Archive for the ‘Prosetry’ Category

Remembering the Snow

Tuesday, January 1st, 2002

The night was so bright.
The sky was so black that it made the snow shine brighter than day.
Each steamy exhale was the only thing stopping the eyes from freezing.
Every breath of icy clarity was a charge in the soul, a spark in the heart.
We walked down the street of the residential neighborhood.
The occasional streetlight cast the outline of shadows on the snow.
The streets were plowed, but we still walked with an air of caution.
Was it the street that made us cautious?
We escaped the reach of the streetlight and the dark was still so bright.
I turned to face the center of the street and spread my arms.
I was flying.
Gently, I landed on my back in a tall snowdrift on the side of the street.
The crystalline dust landed on my face and melted to diamond droplet stars on my lashes.
You tossed your arms back and landed next to me.
The dust settled and we lay there, stayed where it was bright in the night.
As I lay, I scooped a handful of snow and dropped in your glove that was near mine.
I heard the snow move as you smiled.
(falling 3b)

Remembering the Fire

Saturday, December 1st, 2001

The scent and smoke of burning wood was carried on the chilling wind.
It filled my lungs with fire and fervor, and I couldn’t stop dancing inside.
I spun in every direction; light and darkness whirled about me.
For some reason, you watched.
The din of cheerful voices about, food and music and camaraderie.
But you stood silent and alone, watching me
as I turned to smoke and was swept up into the cold breeze,
tossed about like the brittle leaves dancing with the cinders.
I do not recall if words were spoken or what music was played.
All that I remember from that point on was that you stopped watching and jumped into the flames.
(falling 3a)

Remembering the Sky

Thursday, November 1st, 2001

Conditions: optimal for aviation
We slip into our black military issue wings
in preparation for an evening of flight.
Our weighty boots seem light tonight.
But nothing can drown out the deafening silence.
I put my hand in my pockets.
Adjust flaps
We roll down the pavement, making our approach.
My hair whips about my face.
Adjust vector to account for wind speed and velocity
We round the corner.
I break into a run.
Once I reach speed, I pull up.
He follows close behind.
Two vessels in flight, together but forever apart.
I pick up speed until the wind begins to scream around me.
Or maybe it’s me who is screaming.
But when I reach mach one, I can hear nothing else.
The extreme acceleration constricts my body and I like it.
Eternity passes and I’m in the sky.
We’ll meet up on the ground again,
(falling 1)


Monday, October 1st, 2001

I’m Falling again. Falling. I don’t know why it happens. The Autumn comes and I feel it. It gets inside me and things change. I can’t explain as succinctly as I’d like. Unreal? Surreal? No, I think it may be extra real.
The Falling is intensity. Intensity of the senses. Intensity of emotions. Intensity of certain energies. It is the time that you are drawn to the earth. You lose control and yet you take control. I will attempt to elaborate and in the second person so may understand how I feel.
Senses are Falling.
Sight is disorienting. One day, the greyness makes all other colours exceptionally brilliant. The next, the greyness drains the life from you. It is difficult to know when to look and when to see. Sometimes opening your eyes makes everything unbearable. And that is why you have other senses.
Hear the Falling. It is more difficult to hear the falling than other times. It is the most quiet. Most beings fear the Falling. People and animals go indoors and birds leave. Emerge and listen. You can hear feelings on the wind. Whispers of the past, whispers of life and of death, whispers of the forgotten that still exist beyond sight. Because of this enhanced state, emanation and absorption of music and the emotions carried therein is most potent.
Scent enraptures. It penetrates thoroughly and energizes. The scent of decaying earth and chill is intoxicating. It makes you cry with the severity of every breath.
Taste the wind. Dry, damp, wet. The sky is full of flavours, a cold earthy delicacy. Learn through taste. Discover through taste. The air, the earth, the wrist, the neck, the naval.
Touch the earth. Brittle leaves and dusty soil. Swim in the cool grass (it’s the only time I’m not allergic to it). Touch the air. Spread your arms and embrace the wind; it’s compulsory. Your muscles ache with longing for touch. Envelope in your arms, chest to chest, hearts in exquisite unison. Feel with your entire self. Feel with arms and legs, stomach and back. Brush softly with your face; and smell and taste and listen and experience. Senses are Falling. Ultimate sensuousness.

Nine Nein 9

Thursday, March 3rd, 1994

In awe, I observe the pandemonium,
taken aback by blurring bustle.
Unable to merge into the flow,
I am thrust into the gutter,
sprawling in the gravel,
choking upon the dust.
Eyes are stinging,
nose is swelled with debris,
lungs lurching in pain at every inhalation.
So I stand up and brush off my bruised pride,
extend my thumb
and try to hitch a ride to acceptance and tolerance.
But the norm drives by,
and I, by the wayside, watch and wait,
until my mind, muddled with inquiries
tells me plainly:
Find a road that is your own,
blaze a trail to your destiny
reap the overgrown grass that entangles your dreams,
ford the seas that flood your hope.
And so I proceed on my new-found path,
the golden embers of hope stoked as I travel.
The nomadic life has made me the wiser,
and a smile crosses my lips as I reminisce on how naive I was.
And so I proceed on my own path,
the infant of happiness nursed by my mother voyage.

I Dream

Tuesday, February 1st, 1994

Oh, how I fear the sounds of closing minds and wagging fingers of disapproval.
Yet, still, I am driven to be my own, one of dreams and hopes and loves and thoughts,
disregarding any resulting upheaval.
How I long to shout, to dance, to run, to jump, to cry.
Every tear of salty pain is a dream not fulfilled, a thought disregarded, a love lost, and hope left to die.
I want to flee to forever and back, to ride the wind, and taste the rain and breathe the deepest, fullest breath of adventure, and play.
I hope to hear the sounds when doors of minds are opened and nodding heads respond to what we say.
I beg to drink from the pool of love, to lap at its quenching juice; Oh, it would be paradise.
And, still I sit, all numb and sedate, with hidden hopes and muted dreams of forever and back;
and people say: Oh, she is so quiet and nice.
And inside, I shed a salty tear;
when those very words I hear;
and I try to offer myself this advice:
Soulless statues are quiet and nice.

Animal Wrongs

Saturday, January 1st, 1994

Painted smiles and canned laughter
just a happy shell
cherry cordial to the last
the last straw
the straw that broke the camel’s back
The camel’s pain is what I feel
I am lost in my turtle shell
Moving slowly, growing older
but what about wiser?
Mr. Owl, how many licks does it take to get to the center of my soul?
Just a scaredy cat
Blind as a bat
I’ve been fished in
Just spread eagle
Over your pelican briefs
So I bury my head in the sand
Bear in mind, cub in hand
And I see their crocodile tears
Take flight and avoid the dog fight
It’s just spit in the wind, boys
Drive your cattle around town
I want to go society tipping
Moo, everyone, I’ll have your hide