Go deep, deeper

As deep as you’ve ever imagined.

The rawness from you bursting forth

a ripe open mangosteen

purple juice staining your lips,

darkening your tongue

Truth lies there.

Lies too, but lies dose

not stay for long.

Truth has the wherewithal

to come out and play

Sometimes it’s so painful

you can’ t go on.

It’s Bach at its finest-

quick, brilliant, uninterrupted

The piano playing like it’s in love

And after a long time

the pain is excellent

At least you think it is

You’re in love and may have lost him

Why am I howling into the wind?

It carries me Over the sea

and dumps me at Dead Man’s Cove.

Under the tamarind trees

where I meet a man in a speedo

And Bathing cap. I am guessing he hardly has any hair

I don’t care

I keep swimming out there.

In the bluest sea, I have ever seen

I look down at the clear water

and see The sand

This is where I find my ring. Unbelievable. My wedding ring.

We thought the monkeys had taken off with the loot and vanished far way.

We celebrate say our vows rooted to the spot. Walk soaking wet,

as husband and wife

to the beach

Sit on the deck chairs

and drink gin and tonics.

She pulled the heirloom

from her throat

anger, stuck her thumb:

that's never happened before

a sharp object, old, odd, circular

upon the crusted snow

a single bead .

nothing more

02.10.2024

Blood bounces off snow challenge @AJAY9979

"I want to hear you say it again!"

"I wanted a friend. I wanted a friend . . ."

"I wanted a friend for life. A rainy day friend. A friend who walks in when all others walk out. You only have a single hour remaining to have all of this memorized."

"Couldn't I just shorten it? She would know, but the rest of the congregation wouldn't. Besides, everyone knows Sara is much smarter than me. They will forgive me."

"You're right. The congregation, the guests, the families, even Sara will (eventually) forgive, but none will ever forget. You and Sara went over these vows for the better part of four months now. She has them memorized. You should too."

I had my doubts about Jack. He wants to marry Sara and Sara has always wanted to marry Jack, but, I think the closer these two get to the wedding, the more questionable the wedding will actually become. First it was Jack's last two ex's and their last ditch efforts. Lisa wanted Jack for herself. Linda didn't want Jack with Sara.

Then, I had my doubts about Jack. Sara and I have been friends for years so she asked me to help Jack straighten-up and fly right. I took it upon myself to learn Jack's vows and make him learn them also. I wasn't here as the best man to accept failure. However, I wasn't going to babysit Jack forever.

Eight more attempts to browbeat a man who shouldn't require browbeating.

I gave up when he asked for a "line", interrupted my recitation of the vows, and answered his cell phone. I knew it was Lisa. If it was the last minute, it was always Lisa.

The guests heard that song. Then they listened to that question. If Jack was going to cut and run, it was now.

He did think about it though. Maybe twenty seconds is nothing for some people, but for an anxious bride and 120 guests, twenty seconds is an eternity.

Then came the vows. Sara went first leaving not a dry eye in the house. I read what she wrote and lip-synced it as she spoke. No one who feels this much deserves this little. Perhaps Jack had been playing me for the fool. Perhaps he had his vows at the ready.

Perhaps pigs fly.

Either way, Jack, offering the last of his stale boyish charm couldn't make it past the fourth word. He whispered to me for help. I gave him exactly what he wanted. Although, what I offered, was not in the hushed tones he anticipated.

“Sara. I wanted a friend for life. A rainy day friend. A friend who walks in when all others walk out. You are that friend. You offer me your hopes and dreams and desires for the life you want me to both receive and protect. Only a friend extends this proposition. Only a husband accepts it. I promise to be the man you want, the partner who will grow with you. I vow to be the faithful husband who will love, honor, and cherish you, forsaking all others, on this journey, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

The Minister waited until the commotion ceased before speaking.

Not to the guests. Speaking only to Sara.

"I can change the name on the marriage license during the kissing of the bride."

The term, "Best Man" has an origin associated with the friend of the groom during a time when the groom needed help stealing a young woman away from her family to be his wife.

Today, it is now a contest of sincerity.

I had too much rice in my hair to think about that today.

I’m 6 years old. The oval-shaped river rock in my bed has long gone cold. I get out of bed and heave the rock back on top of the wood stove where it can reheat for my next bedtime.

It’s Saturday and I’m excited to go outdoors, despite the bitter cold. Today, my brothers are taking me sledding— one of my very favorite things to do in the winter.

We dress in many layers of shoddy clothing and we use several pairs of socks for gloves. Our “sleds” are any form of smooth plastic we can scavenge, but in a pinch, we use black trash bags.

As we head out the door, my older brother looks embarrassed and sad. We are sure to be teased, like always. Poor mountain kids and their lack of proper outdoor gear and “real” sleds are easy targets. At best, we are ignored and avoided, as if our poverty is somehow contagious.

We trudge on toward the sledding hill, determined to eke out every bit of joy from this day, no matter what—

A man clears his throat.

An uneasy laugh escapes a woman.

I look around the table, trying to remember what was said and by whom.

Eyes of blue and green implore me. Nicely styled hair and perfectly straightened teeth are all around. Their clothes appear boring at first glance, but actually scream old money to those who know.

My hand nervously reaches for my water glass. It brushes against my place setting: plates chilled and heated(!). I take a sip and realize the 6-year-old girl within will never cease to be impressed with tiny details such as these.

My fiancé gently squeezes my hand under the table as his family member politely repeats his question, “Do you ski? Or perhaps enjoy other winter activities?”

My title is from a poem by the poet, Langston Hughes, entitled, Dreams.

Hold fast to dreams 

for if dreams die

life is a broken-winged bird

that cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

for when dreams go

life is a barren field

frozen with snow.

It is among my favorite poems, one of the few I know by heart, because I feel its universal truth. Dreams don't have to be grandiose, merely something that gives us purpose, a reason to get up in the morning. Otherwise, why bother?

Published in 1923, I suspect Dr. King had read it and was a firm believer in its message for he was beyond a doubt a purveyor of dreams, dreams much bigger than an individual life.

If you have never done so, or even if you have, I would encourage a reading of the entire speech - or listening to it. The "I have a dream" passage is towards the end and while moving, it is only a small part of what he said that day in 1963. So much has changed since then, and yet many of the images he paints of the country he loved are still in evidence today. The history he describes is no less true. His counsel, "Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred" should be held aloft and remembered as much as, "I have a dream."

Despite their fame, the words he said that day are not the first ones that come to my mind when someone asks me my favorite Martin Luther King,Jr. quote. In November, 1957, in a sermon he gave in Alabama, he said,

Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

My second favorite is from a sermon he gave in November, 1956: "Let no man pull you low enough to hate him." This comes from a longer paragraph that I had not read before I began to write this essay, but which I find to be perfect insofar as it reflects both history and our present as well as portending the future. A rather bleak one, sadly. He said:

As you press on for justice, be sure to move with dignity and discipline, using only the weapon of love. Let no man pull you so low as to hate him. Always avoid violence. If you succumb to the temptation of using violence in your struggle, unborn generations will be the recipients of a long and desolate night of bitterness, and your chief legacy to the future will be an endless reign of meaningless chaos.

The tentacles of chaos are visible across the world for humans seem incapable of conspicuous acts of kindness as a route to peace.

Even so, I hold fast to dreams, and make every effort to be love and light to all whose paths I cross. I may not change the world, but I can emulate the change I want to see.

There sits a house

Framed by the sea

Where scarlet rash

Bleeds in the leaves.

And people eye

The stirring storm

For at lands end

They spy the form.

Of milky froth

And craggy clutch

Saltwater chains

And blue hued touch.

The mermaids wail

Where angels tread

Around a house

Grown pale and dead.

It lingers on

Bespoke to dream

A charming suit

Of sand and seam.

A porter drunk

Up by the sea

A garter cut

In lustful greed.

A sunny face

Ring rimmed with rain

Her jeweled smile

Has gone away.

Lament the wares

Empty return

For those who’ve left

To watch it burn.

The wind lashed house

Falls down alone

And reaper’s steal

Her storied bones.

"its pleasant to see you." he said as he stood there in the middle of the street. the fire all around him made me want to turn and run. this city was destroyed. i looked around and swallowed my fear. "long time no see.." i answered and he took a step forward. i followed his steps and i through my weapons to the side. "come on. fight me like a man.." he smirked and through his to the side. "fight me like a woman." he said with a teeth of pearly whites. we stood toe to toe and i breathed and looked into his piercing eyes. he grabbed my arm and spun me to throw me to the ground but within that quick instant i twisted his arm and flipped him over my body and put my knee over his neck. "remind you of anything?" i said and he took a hidden knife from his boot and stabbed it into my thigh. i screamed and fell off of him and held my thigh. "still got thick thighs, huh?" he said and got on top of me with the same blade and held it to my throat. i looked up at him, "do it" i said. he pulled it over his head and i closed my eyes to let him do it. "im sorry" he whispered and his arms flew to my chest with the blade white knuckled in his fists. i grabbed his wrists and spun him over me and stabbed him in the neck. "no...im sorry" he smiled and his eyes slowly closed with the blood dripping from his lips...the lips i used to kiss and smile with.

...or chromatic gray

is the colour of all sound

noise like payload in background

collateral jungled blue green blent in

wrangled red blood orange blossom

the crunching of sand blushed and

bruised through navy purple lens

refined into the transparent

silence of the gong...

But I have misinterpreted... lit up

taking it all in as a single piercing

in the ear not piece by piece

hammering yellow beaked

the turquoise of familiar voice

the tan staccato of coughing

the distant alloys of pink gray

machinery churning

multitonal snow

into white noise

of the gone...

into deepest contemplation

01.12.2024

The Sound of Colour or the Color of Sound challenge @AJAY9979

what ails you, little bird

blue lips and toes

cold insides bundled up

were you ever alright?

but blue birds can’t talk

at least not in the same way

we do

a stainless shirt, unmarked

path that leads to?

ask and fly away

the wind only seldom replies

winds also can’t talk

but they carry sounds

songs anew

It all started on one sunny day. It was mid June. It was a swelting hot day, and everyone was heading for the pools. It was nothing but a normal day for James. He was working hard at the white house trying to get the president a coffee. He was the errand boy, his whole job was basically running around getting food or drinks, sometimes running the president's suits to get dry cleaned. Today however he was to get a french vanilla coffee from the President's favorite cafe, that was on the other side of town. James didn't care for his job much. Anyone who knew him would always talk about how much he complained. His job wasn't really hard, it was just boring. The pay wasn't great either. He only got a little more than minimal wage. Not only that but he had to sit and wait for hours on end. A never ending wait as he called it. But that day he was tired of waiting. So, when the first drink was slide unto the counter with the name James he took it. He knew he hadn't ordered yet, but a part of him couldn't wait. To make things worst no one stopped him. Once, he drove back the president was too busy to even notice that it wasn't a french vanilla coffee. Instead he only commented that it was cold. A few mintue later and James started is waiting. Waiting for the president to get done with his speech. After only being there for a few mintue a loud noise startled everyone. James got up and looked around. Then he saw people start to rush out of the theater. Once the crowd had moved he got a chance to ask one of the guards what happened.

"The president collapsed on stage. We're bringing to the hospital now. Why don't you head home early?" The guard said. James wasn't sure why but he felt as though it was his fault. Deep down he felt he did something wrong. He ignored it though and left for home.

The next day he got the call, the president had died. "What?! How?!" he said as he held the phone close to his ear.

"Poison we think. We're waiting for the blood results to come back. Your his errand boy, what did he have you bring him?"

"Well, for breakfast he had his normal coffee and that was all he had. As far as I know of course."

James waited all day to learn what had happened. Once he did, it wasn't the way he wanted. He got a knock on his door and opened it to the police. There to arrest him. What the had found was poison in his system, and as for where they found it. The coffee cup that James had given to him. James was taken away for murder. Even though he didn't kill the president. It was a case of wrong time wrong place.