Sunday, November 14, 2010

The Collector of Stories

I've dreamt of being a writer
A crafter of words.
To use the language I was given
To make people laugh and cry;
To weave an enchantment for all to wonder at.

I've dreamt of giving people life
With paper and pen.
For my heroes and heroines
To laugh and run and defeat all comers.
To let them love under the moon and sun.

I've dreamt of writing poetry
Lovely and sublime.
To show the world my aching soul
Or laughing heart.
To be able to write a flower that is like no other
That is mine alone to give to you.

But, no, it was not to be
The Gods and Goddesses give us all gifts
Some to write, others to draw
Some make music to honor all.
Still other craft things from wood and stone and clay.

I see the beauty in all these things
And collect them
To share them with everyone
I am but a humble storyteller
Sharing what beauty I've found with all.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Eternal Dance

Bitter winds howling
Songs in the night
Ghostly and surreal
Haunting the dark
Shadowy figures
Drift in the gloom
'Midst skeletal trees
Under a moonless sky
The dance of the dead
Weaving and swaying
With the sinister melody
Turning and reeling
To the ominous cadence
In the eternal dance
Whispering voices
Beckon to me
To join in the ball
The apparitions
Drift ever closer
Phantom fingers touch
Like weightless feathers
Frozen in place
I cannot move
Not wanting to stay
Yet fearing to leave
The dancers surround me
And then drift away
Still the music remains
Ethereal, illusory
Is it real or imagined
Asleep or awakened
I can no longer tell
A sleeping life
Or waking dream
Or nightmare here on earth

Friday, November 5, 2010

Broken Glass

Was doing a lot of thinking last night as I was going to sleep.  Do you think I could remember any of it?

Actually, it was mostly about what and how I write.  I write in a journal a lot.  I write poetry that is an outlet.  A way of exorcising whatever demons have been making my life more interesting than I want it to be.  I know that when I write, I am not the same person at the end as I was at the beginning.  The process itself changes me. For good or ill, I"m not really sure, but I do know there are changes.  Some are rather small, other changes are huge. 

I've also found that if I go back and read what I wrote a month, a year or a decade ago, I find myself wondering how I got to where I was at the beginning.  I read through what I wrote, and find myself changing yet again in ways that are different than they were the first time through.

A lot of what I write is very dark.  And some of it, while nightmarish, is actually quite beautiful.....

The road that lies before me
The path that I must take
Is paved along its length
With shards of broken glass

No shoes are upon my feet
In beggars rags I’m clad
I must walk along this road
Paved in broken glass

There are no places on the side
Where I might go to rest
No place to lie my head
Or rest my weary bones

The path I’ve left behind me
Is where I’ve left a trail
Bloody footprints for all to see
All in a staggered line

I see where I have stumbled
Where I’ve stood a while in pain
Looking for a place to stop
A place to end the march

Looking to the left of me
Monsters I do see
Waiting for me to leave
The road of broken glass

My life is all around me
The past is bathed in blood
Of footprints made on shards of glass
Walking down this road

Why am I on this bloody path
Who chose the way I go
My feet were set upon the way
So many years ago

Choices made when I was young
Wrong choices it now seems
Have put me here on this path
To go as best I can

So now I must go along
Reaping the seeds I’ve sown
My future lies before me
On this road of broken glass

Thursday, November 4, 2010



Quietly he came,
Bent on destruction
Anger flowed from him
Like a river in spate
The need to hurt
The want to harm
Seethed in him.
This day fate had decreed
She would fall to him.

Quietly she slept
No hints of destruction
Peace flowed over her
Like a quiet pond
No fear of intrusion
A need only for rest
A want only for dreams
No knowledge of what fate
Had decreed for her.

She awoke to a weight
Settling beside her
And a heavier one
Covered her soul
Fear gripped her heart
As malice took him
To a place only he could understand
"Don't make a sound
Just do as you're told
I'm not here to hurt you"
Are the words burned in her ears

A slight nod of her head
A whimper in her throat
Earned her a slap
The blood began to flow
He tore off her clothes
Not heeding the tears
He got what he came for
Never noticing that
She was no longer there.

I stood in the corner
Watching them both
He in his anger
And she in her fear
I watched him as he
Caused more hurt than he knew
And saw her just lie there
Like a broken-down doll
His anger was spent
His need to hurt all gone
He rose from the bed
And left her alone

She lay there just shaking
For what seemed like hours
Till I went back and joined her
And we huddled together
The first thing she said
To no one at all
"What have I done?
Why did he do this?
What did I do
That would deserve such a thing?"

Nothing at all
Not one blessed thing
But no one said them
Those words that she needed.
The fear, hurt and anger
Still flow from her now
Not believing at all
That is wasn't her fault

Nights spent alone
Shaking in fear
Days spent in hurt silence
Just waiting for more
Looking over her shoulder
Most of the time
Watching for danger

She's changed quite a bit
And I have changed too
We've become someone different
A stranger deep down
When will it all end?
When does the pain go away?
Some say it never does
Some say just with time
Our life has been shattered
And put back together

But pieces go missing
And may never be found
Innocence is gone forever
Trust? That one too
Hope is still hiding
But the space is still there
A soul with a space
Left open for hope
Will remain incomplete
Until a new piece is found
To fill in that place
With hope and courage.

Once upon a time, this was a very difficult thing for me to write.  Today is the first time in a very long time that I've even looked at it.  Its a very difficult thing for me to read even now.  Today, I wouldn't write this. The words would be very different.  I want to think that today, I am a different person.