Back To Back

“You may not remember the time you let me go first.
Or the time you dropped back to tell me it wasn’t that far to go.
Or the time you waited at the crossroads for me to catch up.
You may not remember any of those, but I do and this is what I have to say to you:

Today, no matter what it takes,
we ride home together.”
Brian Andreas, Traveling Light: Stories & Drawings for a Quiet Mind

 

weheartit
Back to back that’s how we started,
fighting the whole world, we never parted.
Then came new life, shafts in the quiver.
We fired them off, our crops never withered.
Along came the wolf, death he swore.
He limped and lied to get through the door.
He consumed you with his intellectual abandon,
my back now unguarded, my heart saddened.
I tried for months to retake the hallowed ground,
but you were too far gone, never to be found.
Lost and spinning, exposing my nakedness,
I struggled grimacing, my life hard pressed
Then I saw her, evil disguised as purity.
Face of an angel, a heart that wasn’t free.
I came to her with my intentions pure,
she cast one glance, it was over for sure
All the passion I wished you to use,
now you found it, she was your muse
I drove on, looking at you secretly,
asking me to stay, your nakedness I see
To late, like fire spreading on water,
she flowed freely, around all your barter
Driving on into my own peril,
she would slay me with just one arrow
Entranced by her wiles, I followed her to hell,
but my back not guarded, I swiftly fell.
Barely I survived, held under the water of pain,
my lungs bursting to breath love again
Fire scorched and burned through all my nerves,
it never went out, smoldering in the curves
Struggling to gain ground, to get back to back again,
Back to back one day, I long for my friend.

Also published in Broowaha
08072010
 

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, craves danger and manipulates me to destroy 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 gives me a desire for living, if only for another second. My thoughts won’t wander from survival in this storm long enough for the pain of worry and boredom to take effect. The pressure of being good, i.e free from crisis, for to long leaves me open to the tedium of thoughts that pin me beneath their weight, but 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. They 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 a moment of clarity comes to me. I look outside and see a squirrel eating the seeds I laid out and a smile crosses my lips. Little things that start 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.

Also published in Broowaha
First published in Opinions Of Eye

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
First published in Opinions Of Eye
08172011

Serenity’s Storm

I think that the ideal space must contain elements of magic, serenity, sorcery and mystery.”
Wash away, all the same
Breezes blow, I will trade
Tranquil bows, some not all
Pass me through, I’ll not call
Feelings so smooth
 
Like rocks worn, by the waters rush.
Feelings quelled, by the hush
Cascades of warmth, not ambient
Inside it burns, not transient
Easy comes the calm
 
Many searching, souls exist,
In this world, of gentle mist
A serenity that, cannot be trained.
Never before, traveling this lane
I’m now savoring
Tempest you will, draw my attention
Pleased I fall back, there’s no tension
I turn again, to the lonely sound
Never having, to leave the ground
Lost in the moment
01162011
Tempest you draw my attention
Pleased I fall back again
I turn to the sound
Never having left the ground
Lost in the moment

– See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf

Tempest you draw my attention
Pleased I fall back again
I turn to the sound
Never having left the ground
Lost in the moment

– See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf

Tempest you draw my attention
Pleased I fall back again
I turn to the sound
Never having left the ground
Lost in the moment

– See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf

Tempest you draw my attention
Pleased I fall back again
I turn to the sound
Never having left the ground
Lost in the moment

– See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf

Clouds – Promise of Change

“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.” – Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds 
alxndrasplace

When it comes, like clouds, forming mushrooms in the afternoon sky.
In their power, change.
Solo plumes and powerful gathered masses, threaten and bring life
In their power, change.
Eternal questions erased in a moment of violence, life given solace
In their power, change.
Take the water of pain, given without invitation, let it rain
In its power, change.


Also published in Wingposse
08012011

Analogy of a Tic – Two Views of People Who Use You

“We’re a different sort of thief here, Lamora. Deception and misdirection are our tools. We don’t believe in hard work when a false face and a good line of bullshit can do so much more.” ― Scott Lynch, The Lies of Locke Lamora 

 “Yet the evil still increased, and, like the parasite of barnacles on a ship, if it did not  destroy the structure, it obstructed its fair, comfortable progress in the path of life.” William Banting 

 

thepursuitofepicness
 

They wander around my perimeters, parasites, drawing from me like a tic. Working my way through the jungles of the game, they latch on. Suckers, filling themselves with my blood. I let some hang on, knowing they’re there, keeping an eye on them; I’m in control. The tic’s bold, so consumed with satiating its desire, it doesn’t know or care that it’s life is in my hands. One day I’ll squash the tic, making a blood stain on my leg, smiling with gratification of my power over it. It’s funny to watch little creatures plying their wares, I feel compassionate for their limited life span and the narrowness of their existence. I play with them, and while others are scared, I’m intrigued. In the end, the game will be played out again, so I entertain myself with my current companions, a symbiosis of sort, the tug and pull of life sharpening my senses.  

There’s another way to see this game. Being gifted and talented on many levels, I’ll draw success in a variety of forms. This abundance isn’t meant just for me, but for others. I’m a stream of cool water, those who are thirsty can dip their hands in and draw from my abundance to satisfy themselves. I’ll be filled again, not by them, but by the hand of my Big Daddy (God), who is my source and fountain. It’s my purpose to be filled and emptied in service to others, to humble myself and provide for them, no matter how shallow or misdirected their desires are. Hunger is hunger, thirst is thirst. God causes the rain to fall on the just and unjust. Perhaps in satisfying their errant desires they’ll soon grow tired and turn to my source. I’m thankful that if not for twists of fate and circumstance, I’d be the tic. This inspires me to continue to give and provide, not with reluctance, but with satisfaction, knowing that, if not for God, I’d be the sucker.

02232012

Disturbed – Knowledge of the forbidden

“It’s not him who’s disturbed. But he likes to disturb others–to shake them out of their rut.” ― Jostein Gaarder, Sophie’s World
 

pozadia – dark water

Disturbed within,

troubled are the waters of deep dark sin.

Without a tale does not tell,
that crawling underneath all is not well.

Froth and thick mire,
disguise the water and lay straights dire.

Lift my head Spirit on High,
knowledge of the forbidden brings great sighs.

Wrapped irony and ruse,
dark times wring a soul’s purple bruise.

Who can see the a way through,
all the pains and sins that shadows knew.

Troubled thoughts, disturbed again
quiet atrocities within.

Also published in Broowaha Citizen’s Magazine 

05292012

The Emperor’s Katana – Lessons from the master craftsman

“ignis aurum probat, miseria fortes homines”, “as gold is tempered by fire, so strong men are tempered by suffering”.

skywing12

He took the metal, valuable and unique, and laid it in the fire. With an innate passion watching it, until the hue was just right, the color of heat, moving as storm cloud over the plain of the metal. Lightning strikes and thunder claps induced by his worn sledge shouted changes to nature, destroying the original form. In a violent move, calling out the tempest, he plunged it into the muddy water, clouded with ash and clay, a chaotic mix of elements, ugly in their application, wondrous in their result. Angry steam rose, the steel yelling at the breaking of its will, a will formed by nature, broken by the same. Fire and water, opposites, yet being used together to create a new thing, taking their turns as catalysts, creating beauty and power unsurpassed by the ordinary, waiting for their turn in the flames. Thousands of times, the process, the rhythm of breaking down, bending, melding, heating, were repeated, shocking it, breaking it from the apathetic staleness of commonality. The old man smiled and, in his careful hands, the metal changed, growing finer in composition, growing closer to its’ polished destiny as the Emperor’s Katana.


Accepting the opposites in my life, the fire and water of pain and joy, allows me transformation. My life changed by them from an ordinary, dull life of discord, into a life of gleaming beauty, purpose, and fulfillment. The trials, the pain, the joys and successes, I will let them have their way, not fighting what will bring me to completion. My destiny, wholly original and amazing, a rare and exquisite life, being declared as the Emperor’s Katana.

Also published in Broowaha Magazine
12212011

Sieve – Losing All Through Me

“You are to be my command laid on my enemy. you’ll make a hole in him through which he’ll drip away until he runs dry. As he drips out darkness, we’ll smile together, me inside, you outside. We’ll crush him between our smiles.”- Margaret Mahy, The Changeover 


A little gap, in which I must wallow

Just a hole, one of the many to follow

A poke again, a partner to the first

Its just a hole, draining the water for thirst

This sieve of soul, now bleeds my affection

Its just a hole, so no need for correction

I catch the drops, so many all around

It just a hole, but I lost all I found

Gentleness of Strength

“Silk is a fine, delicate, soft, illuminating, beautiful substance. But you can never rip it! If a man takes this tender silk and attempts to tear it, and cannot tear it, is he in his right mind to say “This silk is fake! I thought it was soft, I thought it was delicate, but look, I cannot even tear it” ? Surely, this man is not in his right mind! The silk is not fake! This silk is 100% real. It’s the man who is stupid!” ― C. JoyBell C.

“Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way round or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves.” – Bruce Lee
dewdropzgarden
 Gentle, striving to be easy with the hardness life brings. Being gentle when the attack is not against me is easy, but let my lover betray me, let a random act of violence occur, let my child be molested in spite of my best efforts, then it proves supremely difficult to resist hardness. When gentleness is discerned by the predators of man and beast, it signifies vulnerability, a sign that brings pursuit and attack. There is however, a side of gentleness that is contrary to weakness. Warriors learned long ago that deftness, a soft touch, is as deadly as brute force. The less effort, the faster and more powerful you will be. Gentleness learned is self control gained. To deny the victim demeanor and become a survivor, a warrior, requires a necessary application of gentle traits. Hold the knife easy. Squeeze the trigger softly. Bend not break, as a willow in the breeze. Bruce Lee taught the principle: be like water. Water is soft, yielding, and enjoyable to be around, but still maintains a fearful power. Gentleness is not weakness, it is power under perfect control. I’m this gentle soul, the water that gives way, and still I possess a force to overcome the most difficult opponent, whether it be in the form of man or circumstance.