Somehow it is all out of place up here on this balcony, I have been waiting, and I continue to wait.
The wind blows and I am carried away, looking down at myself from above. I am sitting on decorative iron, in front of a decorative table, which has been laid with a small square of white linen.
The breeze rushes through my hair and I slap the tablecloth to keep it from flying away. In the next instant I am snatching my napkin and placing my foot on my purse and the balcony shudders.
The night is so dark, there are no clouds in the sky, each pinpoint of light from the stars shines down clearly. A glow from the restaurant lights up my face, partial shadows pervade, and I wait.
Thirsty I lift up my glass to find that it is full of wriggling creatures, I gasp but drink anyway then ask the waiter for more.
I am above it all, exclusive, privileged to be here, then why does the balcony feel as though it will shudder and fall.
Creaking and swaying, wood rotting away, yet I wait. Then it suddenly becomes clear to me, I am in the wrong place.
Am I really up there in that balcony, why would I be as I walk past I can see that it wouldn't fit a table at all.
I contemplate this as images move past my view, the ocean, stark blue vivid colored fish on the wall. The overhanging shades of the stores on Center St., I ponder these things as I get in my car to drive home.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Dreams
Speak words so softly, the night has not yet passed,
my dream a reality that I have yet to grasp.
I walk among the mountain peaks, the mists and the sun rays through the clouds. I walk and the silence speaks, speaks to my heart, drawing the venom out, and I am left with conclusions.
The internal battle fought and I am aching, yearning for something, for joy and happiness to flow like milk and honey, to be filled from your presence, not drained.
I walk in silence, through the valley of eternal twilight where the crickets chirp all the day long, they search too for something that cannot be found on the grounds parched surface.
I am yours, you growl, desperately you seek to keep me. I cannot be understood with your eyes, for I am a creature of light, a creature of words.
Happiness and true fidelity will only flow from me as the give and take of life is mediated through shared confidences and understanding.
If you want me you must speak sincere words of beauty and life, or else I die, shrivelled up from neglect in a corner of your prized possessions.
I will lay down my downy dreamers head, to hide from you the tears that are caused by the stinging burn of a fire that takes and does not give.
I have stayed and I stay because you are ignorant and innocent, yet fire in love with water cannot be sustained.
My well is going dry
my dream a reality that I have yet to grasp.
I walk among the mountain peaks, the mists and the sun rays through the clouds. I walk and the silence speaks, speaks to my heart, drawing the venom out, and I am left with conclusions.
The internal battle fought and I am aching, yearning for something, for joy and happiness to flow like milk and honey, to be filled from your presence, not drained.
I walk in silence, through the valley of eternal twilight where the crickets chirp all the day long, they search too for something that cannot be found on the grounds parched surface.
I am yours, you growl, desperately you seek to keep me. I cannot be understood with your eyes, for I am a creature of light, a creature of words.
Happiness and true fidelity will only flow from me as the give and take of life is mediated through shared confidences and understanding.
If you want me you must speak sincere words of beauty and life, or else I die, shrivelled up from neglect in a corner of your prized possessions.
I will lay down my downy dreamers head, to hide from you the tears that are caused by the stinging burn of a fire that takes and does not give.
I have stayed and I stay because you are ignorant and innocent, yet fire in love with water cannot be sustained.
My well is going dry
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Dry
Eternity, a vision of you and me the circular symbol of fidelity.
In endless visions I fight, to understand what my dreams mean at night.
What bit of heart belongs to you,
what will I do, will I ever do?
I stand here empty,
words,
empty hands.
A vessel run dry,
no tears to cry.
*That's a lie
In endless visions I fight, to understand what my dreams mean at night.
What bit of heart belongs to you,
what will I do, will I ever do?
I stand here empty,
words,
empty hands.
A vessel run dry,
no tears to cry.
*That's a lie
Monday, July 13, 2009
The Fall of Man
The truth, the moment I held you,
though you tried to hide it.
Sweet perfume, an earring,
clues hiding in your kiss,
the truth on your lips.
Suspicion
Nothing, nothing was so powerful,
as the electricity in your embrace,
negative ions, repulsion.
I knew
The truth, eternally fought for and found.
The truth revealed, can it be hid?
Call forth the wisdom of the gods, call forth the idols, ashamed.
Bow down and worship, for I cannot be found amongst your possessions.
I see you in blurry eyed visions of the night, I see you as you leave
Give my heart back to me, give me back my soul, for this I plead.
I fell
In the dark hour, is the fall of man,
not alone fell he,
over the edge, into the sea
the fall of man, was the fall of me!
though you tried to hide it.
Sweet perfume, an earring,
clues hiding in your kiss,
the truth on your lips.
Suspicion
Nothing, nothing was so powerful,
as the electricity in your embrace,
negative ions, repulsion.
I knew
The truth, eternally fought for and found.
The truth revealed, can it be hid?
Call forth the wisdom of the gods, call forth the idols, ashamed.
Bow down and worship, for I cannot be found amongst your possessions.
I see you in blurry eyed visions of the night, I see you as you leave
Give my heart back to me, give me back my soul, for this I plead.
I fell
In the dark hour, is the fall of man,
not alone fell he,
over the edge, into the sea
the fall of man, was the fall of me!
The Lull Before the Storm
It is the rolling thunder,
it is coming over me.
The waves rise, imperceptibly, they rise, and rise, not a threat or so it seems. It is like looking on in fascination as your hopes and dreams are washed away, washed persistently away.
You hold no more power than the wooden fence cracking along it's beams, the great whirlwind traverses its trail, shattering once sturdy dreams.
The calm before the storm, deceptive silence, eerie light. Stray breezes play with the leaves and somehow you know its not right.
Silence, anticipation, nervous fascination
a storm is coming
I calmly clean the kitchen, aware of the threat, I understand
Yet all I can do is look on in fascination as the waves rise.
I hold no more power than the twisted gnarled tree that met its fate in its battle with the whirlwind.
I am tied to the railroad tracks, the train is moving slowly but I know it is coming.
In a daze, a slow kind of apathy I walk out to meet the storm.
The breezes dance along the ground, carrying leaves and garbage, no animals are in sight.
The winds are increasing I am watching from my front porch as the sky is darkened and the thunder rolls. Branches slap against the house, and pop cans rattle down the street, mother natures angry defiance against the scars upon her face.
Awake, finally, awake I rush about closing the windows new energy ensues.
Would that I could rush like this during the lull.
Have you ever stared into the future and known what was coming, yet stood, powerless to prevent it?
it is coming over me.
The waves rise, imperceptibly, they rise, and rise, not a threat or so it seems. It is like looking on in fascination as your hopes and dreams are washed away, washed persistently away.
You hold no more power than the wooden fence cracking along it's beams, the great whirlwind traverses its trail, shattering once sturdy dreams.
The calm before the storm, deceptive silence, eerie light. Stray breezes play with the leaves and somehow you know its not right.
Silence, anticipation, nervous fascination
a storm is coming
I calmly clean the kitchen, aware of the threat, I understand
Yet all I can do is look on in fascination as the waves rise.
I hold no more power than the twisted gnarled tree that met its fate in its battle with the whirlwind.
I am tied to the railroad tracks, the train is moving slowly but I know it is coming.
In a daze, a slow kind of apathy I walk out to meet the storm.
The breezes dance along the ground, carrying leaves and garbage, no animals are in sight.
The winds are increasing I am watching from my front porch as the sky is darkened and the thunder rolls. Branches slap against the house, and pop cans rattle down the street, mother natures angry defiance against the scars upon her face.
Awake, finally, awake I rush about closing the windows new energy ensues.
Would that I could rush like this during the lull.
Have you ever stared into the future and known what was coming, yet stood, powerless to prevent it?
Friday, July 10, 2009
Lost Childhood
Once precious child, once newly minted life. Fresh ideals and outlook. How bright things seem as you dance among your dreams, precious flowers and buttons, fascination at life.
How delight can change to dismay, as those around you don't seem to understand. How wearing, how draining, as life is sucked away as the dismal clouds of gloom surround to smother your dreams.
Odd, I find that I am an impassionate observer of tinsel and ribbons, laughter and singing, odd that it is so.
Under the surface lingers a memory, a memory of magic, a memory of life. Longing ever present longing to gather jewels again.
I have folded my dreams, and put them in my pocket. I did it on purpose, a young girl trying to grow up and I have. My dolls sit silent in a closet, away from the stares of ignorance at the magic they once held.
Fairies and phantoms, Santa Claus, shivers of fear in the dark. I would trade this cynicism for another chance, I would give away all my grown up idiocy in an instant.
Yet I am always running, trying to catch the train I have missed. I fall to my knees in a prayer, exhausted, I try to conjure my innocent belief. Remember how it once felt to believe.
How delight can change to dismay, as those around you don't seem to understand. How wearing, how draining, as life is sucked away as the dismal clouds of gloom surround to smother your dreams.
Odd, I find that I am an impassionate observer of tinsel and ribbons, laughter and singing, odd that it is so.
Under the surface lingers a memory, a memory of magic, a memory of life. Longing ever present longing to gather jewels again.
I have folded my dreams, and put them in my pocket. I did it on purpose, a young girl trying to grow up and I have. My dolls sit silent in a closet, away from the stares of ignorance at the magic they once held.
Fairies and phantoms, Santa Claus, shivers of fear in the dark. I would trade this cynicism for another chance, I would give away all my grown up idiocy in an instant.
Yet I am always running, trying to catch the train I have missed. I fall to my knees in a prayer, exhausted, I try to conjure my innocent belief. Remember how it once felt to believe.
Your Eyes
(I wanted to share this piece again, a story of life)
The first awe filled look out of newborn eyes, blinking, staring in wonder into my own. Trusting wide eyes that close in gratitude as a little body is wrapped and held close, sheltered and warm.
Baby’s sweet breath on my chest, even, deep, soft slumber. Labor is over, or, is it just beginning? Your eyes filled with those first sanguine moments, the calm before the storm.
The anguish of adjustment, I pace with you, back and forth. During a breathless pause I see in your eyes, the innocence, the discomfort, pleading with me to understand.
You would sleep if you could. So I close my own eyes, swallow tears of frustration and continue to carry you. Patting your back until I feel like my arms will fall off from fatigue.
So it goes until a certain moment, when a new light appears in your eyes, each day subtle changes come. Eyes filled with the wonder of discovering new things. With amazement as you learn to walk, unsteady so I hold your hand. Occasionally you let go then grasp for my fingers, to steady your step.
Each day your eyes are changing, brightening at the funny bird hopping along, laughing as you dump water on my head, or the whole box of sunflower seeds, which I try to grasp, but the seeds slip from my fingers cascading down as your peals of laughter fill my ears.
As you grow, I try to catch the moments, those sudden unexpected turnings from one stage of life to another. At times as you sleep I slip into your room, gathering you up for a moment, breathing in the essence of your spirit. Because I know that when you awaken you will be different, a little bit older, and a new you will emerge.
Each day comes in like the tide and retreats just as swiftly. At moments we suddenly notice this and rush after the water trying to catch a bit of what was once there. But days like the tide don’t tend to stick around and with each retreating tide a change is so suddenly made.
Thus it is that I find myself staring into the eyes of a teenager. Where did my little friend go? Your eyes are guarded, guarded against the pricks of the world, begging for acceptance.
Sometimes I see you, the real you, hiding behind those eyes of yours. Those are sacred moments, jewels I like to treasure because at the first your little soul was a diamond, now sullied and roughed up by the careless acts of harsh eyes.
If I could I would polish it again to revel in the joy of your laughter. Laughter which too often now is shared with others, others who are your friends, I am not there to see your eyes shine.
I take all of this into account as I continue to care for you, looking after your needs until one day, your eyes stare into mine with understanding again. That accusing teenage look has finally slipped away. Though I have still lost you, to the alluring call of the world.
You go out on your own and are so often gone. Then suddenly you are here again, your eyes filled with the exciting joy of love, and I share in your joy, glad to see the old spark again.
Just as suddenly, I find that your eyes hold the remnants of a shattered soul, and I watch as you try to put the pieces back together again.
More guarded now your eyes meet many more people who fill them with happiness. You find one pair that shares your sacred soul connection and you marry, bringing new little eyes into my life.
I revel in their innocence, finding that I can savor their spicy little spirits, more so because I am not the one patting and carrying their little backs throughout the night.
My eyes now are often filled with the touch of a friend, looking into other eyes, seeking to bless other souls. Things are turning again, again I see less and less of your eyes.
Until one day, my expectations about life begin to change. Where I once held you strong against my breast, I find that my arms ache. Not from the constant care bestowed on another, but from the strain of living.
I look out of eyes, grown wiser with age, but weaker as well. I wonder over the rising and setting of the sun, the stars as they rotate through the sky and I look into your eyes again.
Searching for the understanding that was between us at the first. You hold me close to your chest, and hold my hand to steady me as I try to walk. To me, I feel safe and secure, wrapped in a blanket, sheltered and warm.
The first awe filled look out of newborn eyes, blinking, staring in wonder into my own. Trusting wide eyes that close in gratitude as a little body is wrapped and held close, sheltered and warm.
Baby’s sweet breath on my chest, even, deep, soft slumber. Labor is over, or, is it just beginning? Your eyes filled with those first sanguine moments, the calm before the storm.
The anguish of adjustment, I pace with you, back and forth. During a breathless pause I see in your eyes, the innocence, the discomfort, pleading with me to understand.
You would sleep if you could. So I close my own eyes, swallow tears of frustration and continue to carry you. Patting your back until I feel like my arms will fall off from fatigue.
So it goes until a certain moment, when a new light appears in your eyes, each day subtle changes come. Eyes filled with the wonder of discovering new things. With amazement as you learn to walk, unsteady so I hold your hand. Occasionally you let go then grasp for my fingers, to steady your step.
Each day your eyes are changing, brightening at the funny bird hopping along, laughing as you dump water on my head, or the whole box of sunflower seeds, which I try to grasp, but the seeds slip from my fingers cascading down as your peals of laughter fill my ears.
As you grow, I try to catch the moments, those sudden unexpected turnings from one stage of life to another. At times as you sleep I slip into your room, gathering you up for a moment, breathing in the essence of your spirit. Because I know that when you awaken you will be different, a little bit older, and a new you will emerge.
Each day comes in like the tide and retreats just as swiftly. At moments we suddenly notice this and rush after the water trying to catch a bit of what was once there. But days like the tide don’t tend to stick around and with each retreating tide a change is so suddenly made.
Thus it is that I find myself staring into the eyes of a teenager. Where did my little friend go? Your eyes are guarded, guarded against the pricks of the world, begging for acceptance.
Sometimes I see you, the real you, hiding behind those eyes of yours. Those are sacred moments, jewels I like to treasure because at the first your little soul was a diamond, now sullied and roughed up by the careless acts of harsh eyes.
If I could I would polish it again to revel in the joy of your laughter. Laughter which too often now is shared with others, others who are your friends, I am not there to see your eyes shine.
I take all of this into account as I continue to care for you, looking after your needs until one day, your eyes stare into mine with understanding again. That accusing teenage look has finally slipped away. Though I have still lost you, to the alluring call of the world.
You go out on your own and are so often gone. Then suddenly you are here again, your eyes filled with the exciting joy of love, and I share in your joy, glad to see the old spark again.
Just as suddenly, I find that your eyes hold the remnants of a shattered soul, and I watch as you try to put the pieces back together again.
More guarded now your eyes meet many more people who fill them with happiness. You find one pair that shares your sacred soul connection and you marry, bringing new little eyes into my life.
I revel in their innocence, finding that I can savor their spicy little spirits, more so because I am not the one patting and carrying their little backs throughout the night.
My eyes now are often filled with the touch of a friend, looking into other eyes, seeking to bless other souls. Things are turning again, again I see less and less of your eyes.
Until one day, my expectations about life begin to change. Where I once held you strong against my breast, I find that my arms ache. Not from the constant care bestowed on another, but from the strain of living.
I look out of eyes, grown wiser with age, but weaker as well. I wonder over the rising and setting of the sun, the stars as they rotate through the sky and I look into your eyes again.
Searching for the understanding that was between us at the first. You hold me close to your chest, and hold my hand to steady me as I try to walk. To me, I feel safe and secure, wrapped in a blanket, sheltered and warm.
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