Monday, January 19, 2015

Into The Dark - Take me to your dark places


“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.” - Mark Twain





spurs-32

I'll follow you there, into the dark
The dark is my lover, I caress its shadowy folds.
Come, join me in the midnight blackness
It soothes the brightness of truth
Thick blindness holds us tight
Our fears close but held at bay
Cold, our emotions now irrelevant
I'll follow you there, into the dark
Where lie my deepest fantasies
Lay down your fear my sweet woman
Take my misty promises into the wildness
Of the unknown, unfeeling, and unbelievable
Provoking them to relinquish their hidden treasure
as I follow you there, into the dark 


 
Also published in Broowaha

02012012

Friday, January 16, 2015

The Folly Of Ages - Love leads to certain death

“A fool who cursed the sun was surprised to see it still shining.” - Marty Rubin

“A thing can be true and still be desperate folly, Hazel.” 
 

 



The Snake who from the darkest pools pulls pain through the roots

A drink but not to quench a thirst that begins in hell's stench

Proof that evil resides holding reign in deepest echoing halls

A coil from roses bloody innocence proclaimed through beauty

Lay it down at the cavern's maw bringing creatures from the depths

Take compassion to tear it asunder from the veiled innocent breast

Inside is found the hideous heartbreak of lover's scornfully betrayed

A harbinger of rapturous delusions reveals the folly of ages


05102012

Friday, January 9, 2015

The Pain Of Being Good

“He's not safe, but he's good (referring to Aslan, the Lion, in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)” ― C.S. Lewis 


jimmyfungus

Monotony is a life I cannot endure and like the Chinese torture of a thousand cuts, each ordinary minute, and every plain hour, is an excruciating drain of my sanity's blood.  My brain, being calloused by experiences that nearly destroyed me, strangely created a need for that danger to survive and manipulates me to destroy my success to create the drama I'm addicted to. I've an endless thirst that cracks my tongue and mind with desire for the spiraling waters of a hurricane, a wind blown vertical rain that stings my eyes and makes me feel a desire for living for the next second. My thoughts never wander from survival in a storm long enough for the pain of worry and boredom to take effect. Feeling pressure from being good for to long leaves me open the tedium of thoughts that pin me beneath their weight. When I'm fighting for survival, struggling to gasp another breath, there's no room for the mad thinking that sickens me and drives my weary soul deep into the blackness of insanity. Push me toward the edge and as I fight to keep my ground, I'll smile at the fight that, if only for a moment, gives me release and a reason to live...then, I look outside and see a squirrel eating the seeds I laid out for it and a smile crosses my lips. Little things like that bring a new way of thinking, of living, of dying. Maybe by bringing sustenance to the world, I'll keep my shit together and not go stark raving mad. I'm in the boot camp of recovery, and this is my training to rebuild a broken mind.


Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Outside Night

 “We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” - Plato



love-pray-hopee
I’m hiding in this darkness for so long
I don’t remember light.
I thought I'd open a window and see
What’s outside the night.
But on the glance of what should be hope,
I was blinded by the ray.
I never knew that light could cause

me to know such pain.
But its warmth had a touch and
A sight of what could be,
I was still scared by the pain of knowing
I really wasn’t free. 

The prison I was locked in is
A cage of my own design.
Only I could use a key of faith
One had left for me to find.

Breaking the hardened seal
of my sepulchered life,
I blinked back tears at
What's outside night. 




Also published in Broowaha


06262010

Monday, December 22, 2014

Linger

“Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.” - Kurt Vonnegut

 




Satin moments play with time
Seconds become hours in jest
And I linger still
In your world

Velvet whispers in my vision
Night and day flash into one
And I linger still
In your dreams

Silken cords tie my passions
Constraints of minutes broken
And I linger still
In your lusts


Also published in Broowaha


0427012

Friday, December 12, 2014

The Wind - Fellowship of the wind

“It's the questions we can't answer that teach us the most. They teach us how to think. If you give a man an answer, all he gains is a little fact. But give him a question and he'll look for his own answers.” - Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

 


I could feel the strength of the wind. 
Fresh, dark, mystical wind.
On the shadowed side of the steep mountains, 
clouds hovering, the wind teasing, 
making smoke tails.
Strange feeling, exhilarating yet, 
peaceful, almost entrancing, 
the wind in my hair.
Smells, fresh, moist, sounds of a tree, 
a falling comrade in the green forest, 
all carried by the wind.
How is it that I fit in this mystery? 
How is it I'm taken by this wind? 
Like a seed carried away from my past, by ever present but constantly changing wind,
Dropping me pleasantly down 
to finish my here and now. 
Brother wind and I take flight.



Also published in Broowaha



10022011

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Cold water, Dry run - Heal the wounds of yesterday

"Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.”  - C. JoyBell C.



Trying hard to find water in a dry land. A parched, dry, burning throat tortures me. My lips, peel like mud flakes baked by the noon heat. Life was here, now, only the memory of life conveyed in the carved, hard mud of me, a dry lake. Then a soft wind blows, the temperature drops slowly, a coolness invades, and the clouds gather promising a new thing is on its way. Soft drops escape at first, slowly building a faceless mob. Each drop makes a mark, dimpling the ground. The little craters overflow and begin to form a growing conglomeration of streaming water alliances, gathering momentum and finding their way to the thirsty lake, filling the deepest cracks first.


Notice the deepest cracks are the ones first filled with the life-giving water. Likewise, notice how the deepest hurts are the first healed when the fulfillment of your hearts desire comes to pass. It's a beautiful to see life restored. There is a fulfillment in hope and contentment after suffering. It feels so good, like cold water after a hot run.



Also published in Broowaha


08172011

Saturday, November 29, 2014

The Great Adventure - Part 1

"The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun." ― Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild




youngdreamerlove

The trip began by assembling simple items that would benefit a grand adventure in the wild forests of unknown. A can opener, lighters, a couple of pocket knifes, cans of beans we surreptitiously obtained from mom's cupboard, the obligatory camouflage jackets and pants, and of course a machetes to hack our way through the grass and brush. We made the mile trip to the wooded point right on the cliff above a shallow gulch. Pine trees formed a tidy circle around a clearing and their needles made a nice bed. The sound of wind blowing through these made an eerie sound, especially for boys like us at the ripe age of 14 and 15. Many long days were spent filled with exciting adventures into this government reserve, which by the way, we weren't supposed to be in, which added to our sense of danger that all boys crave to some extent.

Climbing through the 8 foot chain link fence that surrounded it, we pushed our way through the tall grasses and crossed a couple of dirt roads worn with the convoys of jeeps, tanks, and supply trucks. The last obstacle we clambered across was a double row of razor wire that lined the fields. We knew all the paths and shortcuts here and had already squashed this down and laid branches over it to tip toe on. Finding things while we hiked was an awesome thrill. The biggest finds were items lost or left behind by the troops, MRE's being the supreme score, followed by empty ammo bags that clipped on to belts, and shell casings, with which we filled our little bags and bringing a smile that only being incredibly stupid and getting away with it can bring to the little men we were.

Reaching the clearing, we built our rough lean-to and found sticks to build a fire. We didn't understand that if you're not supposed to be there, lighting a fire on the edge of cliff that overlooks much of the land around it, is not a good idea. But in our exuberance, we lit our little fire and boiled some water to add to a spaghetti MRE I found and heat the beans we stole from Mom. Night came soon and we settled in under our shelter and played with the fire, watching the sparks swirl and find their way up to the star filled sky. Our spot was lit up to the edge of clearing showing the trees and brush around us, beyond that it was pitch black and made the more so by gazing into the fire before we looked out toward the dark. The evening this far was uneventful and our stay in this forbidden zone an apparent success.

Suddenly, right behind our lean-to, a loud snap of branches shot through the night and right up our young spines. Hairs on end, we stumbled forward in a blind panic and grabbed the machete and large walking stick, hewn in boredom just moments before. Standing back to back, gazing at what we couldn't see, our eyes struggled to make out any images, our ears keen to the slightest twitch of grass. Was it an animal? Or worse, the Military Police? The MP's were more trouble but we out ran them several times because of our knowledge of the nook and crannies and subtle shortcuts and paths, but, the animals were a big problem. The paths we found were theirs and running wasn't a good idea. We whispered back and forth having seconds to decide what to do and like most options presented to those caught, running like hell seemed to be the best way out. We sprung through the trees and bounced through the razor wire like an Olympic hurdler fueled by adrenalin and youthful agility. Hearing more snaps and bushes shaking supercharged our escape and made the dark obstacle course easy. Soon the mile was behind us and we dove through the fence finding our way home. We collapsed in excited jubilation with our hearts pounding out 200 beats a minute. The escape was pulled off without a hitch and our confidence grew to heights that can only be reached by imagination. This was a success, however there where things in life that wouldn't be so easily overcome and these tests waited for us with hungry anticipation.



Tuesday, November 25, 2014

None Shall Pass

“There is no point treating a depressed person as though she were just feeling sad, saying, 'There now, hang on, you'll get over it.' Sadness is more or less like a head cold- with patience, it passes. Depression is like cancer.”  - Barbara Kingsolver, The Bean Trees


 
s-a-e-c-u-l-u-m

This is no ordinary little house, in a dark wooded lot, with a long curving driveway. Quintessential in time, the smell of rotten leaves, moldy dead trees, and moss create an invitation likely to instill fear. Leaves and draping parasitic vines serve to block out the intrusion of light. Things crawl and slither, poisonous things with teeth naturally sharp to penetrate the hood of protection. A damp chill wraps up the weary and pulls them to the coldness of the nether world. Light mists drift low to the ground, creeping with ethereal madness. Large things, nightmares, snap twigs and disappear with startling proficiency. These all have conspired to hide escape and draw the fearful soul deeper and deeper, sliding down the viscous sides of mortality's flowers in a one way trip. The house is ancient in design, hundreds of years ago the brick and mortar were set and stony copper gargoyles put here to observe the folly of one gone mad. The door is misleading, it's a lure, pulling and tugging to get it's prey close, crushing hopes with its efficacious skill of holding fast against panicked desperation. Fists pound against it creating unheard echos and with beastly strength the spell is transferred from spirit to flesh. Vibrant greens are subdued to the gray and black of lands beyond. The colors are smudged by an errant creator attempting to dismiss this aberration. Bones of lost hope litter the exposed roots and walkways, little roads to nowhere showing tracks of the worst going in circles. This is the notorious lair of depression, many will enter, none shall escape.
 


Sunday, November 23, 2014

No Fear

“Bran thought about it. 'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?'
'That is the only time a man can be brave,' his father told him.”
George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones 

 
Noctturnalromance


Walking towards the house, I just finished spending another evening with my church youth group. On the way something sinister stirred in the shadows. No sound, just glimpses of dark, darker than black, accompanied by a deep foreboding fear. Forcing myself along the path, all my nerves are on end as I scramble to find a weapon worthy of this opponent. My fists were no match, guns likewise. I needed something without form to battle the unseen opponent. Words, that will do, they have no shape and find you even when your hiding. I've got the weapon, now which words? The pastors taught me words exist that are extraordinary, having more weight and value than common words, words that were in themselves different. The most powerful of these are the words that looked ordinary, but are changed by my belief about the source and effectiveness of them, i.e. they gained value in this battle by virtue of the faith I placed in them. It wasn't that is faith that did it, because I had to actually use the words, but it was faith that gave them the edge to cut the dark. I read this somewhere, “You light a lamp for me. The Lord, my God, lights up my darkness.” Repeating this I tried to understand how to fight the fight that is not fought with fists but with belief. I believed that Big Daddy (that's what I called God) let me find those words as advice. Fear has torment and I was always afraid, so this whole thing was a training ground to overcome fear and learn how to fight what is called by others as “the good fight”. The victory to press past this feeling and not turn around and run, was not a gallant one at all, it was horribly clumsy and vacillated between wanting to run and wanting to oppose this fear. All said and done, I made it through, I didn't die and I learned a valuable lesson that equipped me for the rest of the craziness called my life.