crunching of the apple. He ambled down to the crystal clear water of the stream and drank his fill.
Grai-El and Anterra walked out to the clearing. "So to begin. The hummingbird's wings move in an ellipse turned inside out, a lemniscate, an analemma. It's shape symbolizes eternity, empowerment, and everlasting love. It hints of a sum that is larger than it's parts. The hummingbird alone knows that one must push and pull equally in order to maintain balance."
The completeness as well as the permanence that the infinity symbol represents weaves in and out of many different cultures and beliefs. She knew of this through her studies with her peers. The classes she took in the day arena. Suddenly it made sense. She connected the abstract idea of "eternity" with a realism that she understood. Anterra, eyes closed and breathing lightly, suddenly understood that eternity can be held in one's hand.
After washing her face and donning her leggings, boots and tunic, she descended to the forest floor. She knew Grai-El would provide her with fruits and nuts to break her fast. Her mouth watered. She stretched her arms out wide and tilted her head back as she walked a zig-zag through the trees. She hummed and whistled along with the song of the forest. She felt fantastic this morning.
Grai-El indeed had her tiny table set with fruits, nuts and freshly baked elven bread, still steaming from the oven. A pot of hot tea and a pitcher of clear, cold water from the nearby stream rounded out the feast. As Anterra approached the healer's dwelling, she smelled the bread and she smiled. A special treat this morning from her friend.
Grai-El insisted on living on the forest floor. Most of the other living quarters were scattered throughout the branches of the grove, Grai-El chose to live on the ground, take her meals alone, indeed she preferred to prepare her own food rather than join the tribe as they gathered twice daily. No-one seemed to think anything of it. It was just her way. Her privacy was respected.
The creatures of the land seemed to know she was friend, not foe. They gathered or passed by in complete comfort and assurance that she was, above all, like them. A benevolent being.
Anterra reached the threshold of the elder's dwelling as the elf elder opened the door wide. "Peaceful morning to you, Grai-El." She bowed slightly as she entered her home. She answered, "And peaceful morning to you, young Anterra. Morning meal is served. Help yourself. Tea is ready to pour."
And so they sat together and chatted while they took their repast. Anterra told Grai-El of her chance encounter with the hummingbird earlier between bites of apple and bread. Grai-El asked the girl if she'd noticed how the wings of the hummingbird moved as they fought to keep the creature stationary in mid-air. She admitted that the wings beat so quickly that she could scarce see the motion. Grai-El said, "And so we have today's lesson." Then she bit into a blushing apple and threw the rest of it out the open door. Before Anterra could say a word, Grai-El said, "Your beast is outside."
"Peaceful morning to you, Po!" Anterra said aloud to which Po responded with a quiet whicker and the crunching of the apple. He ambled down to the crystal clear water of the stream and drank his fill.
Grai-El and Anterra walked out to the clearing. "So to begin. The hummingbird's wings move in an ellipse turned inside out, a lemniscate, an analemma. It's shape symbolizes eternity, empowerment, and everlasting love. It hints of a sum that is larger than it's parts. The hummingbird alone knows that one must push and pull equally in order to maintain balance."
The completeness as well as the permanence that the infinity symbol represents weaves in and out of many different cultures and beliefs. She knew of this through her studies with her peers. The classes she took in the day arena. Suddenly it made sense. She connected the abstract idea of "eternity" with a realism that she understood. Anterra, eyes closed and breathing lightly, suddenly understood that eternity can be held in one's hand.
Sunday, August 21, 2016
Older poetry/prose
You tell me that you love me
when I recite poetry to you
and yet
when I sit on my stool
and you sit on the floor
at my feet
looking up
you ask why I only read to you
from Baudelaire and Cohen
and you can't understand
that their pain is mine
and I am trying to tell you
about my pain.
______________________________________
A place where one could never go
might well be the place I go with you
At times I find myself there alone
but I do not recall how I got there
and I am not aware of the exit.
So I look about until suddently
I've come back to where I am now
and I am feeling confused
because you have gone elsewhere
and I realize I'm back where I began
and I do not recall how I got here
and I am not aware of the exit.
______________________________________
The next time you hear this song
I'll be dead and gone
and on to the next adventure.
The next time you read my poetry
it will be carved in stone
and six feet above me.
And I won't care what you think
of it or me
for I will no longer have
any use for you.
As if I have any use for you now.
______________________________________
I am reading the painful words
of a poet before me and I feel him
beside me, introverted and wet-eyed
Sometimes it's just good to know
that someone else has felt the pain;
that you are not the only
unknowing sadist.
when I recite poetry to you
and yet
when I sit on my stool
and you sit on the floor
at my feet
looking up
you ask why I only read to you
from Baudelaire and Cohen
and you can't understand
that their pain is mine
and I am trying to tell you
about my pain.
______________________________________
A place where one could never go
might well be the place I go with you
At times I find myself there alone
but I do not recall how I got there
and I am not aware of the exit.
So I look about until suddently
I've come back to where I am now
and I am feeling confused
because you have gone elsewhere
and I realize I'm back where I began
and I do not recall how I got here
and I am not aware of the exit.
______________________________________
The next time you hear this song
I'll be dead and gone
and on to the next adventure.
The next time you read my poetry
it will be carved in stone
and six feet above me.
And I won't care what you think
of it or me
for I will no longer have
any use for you.
As if I have any use for you now.
______________________________________
I am reading the painful words
of a poet before me and I feel him
beside me, introverted and wet-eyed
Sometimes it's just good to know
that someone else has felt the pain;
that you are not the only
unknowing sadist.
65 songs
Your blistering touch
is sometimes too much
to handle
but it doesn't hold a candle
to your smooth way with words
your smooth turn of a phrase
your magic way with your hands
your beautiful face
And I wonder if you ever think
I wonder if you ever think of me
of the way I play and sing
of the 65 songs I've written
65 songs and they're all about you
Do you ever think of me
or only about you
is sometimes too much
to handle
but it doesn't hold a candle
to your smooth way with words
your smooth turn of a phrase
your magic way with your hands
your beautiful face
And I wonder if you ever think
I wonder if you ever think of me
of the way I play and sing
of the 65 songs I've written
65 songs and they're all about you
Do you ever think of me
or only about you
Lyric - ongoing, random
You go your way and I'll go mine
I hate to tell you but I'm doing fine
You need to gather your dreams
and bind them tight
and lock them away - out of mind, out of sight
Stars fall down - stars fall down
dance your dance - round and round
You're the worst kind of snob
your fear keeps you angry and impotent
no one lives up to your false ideals
and you always belittled my art
my songs - my sounds
because you were jealous and afraid
not because what I did was shit
You were young, handsome & full of potential
but you crashed & burned & were swallowed by your inertia
Rhyming - bad timing
you blew it
you didn't have what it took to be okay
you knew it
Minced words and eggshells
We turned into room-mates
who despised each other
You don't get to have me again
As it stands, you got your second chance
And you blew it
I used to love you
I used to adore you
but you always pushed back
and you did it one too many times
I walk away alone
I walk away intact
but you say you want me back
and you know your time is up
Someone close the shutters
there's a storm blowing in
Sometimes the skies open up
Keep your hands to yourself
Your opinions too
If I want you, I'll tell you
Hold your breath 'til you're blue
I'm not trying to be mean
We're just at an end
I gave all I've got
I don't need another friend
A band from the 80's on the radio
makes me want to jump up and dance real slow
Sometimes you look like you just make a mistake
Body surface quickly shines
embracing journey slowly
spiral shelter
Streetlight shimmer
on wet pavement
Don't let success be your suicide
I fell all the way
I have fallen completely out of love with you
I moved all the way
I have removed you from me and myself from you
Seconds before that final flash
I say all the things I should have said
I let go control and wait for that splash
of smoke and glass
I'm like a landscape looming over the horizon
You keep wanting to get there
You keep trying to get there
But I'll keep pulling away
Soft focus and cunning smile
You deserve it, you know
After all the hell you've caused the others
You're all talk
You're small talk
Each of us
Moment after moment
we need to be reminded
of what we already knew
Morality
what do we mean when we say what we say
wipe your mind if you want to be free
observation and insight
let go of the baggage that keeps you in chains
You have that look on your face
like you think I'm going to kiss you
I'm looking for a good boy with a bad side
Or a bad girl with a good side
Sometimes it takes a little
Sometimes it takes a lot
Sometimes there's something to you
Sometimes there's just not
Sometimes it's the blues
Sometimes it's the reds
Sometimes I'd rather just
keep mine an empty bed
life is a balance of holding on and letting go
I hate to tell you but I'm doing fine
You need to gather your dreams
and bind them tight
and lock them away - out of mind, out of sight
Stars fall down - stars fall down
dance your dance - round and round
You're the worst kind of snob
your fear keeps you angry and impotent
no one lives up to your false ideals
and you always belittled my art
my songs - my sounds
because you were jealous and afraid
not because what I did was shit
You were young, handsome & full of potential
but you crashed & burned & were swallowed by your inertia
Rhyming - bad timing
you blew it
you didn't have what it took to be okay
you knew it
Minced words and eggshells
We turned into room-mates
who despised each other
You don't get to have me again
As it stands, you got your second chance
And you blew it
I used to love you
I used to adore you
but you always pushed back
and you did it one too many times
I walk away alone
I walk away intact
but you say you want me back
and you know your time is up
Someone close the shutters
there's a storm blowing in
Sometimes the skies open up
Keep your hands to yourself
Your opinions too
If I want you, I'll tell you
Hold your breath 'til you're blue
I'm not trying to be mean
We're just at an end
I gave all I've got
I don't need another friend
A band from the 80's on the radio
makes me want to jump up and dance real slow
Sometimes you look like you just make a mistake
Body surface quickly shines
embracing journey slowly
spiral shelter
Streetlight shimmer
on wet pavement
Don't let success be your suicide
I fell all the way
I have fallen completely out of love with you
I moved all the way
I have removed you from me and myself from you
Seconds before that final flash
I say all the things I should have said
I let go control and wait for that splash
of smoke and glass
I'm like a landscape looming over the horizon
You keep wanting to get there
You keep trying to get there
But I'll keep pulling away
Soft focus and cunning smile
You deserve it, you know
After all the hell you've caused the others
You're all talk
You're small talk
Each of us
Moment after moment
we need to be reminded
of what we already knew
Morality
what do we mean when we say what we say
wipe your mind if you want to be free
observation and insight
let go of the baggage that keeps you in chains
You have that look on your face
like you think I'm going to kiss you
I'm looking for a good boy with a bad side
Or a bad girl with a good side
Sometimes it takes a little
Sometimes it takes a lot
Sometimes there's something to you
Sometimes there's just not
Sometimes it's the blues
Sometimes it's the reds
Sometimes I'd rather just
keep mine an empty bed
life is a balance of holding on and letting go
More Haiku
Empty window eyes
parallel moonlight dripping
open heart watching
his woman dancing
mouthful of shivering leaves
ritual torture
watching her heart break
peace is no alternate home
if she does not choose
gleeful whispering
moonlight on midnight pathways
adventure awaits
Across the tangle
Glorious pregnant shiver
Sleeping grass tiger
Friendly dilemma
Watching doctor balance dreams
That look like screaming
Ribbing a friend is
one of the funnest things to
do on a slow day
I can't fathom life
It's too precious to shake off
Too painful to stay
Try to get inside
my head and you'll soon see that
There's nowhere to go
Sticks and stones can break
my bones but my spirit will
take care of itself
Faster and faster
I cannot stop the progress
My body's breaking
We talked today and
I have to say I'm pretty
proud of you right now
parallel moonlight dripping
open heart watching
his woman dancing
mouthful of shivering leaves
ritual torture
watching her heart break
peace is no alternate home
if she does not choose
gleeful whispering
moonlight on midnight pathways
adventure awaits
Across the tangle
Glorious pregnant shiver
Sleeping grass tiger
Friendly dilemma
Watching doctor balance dreams
That look like screaming
Ribbing a friend is
one of the funnest things to
do on a slow day
I can't fathom life
It's too precious to shake off
Too painful to stay
Try to get inside
my head and you'll soon see that
There's nowhere to go
Sticks and stones can break
my bones but my spirit will
take care of itself
Faster and faster
I cannot stop the progress
My body's breaking
We talked today and
I have to say I'm pretty
proud of you right now
Friday, August 19, 2016
Random words from Candy - 8/19/16
amber
winter
rose
play
kiss
delight
subtle
untilMy love is tender, a newly picked rose
It's subtle perfume unleashed for your nose
My love is the warmth of the winter fire
It will kiss and play, all the while growing higher
My love is the sticky amber of earth
It captures its victim upon its birth
My love is the rope that I loop and tie
It takes great delight in saying goodbye
My love knows nothing and not even that
It will continue until the mountains fall flat
Why doesn't Po have to prove his abilities?
They were sauntering through the dense forest, brushing aside waist-high ferns casually, and blinking in the dappled sun that caught their upturned faces. "Po?" Anterra inquired, "Why is it that I am fighting for position for 3 days, apparently all I've learned has led to this, and yet you, my spirit beast, you have only to bear me aloft during ceremonies? Do beasts not have to prove themselves as we elves do?" They stopped to drink from a clear stream. 'Terra, we beasts do have to prove ourselves, but in different ways. Our gifts are strong but sub rosa. For example, I rely on your actions and then I react appropriately and in the highest order needed to complete the task at hand.' Po put his head down for more crisp, cold water. 'It sounds more complicated than it is. The answer to your question is we do have to prove ourselves and we are only as good as our elf is. So you must remember to always perform to your best ability.'
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Anterra fights to place high on the Academy roster
Anterra emerged from the crowd. She was unassuming in tan and sienna. Her sash of blue silk setting her apart from her competitor, sashed in green. Her opponent was slightly smaller than her but she knew from class that he was quick and true with his blade. She felt her confidence rising. She could take this boy. She knew she had bettered him while practicing. But he was good. She would not underestimate him.
The elf looked cocky. And yet Anterra could see a tiny glint of fear in his eyes. He was aware of her abilities. They were to fight with proper swords for the first time. She could see that he was wearing new footwear. 'He wants to look good', she thought. 'That is going to work in my favor.' The terrain was a mixture of dirt and grass. The morning dew made the grass slick until midday.
Anterra had attended her studies with these children. They were her friends for the most part, and she was nervous that she might hurt one of them. She knew that she could best most, if not all, of her schoolmates. Again and again at play, she bested them. As they grew, she became even better.
"That is what the practice is all about, Anterra!" Grai-El exclaimed one day. "You must learn to avoid being hit by the weapon of another, not just to hit another with your weapon. This is very important to remember." Grai-El was impressed that Anterra's empathic impulse was so strong. But she had to advance in the tournament if she was to go off to Ilthrae for her next block of studies. It would not serve her well to stay back in the forest with the tribe, no matter how much Grai-El would have it.
So here she was, at one end of the small arena, her challenger at the other. They bowed to each other and both of them recited silently the elven code of mercy. The flag dropped and both elves rushed forward, pulling their blades in the process. Anterra cleared her mind and every moment seemed to grow long. She was able to plant her feet well, swing and leap out of the way, dance out of reach of her opponent. She became aware of the song of the trees. It lulled her into a trance. Her body and her sword knew what to do. Before she knew it, she'd had 3 strikes on him and the match was over. His face was dirty and sweat stained. She was breathing heavily but was not undone by the game.
The boy elf, Fenian, returned to his clique of friends, only slightly visibly upset. After all, all of the elves headed for Ilthrae at this time go through this barrage of exercises that showcased not only their skill, but their maturity.
The elf looked cocky. And yet Anterra could see a tiny glint of fear in his eyes. He was aware of her abilities. They were to fight with proper swords for the first time. She could see that he was wearing new footwear. 'He wants to look good', she thought. 'That is going to work in my favor.' The terrain was a mixture of dirt and grass. The morning dew made the grass slick until midday.
Anterra had attended her studies with these children. They were her friends for the most part, and she was nervous that she might hurt one of them. She knew that she could best most, if not all, of her schoolmates. Again and again at play, she bested them. As they grew, she became even better.
"That is what the practice is all about, Anterra!" Grai-El exclaimed one day. "You must learn to avoid being hit by the weapon of another, not just to hit another with your weapon. This is very important to remember." Grai-El was impressed that Anterra's empathic impulse was so strong. But she had to advance in the tournament if she was to go off to Ilthrae for her next block of studies. It would not serve her well to stay back in the forest with the tribe, no matter how much Grai-El would have it.
So here she was, at one end of the small arena, her challenger at the other. They bowed to each other and both of them recited silently the elven code of mercy. The flag dropped and both elves rushed forward, pulling their blades in the process. Anterra cleared her mind and every moment seemed to grow long. She was able to plant her feet well, swing and leap out of the way, dance out of reach of her opponent. She became aware of the song of the trees. It lulled her into a trance. Her body and her sword knew what to do. Before she knew it, she'd had 3 strikes on him and the match was over. His face was dirty and sweat stained. She was breathing heavily but was not undone by the game.
The boy elf, Fenian, returned to his clique of friends, only slightly visibly upset. After all, all of the elves headed for Ilthrae at this time go through this barrage of exercises that showcased not only their skill, but their maturity.
lyric ideas
Never really knew what I was running from
Never really knew what I was running to
Never really knew what I was running for
You can call it a drone but it's music to my ears - sprinkling softly around my head like jungle mist
I've got a bad disease - i hear them talking through wall
I've never been at ease - and i won't answer your calls
I've always got to please - don't tell me they are not there
You've never taken your place or faced it head on
No matter what i think i have to say - You've written all the best lines
Never really knew what I was running to
Never really knew what I was running for
You can call it a drone but it's music to my ears - sprinkling softly around my head like jungle mist
I've got a bad disease - i hear them talking through wall
I've never been at ease - and i won't answer your calls
I've always got to please - don't tell me they are not there
You've never taken your place or faced it head on
No matter what i think i have to say - You've written all the best lines
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Emotion Poetry
Sadness leans on every corner
Looking into the sun
Squinting out the light
Snuffing out a cigarette
Wishing things were different
When I'm excited
I feel the fire
of a newborn star
deep inside me
Silver strands inside of me
dripping liquid, slow and steady
I close my eyes and tip my head back
The liquid pools and overflows
My heart has wings - it has wings to fly
My heart is torn - it is torn nearly in half
My heart has armor - it keeps you out, keeps me in
My heart finds something to beat for every day
Looking into the sun
Squinting out the light
Snuffing out a cigarette
Wishing things were different
When I'm excited
I feel the fire
of a newborn star
deep inside me
Silver strands inside of me
dripping liquid, slow and steady
I close my eyes and tip my head back
The liquid pools and overflows
My heart has wings - it has wings to fly
My heart is torn - it is torn nearly in half
My heart has armor - it keeps you out, keeps me in
My heart finds something to beat for every day
Monday, August 15, 2016
Anterra and Po discover that the trees are allies
In these woods, the trees hold a kind of magic. If one is quiet, a discernable song can be heard through the treetops, carried on the wind and plucked note-by-note by branch tip, leaf tip and evergreen needle.
Those with the gift could read the winds by listening to the song in the trees. Beautiful melody with haunting harmony and the coast was clear. A cacophony of sounds or the absence all together of both bird song and wind song, and trouble was clearly within one's immediate vicinity.
All spirit animals had the sight. It was simply a matter of being conscious of the environment and other creatures in proximity to oneself.
Only the special few elf-folk had the gift. Whenever an elf-child showed proclivity, it was immediately noted and training began for the youngling. No matter what age, the training began. Usually, the student knew not of the teachings and knew not of his/her special talent. To learn pure and true, the child is encouraged by elders of the tribe and those older that have the gift. It becomes part of his or her everyday routine.
Anterra was very young when her perception was discovered. She was taken quickly to the threshold of Grai-El, the tribe's herbalist and earth spiritualist, and subjected to long periods of time, roaming the woods and talking with the elder. They became teacher and student, and soon friends. Grai-El delighted in having such youthful energy to interact with and pass her wisdom and insights on to. Anterra was happy to be taken seriously as a warrior-to-be. She enjoyed learning the gentler arts but relished the study of combat and trickery. Grai-El understood this and made sure her training encompassed all that the young elf needed and desired to reach her goal. The goal that only she and Po were aware of.
When she was young, Grai-El noticed that Anterra easily hummed and harmonized along with the song of the forest, seemingly unaware that she was doing it. That was the very sign she was hoping for. She knew that the girl's bond with the beast, Po, and her gift for wood-speak would take her farther than she had ever hoped for.
Those with the gift could read the winds by listening to the song in the trees. Beautiful melody with haunting harmony and the coast was clear. A cacophony of sounds or the absence all together of both bird song and wind song, and trouble was clearly within one's immediate vicinity.
All spirit animals had the sight. It was simply a matter of being conscious of the environment and other creatures in proximity to oneself.
Only the special few elf-folk had the gift. Whenever an elf-child showed proclivity, it was immediately noted and training began for the youngling. No matter what age, the training began. Usually, the student knew not of the teachings and knew not of his/her special talent. To learn pure and true, the child is encouraged by elders of the tribe and those older that have the gift. It becomes part of his or her everyday routine.
Anterra was very young when her perception was discovered. She was taken quickly to the threshold of Grai-El, the tribe's herbalist and earth spiritualist, and subjected to long periods of time, roaming the woods and talking with the elder. They became teacher and student, and soon friends. Grai-El delighted in having such youthful energy to interact with and pass her wisdom and insights on to. Anterra was happy to be taken seriously as a warrior-to-be. She enjoyed learning the gentler arts but relished the study of combat and trickery. Grai-El understood this and made sure her training encompassed all that the young elf needed and desired to reach her goal. The goal that only she and Po were aware of.
When she was young, Grai-El noticed that Anterra easily hummed and harmonized along with the song of the forest, seemingly unaware that she was doing it. That was the very sign she was hoping for. She knew that the girl's bond with the beast, Po, and her gift for wood-speak would take her farther than she had ever hoped for.
Sunday, August 14, 2016
Haikus from Haikubes
war
opens
fortune
baby
along
me
grass
tangle
sleep
War opens your eyes
We've been sleeping like babies
Tangled in the grass
Tangled in the grass
We've been sleeping like babies
War opens your eyes
Along the way we
Graze the sky with our blue eyes
And never get old
The wind whips sawgrass
into a slicing frenzy
Blood drops on the blades
Fortune helps the blind
Babies in new fallow grass
Helping those in need
Every day's the same
Every day is different
Every day's the same
opens
fortune
baby
along
me
grass
tangle
sleep
War opens your eyes
We've been sleeping like babies
Tangled in the grass
Tangled in the grass
We've been sleeping like babies
War opens your eyes
Along the way we
Graze the sky with our blue eyes
And never get old
The wind whips sawgrass
into a slicing frenzy
Blood drops on the blades
Fortune helps the blind
Babies in new fallow grass
Helping those in need
Every day's the same
Every day is different
Every day's the same
The manner in which Anterra receives her sword
By anyone's guess, Anterra was a young elf in her early 100s. She had much to learn and much enthusiasm. But there was more to her than the dream if becoming a warrior. Anterra had the burn of vengeance in her throat. She slept with her sword. She dreamt of cutting down those responsible for the deaths of her family. She barely got to know them, she'd been robbed of that. She meant to even the score. This was unlike elf-folk. But then she was unlike any other.
While she may have hidden this dark desire from her people, there were two beings that knew of her true agenda. Po, her spirit beast and best friend, and Grai-El, the elder and sometimes mystic of these elven folk within the realm of Morthar. The fact that Grai-El had the gift of fore-seeing was something she kept to himself. No matter how peaceful the society, there are always going to be those that want to destroy rather than create. She was able to work more efficiently without the sway of the populace interfering with her actions. Outward appearances put Grai-El as an herbalist and healer within the hamlet.
Once she began her education, Anterra knew that the sword was her weapon of choice. By the powers that be, it felt good in her hands! The weight pulled her into its power and its power pulled her into the dominion that she was sure it claimed. She wondered if the sword would have been gifted her on the day of her first tournament, had they known she meant to do harm to others in retribution. She'd been young and self-centered enough to never question where the sword originated, who paid for it's creation, but she did admire its beautiful and intricate silverwork along the tang and pommel and how the hammered steel curved around to create the perfect hand guard for her size. The blade was of the finest Damascus steel, worked in a way that only elvish craftspeople can. It was also thinner and slightly shorter than a normal student sword. Little did she know this was intentional, as her upper body strength would never develop as strongly her male counterparts'. It was not unfair to allow her to be matched more evenly on the playing field.
She awoke on the morning of her first real tournament as a novitiate. For the next 3 days, students would parry and attack each other in succession, jostling for position within the Academy. Excitedly, she washed her face and pulled her tunic over her leggings. After pulling on her boots and secured her belt, she looked at the wooden sword she'd been using to practice and spar. All the students used wooden weapons prior to leaving for Ilthrae. It was a day of celebration. She would receive her true sword today! Anterra nearly skipped out of her room in excitement.
The novitiates had been encouraged to fight as hard as they could against each other, to not pull short with their slices and thrusts. After all, bruises and fractures are quickly healed with an herbal tincture whereas true knowledge of the power of the sword stays with one forever.
While she may have hidden this dark desire from her people, there were two beings that knew of her true agenda. Po, her spirit beast and best friend, and Grai-El, the elder and sometimes mystic of these elven folk within the realm of Morthar. The fact that Grai-El had the gift of fore-seeing was something she kept to himself. No matter how peaceful the society, there are always going to be those that want to destroy rather than create. She was able to work more efficiently without the sway of the populace interfering with her actions. Outward appearances put Grai-El as an herbalist and healer within the hamlet.
Once she began her education, Anterra knew that the sword was her weapon of choice. By the powers that be, it felt good in her hands! The weight pulled her into its power and its power pulled her into the dominion that she was sure it claimed. She wondered if the sword would have been gifted her on the day of her first tournament, had they known she meant to do harm to others in retribution. She'd been young and self-centered enough to never question where the sword originated, who paid for it's creation, but she did admire its beautiful and intricate silverwork along the tang and pommel and how the hammered steel curved around to create the perfect hand guard for her size. The blade was of the finest Damascus steel, worked in a way that only elvish craftspeople can. It was also thinner and slightly shorter than a normal student sword. Little did she know this was intentional, as her upper body strength would never develop as strongly her male counterparts'. It was not unfair to allow her to be matched more evenly on the playing field.
She awoke on the morning of her first real tournament as a novitiate. For the next 3 days, students would parry and attack each other in succession, jostling for position within the Academy. Excitedly, she washed her face and pulled her tunic over her leggings. After pulling on her boots and secured her belt, she looked at the wooden sword she'd been using to practice and spar. All the students used wooden weapons prior to leaving for Ilthrae. It was a day of celebration. She would receive her true sword today! Anterra nearly skipped out of her room in excitement.
The novitiates had been encouraged to fight as hard as they could against each other, to not pull short with their slices and thrusts. After all, bruises and fractures are quickly healed with an herbal tincture whereas true knowledge of the power of the sword stays with one forever.
Saturday, August 13, 2016
Anterra and her spirit beast, Po
'Po! I need you!' Anterra was rushing up the hillside above the tree line. She was exposed and she knew it. She called again in her mind for her faithful, if not cynical, unicorn. They were one and they could communicate across great distances. 'Po, I'm running out of time!' Her footwear slid in the loose gravel.
'I'm coming, I'm coming. Should be there any moment." There was her answer, and she felt a burst of speed in response to her companion's proximity. Any second and she'd be swept away on the strong back of her friend through the ages.
Anterra received Po upon her induction into the field school as a youngling. Po had bonded with the elf-child upon first meeting much earlier, the gift of Po to Anterra was saved for her pre-education celebration.
Po cleared the crest of the hill within mere footfalls of Anterra's trajectory. Seamlessly, the elf leapt, never even breaking stride, to land squarely on the back of the rare, majestic beast. With one last glance down the scree-sided hill, and her pursuers who now had fallen farther behind, she and the unicorn turned as one and thundered down into the dale and towards the woods below.
"Cutting it a little close this time, Po," Anterra said aloud. "I almost got concerned there for a moment." Then she laughed as Po threw his head up and snorted. 'Terra, you need to have more faith in me. I knew just where to get you. Anyway, it's no fun if you don't get a little scared.'
Anterra was a tall and rangy elf. That worked in her favor. Since she'd gone to school as an orphan, she was able to reinvent herself. She took on the mannerisms and trappings of her male counterparts. She never questioned why she chose to do this. It was a compulsion, just as it was to keep her true self secreted away from all the others. Therefore, her size and her strong jaw and brow kept any one from questioning her choices.
They rode furiously until they made their way into the edge of the woods. It was in their favor that the morning dew had burned off the fallow grass. It would make them harder to track. They moved parallel to the woods edge for a time and then stopped, choosing a vantage point that would put her pursuers' eyes to the mid-morning sun. They were nearly invisible from where they were.
'Anterra, you should have known better than to sneak near that camp. Your luck will run out one day if you don't stop tempting the fates.' Po nuzzled her shoulder. He knew that she was well aware how he worried about her when they were separated. "I'm sorry, Po" said Anterra. "Really I am. I just wanted to hear if they are plotting something." She absent-mindedly pulled her fingers through her unicorn's mane, untangling the flaxen tresses. Po let go a contented sigh.
"I say we go up to the next ridge but stay to the trees. We have to get back to Ilthrae by nightfall." Po looked at Anterra. "Stop it. We're closer than you think we are. We're taking a shortcut." Po chided the elf-girl, 'We are only as close as my top speed can take us. And you know it. But I'm ready when you are. I really don't think the others are coming after you. They just wanted to chase you off.' Po sauntered off, looking for a patch of clover.
The woods, dark and close, were loamy and lush. Plenty of rain fell this time of year. The earth was saturated and the rich smell of life was everywhere. Anterra was practiced at the arts of silence and stealth and Po's hooves moved noiselessly along the carpet of wet needles. They made their way through the grove, stopping only to drink from a swift stream.
They emerged from the final copse of trees moments before the sun dipped below the range and out of sight. 'You're lucky this time,' Po teased. They entered the gates as those on guard duty lined up to secure them for the night. 'Oats and dark beer, Terra. I'm exhausted.' Anterra responded, 'You are getting a full rubdown tonight, my friend. And yes, oats and dark beer for you.'
They continued to silently converse while moving through the streets toward the stables.
'I'm coming, I'm coming. Should be there any moment." There was her answer, and she felt a burst of speed in response to her companion's proximity. Any second and she'd be swept away on the strong back of her friend through the ages.
Anterra received Po upon her induction into the field school as a youngling. Po had bonded with the elf-child upon first meeting much earlier, the gift of Po to Anterra was saved for her pre-education celebration.
Po cleared the crest of the hill within mere footfalls of Anterra's trajectory. Seamlessly, the elf leapt, never even breaking stride, to land squarely on the back of the rare, majestic beast. With one last glance down the scree-sided hill, and her pursuers who now had fallen farther behind, she and the unicorn turned as one and thundered down into the dale and towards the woods below.
"Cutting it a little close this time, Po," Anterra said aloud. "I almost got concerned there for a moment." Then she laughed as Po threw his head up and snorted. 'Terra, you need to have more faith in me. I knew just where to get you. Anyway, it's no fun if you don't get a little scared.'
Anterra was a tall and rangy elf. That worked in her favor. Since she'd gone to school as an orphan, she was able to reinvent herself. She took on the mannerisms and trappings of her male counterparts. She never questioned why she chose to do this. It was a compulsion, just as it was to keep her true self secreted away from all the others. Therefore, her size and her strong jaw and brow kept any one from questioning her choices.
They rode furiously until they made their way into the edge of the woods. It was in their favor that the morning dew had burned off the fallow grass. It would make them harder to track. They moved parallel to the woods edge for a time and then stopped, choosing a vantage point that would put her pursuers' eyes to the mid-morning sun. They were nearly invisible from where they were.
'Anterra, you should have known better than to sneak near that camp. Your luck will run out one day if you don't stop tempting the fates.' Po nuzzled her shoulder. He knew that she was well aware how he worried about her when they were separated. "I'm sorry, Po" said Anterra. "Really I am. I just wanted to hear if they are plotting something." She absent-mindedly pulled her fingers through her unicorn's mane, untangling the flaxen tresses. Po let go a contented sigh.
"I say we go up to the next ridge but stay to the trees. We have to get back to Ilthrae by nightfall." Po looked at Anterra. "Stop it. We're closer than you think we are. We're taking a shortcut." Po chided the elf-girl, 'We are only as close as my top speed can take us. And you know it. But I'm ready when you are. I really don't think the others are coming after you. They just wanted to chase you off.' Po sauntered off, looking for a patch of clover.
The woods, dark and close, were loamy and lush. Plenty of rain fell this time of year. The earth was saturated and the rich smell of life was everywhere. Anterra was practiced at the arts of silence and stealth and Po's hooves moved noiselessly along the carpet of wet needles. They made their way through the grove, stopping only to drink from a swift stream.
They emerged from the final copse of trees moments before the sun dipped below the range and out of sight. 'You're lucky this time,' Po teased. They entered the gates as those on guard duty lined up to secure them for the night. 'Oats and dark beer, Terra. I'm exhausted.' Anterra responded, 'You are getting a full rubdown tonight, my friend. And yes, oats and dark beer for you.'
They continued to silently converse while moving through the streets toward the stables.
Friday, August 12, 2016
Rhythmic exercise
The girl
walks home
alone
at night
She tries
to take
the safer
path
The chill
night air
swirls round
her legs
The road
turns back
upon
itself
No one
else
can tell
her tale
walks home
alone
at night
She tries
to take
the safer
path
The chill
night air
swirls round
her legs
The road
turns back
upon
itself
No one
else
can tell
her tale
Smoke and Fire - Double Drabble
Pen's face looked strange. She gazed at the glass, confused and slightly put off by what stared back at her. Where there were once faintly dimpled and rosy cheeks, there were now deep hollows. Where once were laughing eyes, quick and sparkling, now were worried and vacant sockets, staring in quiet horror at what she'd become in so short a time.
They'd been told that first levels had no perceptible radiation increase. The president had gone on the Public Address system to confirm this. They'd been assured that all was well.
Penelope stretched slightly, dropping her eyes from the haunting visage. She had other things to worry about besides what she looked like. Like keeping everyone on the first levels safe and calm.
Because of her prior experience with managing people, she'd been chosen to help lead the peace mission. She felt wildly out of place. But she recognized that the president and his advisors would only charge her with the task if they had confidence in her abilities.
She gained solace from knowing it was someone else's duty to keep the people fed. That was the hardest thing right now...finding enough food to keep the citizens from starving.
They'd been told that first levels had no perceptible radiation increase. The president had gone on the Public Address system to confirm this. They'd been assured that all was well.
Penelope stretched slightly, dropping her eyes from the haunting visage. She had other things to worry about besides what she looked like. Like keeping everyone on the first levels safe and calm.
Because of her prior experience with managing people, she'd been chosen to help lead the peace mission. She felt wildly out of place. But she recognized that the president and his advisors would only charge her with the task if they had confidence in her abilities.
She gained solace from knowing it was someone else's duty to keep the people fed. That was the hardest thing right now...finding enough food to keep the citizens from starving.
Detail from the Franconia Sculpture Garden
Haikus
A cinder block wall
My head leaning on your arm
A time and a place
A warm, sandy beach
My head resting on your lap
A time and a place
A day in the life
Holding my head in my hands
A time and a place
_______________________________
Put down your windows
Time never clears the cobwebs
He touches your hand
His glancing hand touched
You're consumed by that fire
Time slows to show peace
__________________________________
A call to action
Inertia often wins out
Attempt to rally
Thursday, August 11, 2016
Helen Becomes Famous For The Wrong Reasons
This is a not very good attempt at conjoining a Writer's Toolbox exercise with a Drabble exercise. In this case. I think I hit all three Drabbles BUT the story lacks any interest. I like my title though.
Sticks Exercise
FS: After only 2 months, Helen decided to become an exotic dancer.
NS: It wasn't so much that I had been blind to the truth. It was just that I had seen the truth differently.
LS: The tear in her dress.
Drabble:
After only 2 months, Helen decided to become an exotic dancer. She was pretty enough and built nicely. Her current circumstances had made the decision easy enough. She was broke.
Helen Davis, 26, moved from Boise, Idaho, to Los Angeles on a whim. She'd had enough of living in the land of potatoes. She yearned to be where the action happened, where you could be somebody. She decided to become famous. That was her plan.
Spending her first days soaking in all the wonder that Hollywood can hold for a tourist, she found it all so intriguing and exciting.
Double Drabble:
Helen soon discovered that Los Angeles was a lot more expensive than Boise. She temped as a receptionist, a file clerk. She waited tables. She auditioned.
A friend told her about what used to be known as a "gentleman's club", suggesting that she get a job there. The tips were good, getting better the more you flirted with the clientele. She decided to give it a try. Poverty erases shame.
She began to hate the job that she felt trapped in. She would show up with a tear in her dress, stockings torn.
After one particularly rough night she told her friend, "It wasn't so much that I had been blind to the truth. It was just that I had seen the truth differently. I just don't understand why people do what they do." She'd had to visit the hospital emergency room that night. She wouldn't talk about it. One night changed her from a young lady to a hardened woman. One night she decided to take her own life.
Sticks Exercise
FS: After only 2 months, Helen decided to become an exotic dancer.
NS: It wasn't so much that I had been blind to the truth. It was just that I had seen the truth differently.
LS: The tear in her dress.
Drabble:
After only 2 months, Helen decided to become an exotic dancer. She was pretty enough and built nicely. Her current circumstances had made the decision easy enough. She was broke.
Helen Davis, 26, moved from Boise, Idaho, to Los Angeles on a whim. She'd had enough of living in the land of potatoes. She yearned to be where the action happened, where you could be somebody. She decided to become famous. That was her plan.
Spending her first days soaking in all the wonder that Hollywood can hold for a tourist, she found it all so intriguing and exciting.
Double Drabble:
Helen soon discovered that Los Angeles was a lot more expensive than Boise. She temped as a receptionist, a file clerk. She waited tables. She auditioned.
A friend told her about what used to be known as a "gentleman's club", suggesting that she get a job there. The tips were good, getting better the more you flirted with the clientele. She decided to give it a try. Poverty erases shame.
She soon got over her shyness and was raking in the big bucks.
After a time, she began to feel cheap and dirty. It was how she was being treated.
After a time, she began to feel cheap and dirty. It was how she was being treated.
Triple Drabble:
She began to hate the job that she felt trapped in. She would show up with a tear in her dress, stockings torn.
Haikubes freeform words
I will attempt to use these more often. Very effective for kick-starting a haiku or quick lyric.
sang
specific
gentle
wise
moonlight
ground
hand
tried
flying
smooth
quickly
over
me
she
She gently sang over me
Smooth like an unfettered stream
She gently sang over me
Smooth like a placid wind
________________________
I now close my eyes
I am off of the ground and
I am flying high
Specific and wise
She gently sang over me
She watched over me
Moonlight and shadow
She gently sang over me
She watched over me
sang
specific
gentle
wise
moonlight
ground
hand
tried
flying
smooth
quickly
over
me
she
She gently sang over me
Smooth like an unfettered stream
She gently sang over me
Smooth like a placid wind
________________________
I now close my eyes
I am off of the ground and
I am flying high
Specific and wise
She gently sang over me
She watched over me
Moonlight and shadow
She gently sang over me
She watched over me
Conga story
One day, while living in West Hollywood, I was walking home from the New Beverly movie theater and came upon a guy having a little sidewalk "garage" sale.
Among other treasures, he had a full size set of congas. I had to have those congas.
I made him swear not to sell them to anyone. I rushed home to my apartment I shared with Sheryl and grabbed my bank card and car keys. I had to get $125 in cash NOW.
And I had my fingers crossed that a pair of full sized congas would fit into a 1972 VW Beetle. In case you are wondering, they do...just.
He was still there with the drums when I returned. I became the proud owner of a set of congas for probably 2 or 3 years. They were loads of fun. I used to drum to all sorts of ethnic music from around the world.
When I left California for good, I sold everything. I was really sad to have to let them go. But as it turned out, my next adventure had no place for congas. I was off to Alaska. But that's a story for another time.
Among other treasures, he had a full size set of congas. I had to have those congas.
I made him swear not to sell them to anyone. I rushed home to my apartment I shared with Sheryl and grabbed my bank card and car keys. I had to get $125 in cash NOW.
And I had my fingers crossed that a pair of full sized congas would fit into a 1972 VW Beetle. In case you are wondering, they do...just.
He was still there with the drums when I returned. I became the proud owner of a set of congas for probably 2 or 3 years. They were loads of fun. I used to drum to all sorts of ethnic music from around the world.
When I left California for good, I sold everything. I was really sad to have to let them go. But as it turned out, my next adventure had no place for congas. I was off to Alaska. But that's a story for another time.
Across the sky - random lyric bits and a couple haikus to boot
Moonbeam dances a bridge across the sky
(the moon is out tonight - the moon is out tonight)
Starlight twirls and dances across the sky
(the stars are out tonight - the stars are out tonight)
It's only fair that something turn out right
Venture into uncharted and unfamiliar space
A bleak hotel room
Cracked mirror reflects sadness
Scuffed and worn baggage
Books to protect me
Venture toward the unknown
Close my eyes and plunge
(the moon is out tonight - the moon is out tonight)
Starlight twirls and dances across the sky
(the stars are out tonight - the stars are out tonight)
It's only fair that something turn out right
Venture into uncharted and unfamiliar space
A bleak hotel room
Cracked mirror reflects sadness
Scuffed and worn baggage
Books to protect me
Venture toward the unknown
Close my eyes and plunge
Sticks exercise from Toolbox
FS: I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house.
NS: "There you go, making up lies again." That's what they told me.;
LS: that weekend in Duluth.
I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house. The thing with the tulips; that was the reason I was in the loony bin instead of in jail. Suited me just fine. I was trying to make a statement but I don't think anyone got what I was trying to say. I'd rather be in this hospital anyway, the people are more interesting. By far.
We have group therapy twice a day, morning and before dinner, and a one-on-one with our assigned psychiatrist once per day. My input in group has gone from active to non-existent. All because they don't believe me. "There you go, making up lies again." That's what they told me. And more than once. If I am not going to be listened to then what's the point of contributing at all. Why can't they believe me when I tell the stories of my past, replete with detail and imagery? Why does my psychiatrist not talk to the staff and make them understand that I've had a very colorful life?
It's getting to be spring here and the bulbs are sprouting. They love their tulips in this town. I notice things like that. It's something you have to be aware of if you are going to understand me. I guess the abundance of them is what prompted me to use tulips instead of carnations, a flower I despise. Anyway, you see why they didn't understand. You see why I'm in this place. That's what I get for spending that weekend in Duluth.
NS: "There you go, making up lies again." That's what they told me.;
LS: that weekend in Duluth.
I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house. The thing with the tulips; that was the reason I was in the loony bin instead of in jail. Suited me just fine. I was trying to make a statement but I don't think anyone got what I was trying to say. I'd rather be in this hospital anyway, the people are more interesting. By far.
We have group therapy twice a day, morning and before dinner, and a one-on-one with our assigned psychiatrist once per day. My input in group has gone from active to non-existent. All because they don't believe me. "There you go, making up lies again." That's what they told me. And more than once. If I am not going to be listened to then what's the point of contributing at all. Why can't they believe me when I tell the stories of my past, replete with detail and imagery? Why does my psychiatrist not talk to the staff and make them understand that I've had a very colorful life?
It's getting to be spring here and the bulbs are sprouting. They love their tulips in this town. I notice things like that. It's something you have to be aware of if you are going to understand me. I guess the abundance of them is what prompted me to use tulips instead of carnations, a flower I despise. Anyway, you see why they didn't understand. You see why I'm in this place. That's what I get for spending that weekend in Duluth.
Someone's red leather journal - Sixth Sense card from Writer's Toolbox
An estate sale at a big dusty old house.
A box of random items for $20.
Several items including someone's red leather journal: Old, scuffed and stained with time.
Smells of musty attics and basements.
Who's to know where it has been over the years.
Should I open it or keep it's secrets safely tucked away forever?
This leather: worn and faded, scuffed and scratched, soft and pliable.
This paper: worn and faded, raw-edged and tea-stained, brittle and musty.
I give in to my curiousity. I open the book reverently.
Pages filled with scrawls and sketches. Page after page after page. What an adventure this shall be!
A box of random items for $20.
Several items including someone's red leather journal: Old, scuffed and stained with time.
Smells of musty attics and basements.
Who's to know where it has been over the years.
Should I open it or keep it's secrets safely tucked away forever?
This leather: worn and faded, scuffed and scratched, soft and pliable.
This paper: worn and faded, raw-edged and tea-stained, brittle and musty.
I give in to my curiousity. I open the book reverently.
Pages filled with scrawls and sketches. Page after page after page. What an adventure this shall be!
Monday, August 8, 2016
I don't even know where this came from
My blood is the color of the sky some nights
My tears run clear but cloud in the bubble of reality
My tears run clear but cloud in the bubble of reality
Other Beings
We often sit alone in our rooms
Frozen with unspoken fears
Not understanding me
or yourself for that matter
If you could see through your walls
you'd see everyone else staring at theirs
struggling with your issues
they call their own in truth
grappling with words and meanings
and ideas and lies
and other beings called you and I
Frozen with unspoken fears
Not understanding me
or yourself for that matter
If you could see through your walls
you'd see everyone else staring at theirs
struggling with your issues
they call their own in truth
grappling with words and meanings
and ideas and lies
and other beings called you and I
Going Underground
We've stayed
We've played
We've bought and paid
The road that we're on is buckled and broken
I've gone my way
You've gone astray
At the end of the day it is all left unspoken
Tonight, tonight - It never feels the same
Tonight, tonight - Do you still know my name
Tomorrow comes but where will I be found
Tonight, tonight - I'm going underground
We've played
We've bought and paid
The road that we're on is buckled and broken
I've gone my way
You've gone astray
At the end of the day it is all left unspoken
Tonight, tonight - It never feels the same
Tonight, tonight - Do you still know my name
Tomorrow comes but where will I be found
Tonight, tonight - I'm going underground
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Written during CSAS breakdown period, (early 2002?)
When I think about this, when I write about this
I find myself completely immobilized
I become rigid with inertia
I am engorged with the heat of hate and despair
I want to curl up like some newborn forest creature and
sleep away the day
I do not want to have this knowledge that I have in me now
Deceit and dishonesty
Greed and self-absorption
Flagrant disregard for the feelings of another
I am more defeated that I am angry
And because of this
I am angry with my defeat
What right does another have to destroy my sense of self?
My silent answer is “There is no right” and I imagine my
succubus is no more
Dead from my own hand
I feel justified and I feel wretched
How have I come to sink so low?
Revenge leaves a bitter taste upon my tongue and I question
my action
My silent answer is “There is no wrong if there is no right”
How could this be a righteous thought, an honorable impulse
My reckless thoughts throw me deeper into the blackness of
despair
Why is it that I so easily torture my soul, my heart, my
self?
My silent answer is “There is no wrong” and I am ashamed and
accept that I am not all good
Dreams of dogs chasing and snarling, of darkness and death,
of being pursued and being forced to terminate what pursues me
of being pursued and being forced to terminate what pursues me
Dreams of a young black girl with her infant in her arms
I cry out that I shall have to kill the dogs
They have been taunting me from below
Dreams of doors that are broken and plastic that flaps
noisily in the breezy night
A dead body is taken out on a stretcher and the dogs take
the opportunity to enter
I run to the bedroom and grab a revolver
I tell the young mother to get to safety
I kill three dogs dead in their tracks
I wake crying, confused and knowing this means something
Beauty
Beauty spins on her toes
She knows no bounds
She knows no rejection
Beauty sings on a summer's day
She never gives you a clue
She never gives you a chance
Beauty walks in the light
It is what she does
It is what she is here for
She knows no bounds
She knows no rejection
Beauty sings on a summer's day
She never gives you a clue
She never gives you a chance
Beauty walks in the light
It is what she does
It is what she is here for
Monday, August 1, 2016
Soundscapes
Soundscapes like a mountain range
Dips and valleys, cliffs and crags
At once soaring into the sky
to scale the heights and leave this earthly cage behind
At once speeding along, an arm's length from the ground
Too frightened to really savor the experience
Soundscapes like a body of water
Alive with motion and emotion
At once rushing headlong into unknown territories
to break and swell over rock and fall
At once eddying languidly at a moments notice
Too content and lazy to really savor the experience
Dips and valleys, cliffs and crags
At once soaring into the sky
to scale the heights and leave this earthly cage behind
At once speeding along, an arm's length from the ground
Too frightened to really savor the experience
Soundscapes like a body of water
Alive with motion and emotion
At once rushing headlong into unknown territories
to break and swell over rock and fall
At once eddying languidly at a moments notice
Too content and lazy to really savor the experience
The smell of spring - Sixth Sense card from The Writer's Toolbox
Winter draws to a close
A tired and worn out thing
No more antiseptic bite to the air
No more snowflakes on my tongue
Spring blows in on newborn winds
Bright and curious as a calf in the hay
This is the season for new life
Savor the verdant air as you breathe deeply
Summer rounds the corner
like a Dutch painting by the masters
shiny and heavy, toil and reap
The summer rain smells like dust and sweat
Autumn is for celebrating and preparing
Another bounty, another birth
The cycle of the planet begins to end
And all of it only to begin again
A tired and worn out thing
No more antiseptic bite to the air
No more snowflakes on my tongue
Spring blows in on newborn winds
Bright and curious as a calf in the hay
This is the season for new life
Savor the verdant air as you breathe deeply
Summer rounds the corner
like a Dutch painting by the masters
shiny and heavy, toil and reap
The summer rain smells like dust and sweat
Autumn is for celebrating and preparing
Another bounty, another birth
The cycle of the planet begins to end
And all of it only to begin again
A train whistles in the background, far away and lonely (The Strangest Things)
This was actually written quite a number of years ago but is one of my favorite pieces that I've ever written.
Untitled
Words from the heroes.
We believe the strangest things
and when we least expect it
these pseudo-prophesies come
rolling off our lips
and trickling down the chin
of this long-lost society.
Like a forgotten drink of water.
Like a forgotten breath of life.
I guess I'll laugh until I cry,
until my dreams and children die.
Untitled
Words from the heroes.
We believe the strangest things
and when we least expect it
these pseudo-prophesies come
rolling off our lips
and trickling down the chin
of this long-lost society.
Like a forgotten drink of water.
Like a forgotten breath of life.
I guess I'll laugh until I cry,
until my dreams and children die.
Even when you are gone, you are near
Close your eyes and see the music
Hear the colors and see the melody
Taste the words and feel the harmony
Hear the colors and see the melody
Taste the words and feel the harmony
An Old Letter From Amsterdam - Sixth Sense card from The Writer's Toolbox
Paper brittle and tea-stained with age.
Smelling of old lilac and dust, days gone past.
The words, in neat, cursive script, hint at an age that is for some only a memory and for most a time never known.
Nostalgic in its language and yearning in its words.
Smelling of old lilac and dust, days gone past.
The words, in neat, cursive script, hint at an age that is for some only a memory and for most a time never known.
Nostalgic in its language and yearning in its words.
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