Do you ever feel as if you’re drifting,
That your universe is vast and shifting?
Perhaps I shouldn’t mind the rifting
I know I could embrace the sifting
If the waves would only stop their lifting
And set me down in pleasant shrifting.*
*From shriven: to impose penance
.
Friday, October 08, 2010
Friday, October 01, 2010
The Blip
Human beings are a blip in the history
Of a planet that’s a blip in the universe.
In the infinite we’d find realities
Of little purpose or concern to us.
A star may die too early or too soon;
Saturn’s rings perhaps are less magnificent.
Asteroids colliding, wreaking havoc in Andromeda
Appear to us mere specks inside the Milky Way.
Yet, as we divide ourselves from vast statistics
We find both hope and endless possibilities.
Beyond the density of neutron stars –
The crushing weight a black hole
Lies solace buried in baryonic dark matter;
A treasure that may orbit here someday.
.
Of a planet that’s a blip in the universe.
In the infinite we’d find realities
Of little purpose or concern to us.
A star may die too early or too soon;
Saturn’s rings perhaps are less magnificent.
Asteroids colliding, wreaking havoc in Andromeda
Appear to us mere specks inside the Milky Way.
Yet, as we divide ourselves from vast statistics
We find both hope and endless possibilities.
Beyond the density of neutron stars –
The crushing weight a black hole
Lies solace buried in baryonic dark matter;
A treasure that may orbit here someday.
.
2010
I want things to be simple
Why can’t they be simple?
I don’t want to doubt my faith
In people or in God.
I don’t want to think
There’s nothing left.
But how can I have hope
When economies are failing,
Bombs are blasting convoys,
Religions grow more militant and
Money’s used for senseless killing
As people everywhere are starving
From pestilence, disease and famine?
.
Why can’t they be simple?
I don’t want to doubt my faith
In people or in God.
I don’t want to think
There’s nothing left.
But how can I have hope
When economies are failing,
Bombs are blasting convoys,
Religions grow more militant and
Money’s used for senseless killing
As people everywhere are starving
From pestilence, disease and famine?
.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Kablam
Hello Bloggers,
It turns out I am starting my own writing club in Marion and you're all cordially invited. This writing group will feature discussions and workshops, and possibly some retreats. It will also be open to all ages. Are you in high school? Then you're eligible. Are you in college? Then you're eligible. Are you a senior? Then you're eligible. Are you a hobo or convicted felon? Why, even you're eligible! So, whether you write short stories, poetry, plays, songs or any other brands of writing come and join the fun at KABLAM- Kreativ Artists Blending Language and Magic!
The meeting times and locations will be entirely up to members, so shoot off some ideas.
It turns out I am starting my own writing club in Marion and you're all cordially invited. This writing group will feature discussions and workshops, and possibly some retreats. It will also be open to all ages. Are you in high school? Then you're eligible. Are you in college? Then you're eligible. Are you a senior? Then you're eligible. Are you a hobo or convicted felon? Why, even you're eligible! So, whether you write short stories, poetry, plays, songs or any other brands of writing come and join the fun at KABLAM- Kreativ Artists Blending Language and Magic!
The meeting times and locations will be entirely up to members, so shoot off some ideas.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Fiction Writing 1
I had to drop Fiction Writing 1 but I had written something in class before I did. If anyone from class wants to tell me of more projects, I'll do them too.
***
***
A hand is reaching toward me. Each time they drink my blood. All it takes is a twist off the top. Who would think it’d be so easy and convenient?
My blood may be carbonated, dark brown and delicious but maybe yours is too. Mosquitoes, bears and tigers probably feel as if they’re simply enjoying a Coke as they feed upon your fluids, and sometimes, bone.
TWIST
I feel a drain coming on. There’s light headedness about me, or light bottle-capedness perhaps depending how you view things. It’s like that feeling you get when you’re low on blood sugar or in my case syrup.
GULP
I can’t move. Not that I could before but my bubbles danced about on their reflective plastic stage. I was more alive with carbonation than most could say without.
SLURP
The end of all things. It’s time to be recycled toward another life. Or rejoin nature in the landfill.
.
The Magic Salesman [Re-edit]
I sell magic by the bushel. Yes, I do, like my father and his father and all the other fathers in the pantheon of fatherhood. Gnomes know it well.
We help those in need and those with desire. Have you ever seen a beggar wake to be a prince? Why, that’s me at work! And I’m spectacular. Perhaps too spectacular.
I shiver to think I’ve done the world a disservice but between you and me, there was this case, a trifle if you will.
It was just after the thaw if memory serves me right. Winter had ebbed and with it came the first blossoms of a new spring, and as always the foibles of young love.
She came running up to me in tears to say he never noticed her and if I would be so kind to sell a bushel she could set things right. But I was very frank with her.
“There is might and wealth in magic, but no love,” I said.
“Oh, but I’m sure it could play the slightest role to even the odds against the other girls that strive to call on him,” she replied.
“Lady, I assure you there is not power I possess to conquer hearts.”
She bowed to my height then took her leave. I continued selling ware throughout the day to poor and sickly types, sometimes not charging at all and always what they could afford to pay. Charity had always been integral to the identity of gnomes. Our hats indeed were most always sewn by the grateful.
But, I could only stay so long before I needed rest. The sun and human misery had weighed heavily upon me.
Therefore, I retired near a tree along the beaten path. A shady breeze swept my sweaty form to cool me off. It was therapeutic and astonishingly cathartic. The gnomish afterlife, I thought, so full of belts and pointed shoes, must hold such virtue. I picked an apple off a low-hanging branch to quench my thirst.
As I bit into the crunchy sweetness of its texture my eyes began to droop. The shade and fruit had numbed my woes considerably.
I dreamt a bird was pecking me and squawking. As often as I batted it off, it returned to nip my nose or pull out hairs. But, it turned out as I woke to be the lady, who earlier sought love poking my chest with her comparatively large finger.
“Mr. Gnome,” she began, “I beg of you to give me magic so that I may travel to another town. I can’t be happy here, to see my love cavorting with another.”
Looking at her swollen eyes I pitied her. Reaching for my tote I removed a bluish orb and sold it in exchange for gold. It may not have been the best solution to her problem but I needed rest.
She ran off before I could offer anymore advice. I would have told her, despite my tiredness: use your brain, and never just your heart or ego. Or, even better, use all three! But even then I doubt she’d listen.
I sighed exhausted. I had been old much too long to understand such matters.
Sleep took hold once more, but nightmares continued plaguing me. I dreamt another dream in which I sought a lovely gnome in youth. I spent days baking her the perfect acorn pie. And, as I presented it on silver, she did the unimaginable. She spat it on the ground, and then she spat on me. Without so much as a thank you she continued on her way, arm in arm with another gnome; his hat reached so much higher than mine…
I woke to flailing limbs. It seems I had begun to run toward the one I used to love, in an effort to liberate her from the travesty that called his self a gnome. For awhile I laid contemplating the meaning of such specters before noticing my tote, once holding an abundance of orbs was emptied completely. Someone had stolen it!
Oh, the tribulations this sleepy town will witness, I thought. I had wallowed in my own reveries much too long. With one orb and illness may be cured and as much as a scar placed upon an enemy. Yet, with the six now missing, homes would certainly burn while murder reigned!
I rushed down the path into the hamlet immediately. Carriages barely missed me several times as I ducked underneath their wheels. I deserved to be hit!
I was careless. Time spent playing it safe meant lives at risk. And as I walked onto the pavement of the town, such haste was confirmed necessary. Buildings burned as people screamed. Cries seemed endless every turn.
I went into the nearest house with a sense of urgency to set things right. A mother and father, I noticed, looked mournfully upon what must have been their daughter. She was still, without breath but bore no marks of trauma.
“What has happened?” I asked fearfully.
“YOU!” the mother screamed. “You brought this wickedness! Our beautiful daughter is dead!”
I gaped in horror for a minute before checking other dwellings. Mothers and fathers from all of them attempted to maim me in some way. I can’t say as I blamed them. Some blows I took in penance, others from slow reflexes. If enough pain could change reality I would have taken all that they could give. But, I had to move on toward the source of all this misery before attempting such rashness. Absolving my sins would be selfish with a killer on the loose.
So many daughters worthy of a tiara were silenced in a bitter rage. And the best that I could do was search seemingly in vain.
The lady from the night before had only bought from me to see where I kept the orbs, I realized. And I had let her trick me. I was a disgrace. My father had warned me against such things, as had my grandfather and his grandfather before him.
I continued looking for that woman responsible but could not find her in the alleys, backrooms, nooks or crannies. Only when I made the long walk back to my tree, off the beaten path, did I perceive her worried form.
She held the six emptied orbs in her arms while tears ran down her cheeks. I still pitied her.
“Oh, Mr. Gnome, I never meant to hurt so many. I just saw him with her and used the magic in revenge against her. But I lost control and they all kept dying; even those I knew as friends. Then, the houses started burning…”
“Child, I do forgive you but I can’t undo these awful deeds. You will have to keep the burden as will I.”
“What if you turned back the clock?”
“You’ve destroyed a town with love and now you seek to kill the world with time? These forces, my dear, are untamable and always will be.”
“But you use them Mr. Gnome!”
“I merely coax and nothing more.”
A pause set in. I heard her sniffling. The ground seemed wet around me.
“Let me come with you,” she asked.
I’m not sure why I told her yes, especially so quickly; perhaps because we were labeled the same now; perhaps because we were the only two to understand each other’s guilt. But, I maintain these events will be trifles to the good we’ll do repaying Gob.
We help those in need and those with desire. Have you ever seen a beggar wake to be a prince? Why, that’s me at work! And I’m spectacular. Perhaps too spectacular.
I shiver to think I’ve done the world a disservice but between you and me, there was this case, a trifle if you will.
It was just after the thaw if memory serves me right. Winter had ebbed and with it came the first blossoms of a new spring, and as always the foibles of young love.
She came running up to me in tears to say he never noticed her and if I would be so kind to sell a bushel she could set things right. But I was very frank with her.
“There is might and wealth in magic, but no love,” I said.
“Oh, but I’m sure it could play the slightest role to even the odds against the other girls that strive to call on him,” she replied.
“Lady, I assure you there is not power I possess to conquer hearts.”
She bowed to my height then took her leave. I continued selling ware throughout the day to poor and sickly types, sometimes not charging at all and always what they could afford to pay. Charity had always been integral to the identity of gnomes. Our hats indeed were most always sewn by the grateful.
But, I could only stay so long before I needed rest. The sun and human misery had weighed heavily upon me.
Therefore, I retired near a tree along the beaten path. A shady breeze swept my sweaty form to cool me off. It was therapeutic and astonishingly cathartic. The gnomish afterlife, I thought, so full of belts and pointed shoes, must hold such virtue. I picked an apple off a low-hanging branch to quench my thirst.
As I bit into the crunchy sweetness of its texture my eyes began to droop. The shade and fruit had numbed my woes considerably.
I dreamt a bird was pecking me and squawking. As often as I batted it off, it returned to nip my nose or pull out hairs. But, it turned out as I woke to be the lady, who earlier sought love poking my chest with her comparatively large finger.
“Mr. Gnome,” she began, “I beg of you to give me magic so that I may travel to another town. I can’t be happy here, to see my love cavorting with another.”
Looking at her swollen eyes I pitied her. Reaching for my tote I removed a bluish orb and sold it in exchange for gold. It may not have been the best solution to her problem but I needed rest.
She ran off before I could offer anymore advice. I would have told her, despite my tiredness: use your brain, and never just your heart or ego. Or, even better, use all three! But even then I doubt she’d listen.
I sighed exhausted. I had been old much too long to understand such matters.
Sleep took hold once more, but nightmares continued plaguing me. I dreamt another dream in which I sought a lovely gnome in youth. I spent days baking her the perfect acorn pie. And, as I presented it on silver, she did the unimaginable. She spat it on the ground, and then she spat on me. Without so much as a thank you she continued on her way, arm in arm with another gnome; his hat reached so much higher than mine…
I woke to flailing limbs. It seems I had begun to run toward the one I used to love, in an effort to liberate her from the travesty that called his self a gnome. For awhile I laid contemplating the meaning of such specters before noticing my tote, once holding an abundance of orbs was emptied completely. Someone had stolen it!
Oh, the tribulations this sleepy town will witness, I thought. I had wallowed in my own reveries much too long. With one orb and illness may be cured and as much as a scar placed upon an enemy. Yet, with the six now missing, homes would certainly burn while murder reigned!
I rushed down the path into the hamlet immediately. Carriages barely missed me several times as I ducked underneath their wheels. I deserved to be hit!
I was careless. Time spent playing it safe meant lives at risk. And as I walked onto the pavement of the town, such haste was confirmed necessary. Buildings burned as people screamed. Cries seemed endless every turn.
I went into the nearest house with a sense of urgency to set things right. A mother and father, I noticed, looked mournfully upon what must have been their daughter. She was still, without breath but bore no marks of trauma.
“What has happened?” I asked fearfully.
“YOU!” the mother screamed. “You brought this wickedness! Our beautiful daughter is dead!”
I gaped in horror for a minute before checking other dwellings. Mothers and fathers from all of them attempted to maim me in some way. I can’t say as I blamed them. Some blows I took in penance, others from slow reflexes. If enough pain could change reality I would have taken all that they could give. But, I had to move on toward the source of all this misery before attempting such rashness. Absolving my sins would be selfish with a killer on the loose.
So many daughters worthy of a tiara were silenced in a bitter rage. And the best that I could do was search seemingly in vain.
The lady from the night before had only bought from me to see where I kept the orbs, I realized. And I had let her trick me. I was a disgrace. My father had warned me against such things, as had my grandfather and his grandfather before him.
I continued looking for that woman responsible but could not find her in the alleys, backrooms, nooks or crannies. Only when I made the long walk back to my tree, off the beaten path, did I perceive her worried form.
She held the six emptied orbs in her arms while tears ran down her cheeks. I still pitied her.
“Oh, Mr. Gnome, I never meant to hurt so many. I just saw him with her and used the magic in revenge against her. But I lost control and they all kept dying; even those I knew as friends. Then, the houses started burning…”
“Child, I do forgive you but I can’t undo these awful deeds. You will have to keep the burden as will I.”
“What if you turned back the clock?”
“You’ve destroyed a town with love and now you seek to kill the world with time? These forces, my dear, are untamable and always will be.”
“But you use them Mr. Gnome!”
“I merely coax and nothing more.”
A pause set in. I heard her sniffling. The ground seemed wet around me.
“Let me come with you,” she asked.
I’m not sure why I told her yes, especially so quickly; perhaps because we were labeled the same now; perhaps because we were the only two to understand each other’s guilt. But, I maintain these events will be trifles to the good we’ll do repaying Gob.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Some People
Some people won’t believe in you
Others will not even notice you
And there’s times despite your efforts
You’ll be one of those who overlooks
The sterling aspects of an individual.
You may question why you never saw
Or took the time to greet, or even smile
At these people, so unknowingly gifted
In their intellect and art.
You may ask what they have
I don’t possess –
Surely art is energy
Surrounding each and every one of us!
But, no, there is a divinity
That sparks from timber
Laid and often tromped upon
From years of put-downs and rejection.
We blossom despite
The soil we are planted in;
We blossom despite
The persistence of drought.
.
Others will not even notice you
And there’s times despite your efforts
You’ll be one of those who overlooks
The sterling aspects of an individual.
You may question why you never saw
Or took the time to greet, or even smile
At these people, so unknowingly gifted
In their intellect and art.
You may ask what they have
I don’t possess –
Surely art is energy
Surrounding each and every one of us!
But, no, there is a divinity
That sparks from timber
Laid and often tromped upon
From years of put-downs and rejection.
We blossom despite
The soil we are planted in;
We blossom despite
The persistence of drought.
.
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