March 16, 2005
My Clock
My clock ticks ever so slow. But ever on. Ever mocking, yet rejoicing. Holding dear every second, but waiting for the day. I yearn to speed it on, but wouldn't want to lose the time. An evil paradox that I praise. It quenches the pain and stings the kiss.
March 26, 2004
Run With Me
The clip-clop of my feet upon the ground echo the rhythm of my heart.
Relaxed, my eyelids sag then spring back.
My eyes long to shut and run without sight,
Advancing in mind and body in the dark world of my own thoughts,
Seeing much more than the physical world,
Hearing much more than the music in my ears,
but sight hampers the sighted in this case.
Notions and ponderings take shape and often die a fruitless death.
But each becomes father and mother to young notions to be pondered and ponderings to be notioned.
A hundred failed conceptions gives birth to a thousand more.
Some are the kind only a mother would love.
Bastards locked away in dark pits, too ugly to emerge into the light.
Still, a mother loves these fatherless vagaries and coddles and babies them to clarity and maturity.
Physical miles are easy compared to the miles ran through my head.
I finish with a rejuvenated body and clearer mind.
March 25, 2004
In Your Absence
As I sit and feel the timeless beat within my being
Grow and slow with the ebb of my soul,
My mind is swept away to whatever place you are. For my heart is there too.
My mind's-eye alone brings your warmth and depth and breadth to my touch.
For though I will need you all my life, I know it may not be so to have you.
A time shall come in the evening of our life when I travel back to the morning when I can't.
I will sit in silence and long to feel your presence.
Smell the sweetness of your skin.
Hear and feel your love beating next to mine as I hold you.
Dream of yesterday when your touch was a reality and yet a dream.
For your love rises in the sun and sets in your eyes.
Perfection is defined by your heart then rewritten with your touch.
Beauty begins in your lips and ends in your words.
Life lives in you and dies with you.
March 23, 2004
Letter From Norman
As the moon lingers a moment over the bitteroots, before its descent into the invisible, my mind is filled with song. I find I am humming, softly, not to the music but something else. A place remembered — somewhere else. A field of grass where no one seemed to have been, except the deer. And the memory is strengthened by the feeling of you dancing in my awkward arms.
by Norman Maclean
December 19, 2003
The End of An Anchor
I was away for a while But I'm hoping someday you'll forgive me Though I don't deserve it I'll cherish it well if you give me one of your new starts
Just one more last chance
I swear that I'll earn it
If you front me for now
I'm good for it I swear
I'm better now I swear
In earlier days, they'd persecute people
They'd carry them off, and hobble their legs
For lesser offenses, and how I have harmed you
And still you allow me to walk free of pain
Though I punish myself
I will never settle
The debts I've incured for scorning the face
Of absolute beauty, and measureless grace
And though I once mocked you
I'm dying to pay for it now
I'm dying to pay for it now
So hand me the rocks to help weigh me down
And tether my legs with a cord tightly bound
To the end of an anchor thrown into the sound
And test me to see if I will rise against the worst that it can get
I wasn't well for a while
I savored the things that I knew were sure to destroy me
And that seemed to hold me
That seemed to carry me where I couldn't go
On the strength of my own
Well, I should've known
That gets me nowhere
I've learned that now I swear
In earlier days, they'd persecute people
They'd carry them off, and hobble their legs
For lesser offenses, and how I have harmed you
And still you allow me to walk free of pain
Though I punish myself
I will never settle
The debts I've incured for scorning the face
Of absolute beauty, and measureless grace
And though I once mocked you
I'm dying to pay for it now
I'm dying to pay for it now, now, now
So hand me the rocks to help weigh me down
And tether my legs with a cord tightly bound
To then end of an anchor thrown into the sound
And test me to see if I will rise against the worst that it can get
Well, I wasn't sure that I could
Well, I wasn't sure that I could
Well, I wasn't sure that I could
But, I can
By Chris Carrabba
December 09, 2003
Post-Tears and Rain
By the way, for everyone else out there, the last post was inspired by deb of smitten.
She posted a drunken poem, that was much better than mine, and asked that her readers post their drunken poems.
This was mine from a couple of months back and never ended up getting posted. Even when "under the influence" I do realize that you, faithful reader, are attempting to read and enjoy my daily musings.
But, alas, it has finally seen the light of day.
Sorry. Poetry (if you can call it that) shouldn't hurt.
P.S. Thanks to commenting on her site, my readership jumped from the 80-100 average daily hit mark to about 130 yesterday. I guess I'll have to comment there more often.
December 08, 2003
Tears and Rain Mix
If you could see my tears I'd run.
I'm not watching you to stalk you
I'm saying goodbye.
If not for this night
you would know I was here.
If not for this rain
you might see me cry.
I love the rain.
For it hides my pain.
Its so cold out tonight.
I'm shivering.
In trying to stop,
it gets worse.
I think it may be my crying
thats causing it.
I hate the cold.
I'm bitter and alone.
October 24, 2003
What Was I Thinking?
Or was I?
Was it your sparkling personality?
Your engaging conversation?
Your non-existent sense of humor?
Your resilient dedication to mock my failures?
Your unparalleled self-righteous attitude?
I know it wasn't your beauty.
It could have been your smile . . .
or your eyes.
I know it was your ideals.
Or at least one of them.
The rest of them scratched at me like the obscene scream of my neighbors' wife which keeps me awake on an endlessly humid summer night.
Sorry.
I'm not bitter.
Just thinking.
October 10, 2003
And Death Shall Have No Dominion
And death shall have no dominion. Dead men naked they shall be one With the man in the wind and the west moon; When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone, They shall have stars at elbow and foot; Though they go mad they shall be sane, Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again; Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.
By Dylan Thomas