It was a grey day. Grey seas sang under grey skies as grey birds soared and swooped low over the quayside. The quayside and its surroundings were also rather grey, nary a pop of colour to be found in the piles of gear and containers that lay here and there. Even the people that scurried about in the casual confidence that comes with being where they belonged could be said to wear faces set in shades of grey. Now to describe a face as grey seems to call for a bit of radical interpretation, but I believe you know what I mean. We have all seen those faces set in the default mode whereupon we decide we won’t smile and ask how’s their day. So yes. To sum up, an air of general grey-ness seemed to dominate the landscape at the shore and it would not be a stretch to say that this grey-ness seemed to stretch further than the eye could see. Ever a soul has strayed near an area where in the process of quick transit through it is felt that the colour is being leached from it. Now one may quibble with such and feel that we are getting dangerously close to invalid metaphysical applications. I will not argue and simply move on and resume my narrative and let the words stated previously sink into your soul and perhaps when you are a little older you will understand.
So to resume? It was a grey day. And so as John approached the dock and lifted his eyes to the heavens, the sigh that issued forth was an echo of the sadness within as he sought in vain for a glimmer of hope. The grey-ness of the day did not entirely escape him but it also did not startle him, for he was similar enough in mood at the moment to feel as if it was only fitting for the day to shroud itself in mourning in sympathetic communion with his yearning soul. John did not entirely abandon hope. Rather, he abandoned the idea that the hope would be consummated at any near point. It was promised and he believed the promise. But how long until hope’s longing would be fulfilled? He put his hand in his jacket pocket and felt again the letter that contained the words he had already memorized. The weight of the paper in his hand felt good, a reminder that his sanity had not entirely fled. But had it begun to fray? He thought not, but sometimes he wondered. And the doubt gnawed at him. John’s eyes narrowed. Begone, ye foul thoughts. I believe.
And so John’s firm steps took him up to the longest and greatest dock, the one at which the great ships moored. He walked up the steps and then begun the long trek down. At the end of the dock he expected to find the answer. Or if not the answer, at least a reminder of that for which his life was pointed towards. The chill wind picked up as he stepped further away from shore and his mind wandered towards the events of earlier that morning. He would not think further of what had happened to Alex. He would not. Her tears tore at him.
Without realizing, John had navigated down the length of the great dock and was even now nearing the end. He went past the inspection offices and broke again into the open air. The wind plucked at his jacket and he pulled his collar closer. His eyes were wet for more than the shrieking of the wind. The gulls hovered close by, wondering if he had a snack for them. Alas, not today my friends. I have in my pocket crumbs of something more valuable than bread. And then John’s eyes picked out the bench at the end of the dock. Upon it was a girl in a scarf of red. She was there.
Tag: creative
Smoldering
A riot of watercolors
and tapestry of tears,
a whispering of smooth jazz and
a slow dance of the years.
A subtle raising of eyebrows,
and dizzy sparkling eyes,
a conversation of laughter
and a slow dance of sighs.
Sitting under maple trees
in lush autumn and
drinking tea with
purest honey and
feeling the sweet caress of wind off the sea and watching clouds dissolve in unprovoked giggles amid the rain falling from hooded eyes of
the storm
and feeling the
warm blush from
sun unveiling and
watching the stars
write a new symphony.
A soulful lilting of trumpets,
violins sing that tune,
two hands now clasped lovingly and
slow dance under the moon.
Tilted
Good evening! I don’t usually post my handwritten poems, but well. In a rare pensive yet sharing mood and so here you go. Tread soft and listen close. And have a most lovely night, my dear friends. Always.
Haunting cries
the star,
echoing the song
of a final
wistful soul.
Upon the withered
tree
a fruit hangs
waiting
for a drop
of rain.
And near atop
the moor
a boy runs his hand
across the thistles
wild
and aching with
the beauty all,
he
haunting cries.
Not Our Land
Upon the earth, a cracked bell rings
violently
and urgently
and men heed the call to arms.
Upon the earth,
thunder booms and
lightning crackles
and eyes look up in wrath and pain.
Upon the earth, a siren keens
shrilly
unceasingly
and men laud the call to war.
There is a girl
who shuts her eyes
in terror of the wrath of men unbridled.
There is a boy
who shudders fresh
in anticipation of monsters nearing.
There is a woman,
she soft moans
for abandoned hope and shredded innocence.
There is a man,
he cries and shakes
for eroded monuments and torn pretense.
Upon the earth, the gleeful dark
laughingly
and viciously
descends to seek and devour.
Upon the earth,
serpents writhe and
red rivers run
and eyes look up in pouring rain.
Upon the earth, last hope dwindles
mournfully
and with no song,
and all is dark,
not yet dawn.
There is a man,
he cries and prays
for the city wrought of pure love unbounded.
There is a woman,
she soft sighs
for precious hope and heaven’s hosts approaching.
There is a boy
who sings anew
in anticipation of the hope of nations.
There is a girl
who lifts her eyes
to the nearing song of the restoration.
Upon the earth, the trumpet sounds
soaringly
and gloriously
and all the skies shimmer in awe.
Upon the earth,
oceans kneel and
mountains spread their skirts
and eyes look up in hope again.
Upon the earth, Christ descends,
achingly
beautiful and
a rose petal gently flutters
to the earth.
Soliloquy
I haven’t written here in a few days, partly because I wanted to make sure this entry was reserved for something special. Because, believe it or not, this is the 500th entry of this livejournal. And I had thought on waxing grandiosely on the history of my writing career or maybe discussing the merits of inscribing portions of our lives on such a public forum as this…but no. No ponderous essay for this beautiful Friday night! As the sun goes down…before I dive into my dinner of leftover spaghetti, I shall just write a little of my heart. Enjoy or not, but either way – just know that I love y’all so.
He opened the door and the thrumming music met the curtain of raindrops draped around his head. As he stepped over the pale metal threshold into warmth and light, he shook the water off his boots and closed the door firmly behind him. Leave the rain outside where it belongs. He took off his hat and shook it as well. It would still be wet, but at least it wouldn’t be dripping in his face. As he lifted his head, his eyes darted around the cozy confines of the cantina. It was a wet and dreary night and so predictably, Brother K’s was packed solid. Two huge men in plastic overcoats sitting at the bar. Table in the corner full of chattering girls, each with different colored hair – red and blue and yellow and purple. Red Hair met his eyes as they swept across her and raised her eyebrows in silent greeting. Table next to the girls had a lone couple, each with a drink in front of them and an electromag at their side. They’d be playing tonight. Table to his right was full of men just off from the refinery. They’d changed their clothes but the stink of chemoflume couldn’t be erased so easily. Table in the corner by the plasteen slots had a few musicians sitting around it, hands protective of their hardware. Table. People. Table. Music. Table. People. All thinking their own thoughts and lost in their own music.
He hit his hat against his side again to shake the last of the damp from it and smiled to himself. More than twenty people, and not a one matched the description.
As he finally stepped away from the door and toward the bar, he heard his name through the swirling tonal storm.
He waved towards the girl at the bar and stepped up to it. “Mittens, how’s things?”
She smiled wryly, “Situation normal. Nothing yet. And you’re late.”
He smiled back. “Hey, I had to make sure the perimeter was secure. Where’s Aeryn? And nice outfit.”
Mittens crinkled her nose at him, “It’s cute. And it blends in!” She did a little spin, showing off her pink shorts and brown corduroy jacket. The jacket did complement her hair and flared off her hips per the fashion du jour.
He shook his head, grinning, and said, “Duty, Mittens.”
She sighed, “You’re no fun, Jim.” As she opened her mouth to speak again, she shut it. Frowned. “Where’s Aeryn going?”
Jim looked past her shoulder to see Aeryn slipping out the door, fedora firmly planted over her flowing locks. “Must have seen something. Don’t worry. She can take care of herself.”
Mittens nodded. “She’s got heat. Still…it’s not protocol.”
Jim laughed. “She’ll be fine. Anyway, aren’t you going to play? We could use a distraction.”
Mittens grinned. “Yeah. It’s one of your favs. Watch my back.”
Jim smiled, nodding. He watched Mittens walk to the back of the bar and haul out her wooden monstrosity. He bet half the people here hadn’t ever seen an actual stringed instrument in real life. As she stepped up to the stage – in actuality only the one space of floor that didn’t have a table latched to it – the music dimmed, then shut off entirely. The barmaid had seen Mittens apparently. Brother K’s was known for good live music, and that reputation attracted those that cared for music of a higher caliber than synth nonsense.
The crowded cantina hushed and Mittens strummed the strings of her guitar and Jim smiled. He turned to the barmaid, “Hey – a Cola with cherry?”
She smiled at him – he was a regular, after all – and said, “And chocolate? You know it’s better that way!”
He nodded assent and watched as she poured a decadent amount of chocolate into his Cola. He took it and passed her his plasteen. She slapped it with her palmreader and handed it back. “Thanks, Mars.”
He turned back to see Mittens still tuning her instrument. He looked to his left and saw a man popping corn kernels into his mouth. Where had he gotten corn? It wasn’t even close to corn season. Jim’s mouth watered. He could use a snack to go with his sweet Cola, but he couldn’t let hunger distract him. Duty, Jim.
He turned back to the stage. And Mittens began to play. Music swelled beautifully and her voice rose to heights triumphant. It was one of his favorites, although he wasn’t sure if anyone else in here had heard it before. “And can it be…that I should gain…”
Jim sighed. Bliss. And then snapped. He had a job to do, and that job didn’t involve being as entranced by the music as everyone else appeared to be.
His eyes swept back around the room. Nothing.
And again.
And then, as he turned back to watch Mittens, he felt the cold touch of steel at his neck. Ever so slowly, his eyes slid to the knife and the man that was holding it. How had he gotten inside without being noticed? That was beside the point. Jim swallowed once. The man’s face was hidden in a cowl, but Jim heard the chuckle. The music was still playing. “…amazing love! How can it be, that Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?!” As Mittens’ voice soared to the next verse, he felt the steel dig a fraction deeper into his neck.
Aeryn, now would be a good time.
And then, he heard the whine. Finally. A flash of light. A scream. The hooded man slumped to the floor and Jim smiled in relief. “Thanks, sis.”
Aeryn doffed her fedora, “You got it, bro.”
Mars and Corn Man were hovering over the cloaked man. He wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. The rest of the cantina’s patrons were starting to notice something was amiss. Mittens was still playing. “Bold I approach the eternal throne…and claim the crown, through Christ my own!”
Jim sighed, the tension finally bleeding away. Aeryn put her head on his shoulder as he put his arm around her. Mittens put down her guitar and came over, her blue eyes sparkling. Jim grinned and pulled her into a hug. They stood and they swayed in the music of the night. Soon it would be time to get back to work. But not this moment. This moment, victory. This moment, light. This moment, love.
A Memory of Light
For those of you uninformed and slightly curious, the above title references the book by the same name…the *last* book of the Wheel of Time series – which comes out this next week. I remember starting the series when George Lebo lent me the first book oh so many years ago…(ok, maybe not that long ago – 2008, I think)…anyway, it’s been a good run and I’m a bit sad to see the end come. I will try and slow my usual frenetic reading pace down and savor this last one. I’ll still probably finish it in a week – curse me and my quick reading abilities!! And maybe Laura will hurry up and finish up the preceding books sometime this year so she can read this one! (You know I love you, Laura!!)
Just now, sitting in Books and Beans(for the second time in three days!!) and as my coffee slowly gets cold, I think it’s almost time for lunch, but I wanted to write a little bit first! I’ve been doing my normal Saturday morning routine…reading(Psalms 59-60, Proverbs 5 and some more of 2 Samuel! Absalom is currently being a punk and David is hiding out…may I always have his attitude when persecuted/downtrodden! When Abishai wanted to decapitate the guy that was cursing David, David said, “Let him alone and let him curse…Perhaps the LORD will look on my affliction and return good to me instead of his cursing this day.”) and also have been having online time(checking on bank accounts and the all-important facebook..as well as trying to find a way to watch the Redskins/Seahawks playoff game Sunday night! Looks like my best bet may be to listen to it on BBC Radio 5…)
And I really am hungry, so I want to get a sandwich. First though…
Time and space and interwoven footprints in the snow,
the young man tilts his head and smiles and ponders,
and thinks of flickering fires and fragrant hot cocoa
and whispers of the violin
and his dream wanders…
Soaring rhythm accompanies lilting steps of heels upon the well-worn tiles
and eyes of sea-swept grey dip and gaze into sparkling eyes of richest caramel
and the dance of the heavens proceeds on unimpeded by the smaller cares,
and the music of the stars dazzles with the bliss of its perfect harmonies,
and sweetness as of raspberries and chocolate and honey swirling in the tea
and beauty as the sun twirling her skirts of cloud into the blue of the sea.
And his thoughts wander
ever towards that whisper of heaven,
and he thinks of cobblestone streets and sun’s gentle warmth
and the strums of that achingly perfect song in his soul,
dreams and well-loved pages and scarf tugged snug in the snow.
Cross-roads
My mug is almost dry of mocha deliciousness and my body is aching to go back up into the sunlight this gloriously bright Saturday! And yet I sit here and write, the reasons for which are murky in the recesses of my mind. But maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve properly written, or maybe it’s just because I have too many thoughts swirling around and they’re in need of release. Or maybe it’s just because I’m in a talkative mood? (Or whatever word would be more appropriate for the written word!) Perhaps my muse is just a bit over-caffeinated? Surely not. Anyways, almost half twelve here and that is quite late enough to spend here in the depths of Starbucks.
But briefly now(who am I kidding?), saw Dark Knight Rises last night with Alec and Chris and Jo…most intense. Epic. Heart-pounding(seriously, the music had my adrenaline pumping pretty much the whole movie). Did I love it? Hard to say, as it is a rather dark movie(like the previous two). But this movie ended in the light. And for that, I do think I can safely say I enjoyed it much. It contained echoes of terror, glimpses of hope. I think I can safely say it’s my favorite movie the year, thus far. Which isn’t saying much, since I think I’ve only seen three to four this year. But still.
And now that the previous paragraph(as disjointed as it was) is over, time to return to my fleet-footed thoughts. This past week at work has been both stressful and God-glorifying. Truly, if God is for me(as He most truly is!), what can mere man do to me?? This is the height of rhetorical questions. And while my future still seems but a haze to me, it is not the dim fog of fear, but merely the misty wind of the unknown. I cannot – shall not – ever doubt that my future is anything but good. Because I serve a good God. Because I serve a living God.
And truly, my thoughts wander far afield yet again. But it is good to write. My fingers have been idle too long.
A road that winds over the banks
of fog and fear and fires below,
seems to end in mists and sand and
trails off into deepest shadow.
But never doubt! Why do I cry
when I do not wander alone
or whisper unheard or even
sink deep into my bed unknown.
A road that lies over the mounts
of lies and hope and cruelest pain
shall surely not end in terror
but proceed upward, home again.
It is good to rest this gorgeous day. It is good for me to be here.
And now, up into the sunlight do I go. Have a most beautiful day, my most treasured friends!
A Lighthouse
Driving back from work today was quite awesome, I must admit. Brooding clouds stretched to the horizon in majesty, while the green rolling hills reached up to touch the sky. Gulls wheeled lazily across the face of the heavens, impervious to the smoky gaze of the city below. And as the worked-stone buildings of Aberdeen climbed high, the beauty of the upper reaches of the heavens towered yet higher. The grim grey clouds sneeringly masked the city, but no matter. Above, were sun and stars and glories ne’er ceasing.
And as my fingers trailed off and seemed to have written the above of their own accord, I think it is time for me to log off. After a long week at work and a tiring day, I cannot help but be thankful for the evening of rest that has been granted me! A dinner of leftover spaghetti and meatballs awaits. As do some lovely books, I believe. Peace, y’all.
Unbroken
A tilt of earth,
A veil of lace,
A song of mirth,
A dance of grace!
Upon the wild mountains,
Throughout the misty streams,
A midst the towers stalwart,
Living forgotten dreams.
Whither goes the songstress?
Whither goes the sage?
Who now wields true justice?
Who to end this age?
A flight of laughter,
A bout of tears,
A leap of logic,
Pray bless our years!
Living in the lowlands,
A midst the droughts we kneel,
Throughout the pits most fey,
Upon a dream most real.
Who to dance upon the altar?
Who to tend the fires above?
Who to linger in the glories?
Who to dance the songs of love?
Once more the anthem rings,
Once more shall herald sound,
Once more the light triumphant,
Truly, the lost is found!
King of Kings and Lord of Lords!
Almighty Father above!
Jesus, Saviour, Redeemer!
To Him all praise and all love!
Upon the mount unveiled,
Throughout love strewn stories,
A midst the mist of dreams,
Living now, true glories!
A rift of time,
A song of seas,
A lilting rhyme,
A kiss of peace!
Merrily, Verily
Was there ever a dream so rich, a thought so true? This was a question pondered often by the wanderer. Was there never a moment of pure wonderment so real that all the rain of woe had no strength to wash it away? This man heavily sat down upon his stool. His fire flickered wearily. His eyes echoed the dimming of its flames. His thoughts mirrored the ebbing of its passion. And now it was time. He glanced over at the knife on the table. It was sharp.
Something Weird 