Deep Deeper
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.
The Vows
"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.
Culture Shock
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?”
Hold fast to dreams
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.
A place called home
In the heart of the countryside, where nature's beauty thrives,
Lies a place of peace and wonder, where the soul forever thrives.
The rolling hills stretch far and wide, beneath the endless sky,
And in this tranquil paradise, the cares of life pass by.
The sun rises over fields of gold, painting the world with light,
As birdsong fills the morning air, a symphony so bright.
The rustling leaves, the babbling brook, the fragrance of the earth,
All weave a tapestry of life, celebrating nature's birth.
In the countryside, time moves slow, in harmony with the land,
Where seasons change and cycles turn, guided by nature's hand.
The farmer toils in fields of green, sowing seeds with care,
And reaps the harvest's bounteous yield, a gift beyond compare.
The simple joys of country life, amid the forests and the streams,
Are found in laughter shared with friends, and in the beauty of dreams.
Children run through meadows wide, with freedom in their hearts,
Discovering the wonders of the world, where every moment starts.
The scent of wildflowers in the breeze, the taste of fresh-picked fruit,
The sight of deer at eventide, a tranquil, rustic pursuit.
The crackling fire, the starlit night, the silence deep and clear,
The countryside bestows its gifts, to all who draw near.
Amidst the trees, a cottage stands, a sanctuary so serene,
Where love and warmth embrace the soul, in a world that's pure and clean.
The crack of dawn, the twilight's hush, the moonlight's gentle gleam,
All blend together in perfect peace, like a never-ending dream.
So let me live in the countryside, where life is pure and true,
Where nature's beauty knows no bounds, and skies are ever blue.
For in the heart of the countryside, where the soul is free to roam,
I find a place of endless grace, a place that I call home.
Empty House Near Empty Sea
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.
do it.
"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.
Bronze aged
...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
many new things
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