My muse burns but yet the words are dammed. Weeping, my heart sings in joy, in sorrow, in love.
And so…like so many times before, I flee to previous writings and remember the goodness of my God!!!
…and yes, so this is an excuse to run a word cloud on my poetry throughout the years. 2004-2018, inclusive of a few short stories as well. Clearly I need to stop using the word ‘now’. I’m so impatient, what can I say??
Oh my friends – be at peace this night. My heart prays for you.
Her blonde hair spills messily
down over her face
as her pen flies furiously
across the page,
red ink flowing strong
red ink flowing true
as her thoughts and her dreams
and her heart sings aloud
oh I ponder and I wonder
what now shall I write
for surely my love’s
nothing if not true
in this most star kissed night
so what shall I give you?
and the candle burns tall
over the mantel
and her leather notebook smells
of hopes sparking alive
and the fullness of night
caresses her face.
And cross-legged on the bed,
crumpled quilt beneath her
what formerly gave comfort
now lies strewn in ruins
of red text across the flickering
laptop screen
and her heart weeps aloud
oh I ponder and I wonder
what now shall I write
for the groans of my love
are surely not true
in the horrors of night
so what can I give you?
and the candle whispers
visions of fire and smoke
and her writings portend
nothing but glimmerings
of doubt
and the depths of the night
bring tears to her eyes.
She pushes her hair over her ears
with a sigh of despair
as the red ink slowly spills out
from the pen dangled between her fingers
and I ponder and I wonder
what more can I write
if my love isn’t true
in the remnants this night
so what am I to you?
the candle slowly gutters
not much more light left now
the nighttime is full
of dreams and regrets
but she sees a glimmer of light
seeping between the blinds
and I ponder and I wonder
how can I not write
for the love that is true
and the love that I’ve known
for I’ve known true love
and true love has known me
and I crawl across the bed
and twirl the blinds open
wider.
So finished another book last night. Read:
11. The Dragon Reborn by Robert Jordan. I’m not going to overly detail my thoughts on this book, other than it’s another fantastic Wheel of Time book…full of high drama and delicious fantastical elements. This is the book where Rand is barely ever in it, but he does show up at the end in time to defeat Ishamael and claim the Stone of Tear, prompting both Aiel and Defenders of the Stone alike to shout out in acclamation. And this book also contains the beginnings of Mat being awesome…as well as Perrin meeting Faile. For somer reason, the more I read these books, the more I like reading Perrin & Faile’s story…and this is where Perrin first discovers his falcon and their love story is beautiful, as messy as it later becomes! In this book it ends with her wiping his blood off his face, the blood he shed to save her life. Romantic to the core. Now I apologize – for any of you who have not read this book, it sounds most confusing…and trust me, even reading it can sometimes be confusing. But wonderful all the same.
What else shall I discuss today? I suppose I could mention that myself and John are planning to go see newest Avengers movie – Infinity War – later tonight. It should be epic, as it has approximately 23 superheroes in it. And…I believe that’s not that much of an exxageration. Excited for that!!
Also been for some reason in a Nightwish mood lately…listening to it both at work and in my drives to and from. I forgot how much I love them and just how gorgeous their music is!! And thankfully, I have Laura who I can call and we can go into great detail discussing our fav albums and singers (obviously Tarja is amazing….but I do like both Annette and Floor in their own way, as well!!) Been remembering the times I saw them live(first with Jackie, second with Laura!) and it has renewed my desire to one day soon chronicle my all-time favorite concert experiences, of which surely Nightwish show will be near the top.
Now it is about time for me to take my leave, but firstly (note, I should really probably leave off that last stanza…but can’t help it – love it even though poem would probably be better ending stanza sooner…)…
The morning warm and dark breaks
like the darkened sea upon the shattered shore,
and though I think there is no beauty left to find,
and no more dawn song tripping through my mind,
I turn the key and turn my head and turn and see
her entering,
and the gate swings open, open
and the streetlamps’ light descends upon her
faintly.
Faintly yes
but enough for me
to see
Chocolate curls cascading,
Snow white dress shimmering,
Her eyes liquidly
Dark and full of magic,
and though I approach but softly
her lips quirk up in sheepish smile,
our eyes brush past each other
and touch oh so gently
and lips murmur
courteous nothings
in the wind.
And lo her eyes smile and dip and dance away
and so I bow and take my leave
and so
and so
the dawn song breaks upon my heart once more
as the foamy sea cast its waves
upon that golden shore.
The fog is not quite lifting
though the night has been dancing
far too long
and although the
sky is darkly misting
and the cold breeze makes me
shiver, shiver,
I can smile
and be ok
and pull my wool coat snug around my neck.
For yeah, the fog’s still drifting
and yeah the night’s trance
is coming on a little strong,
but my feet do a little dance upon the pavement
in the streetlamps’ orangish light
and my eyes burn with
truer song
and starlit dreams
even through the bitter night.
The scent of jasmine wafted through the open window. He breathed deep. Truly, this was a different place. As he continued to climb the stairs, he looked out the window to his right and gasped. The grey sky from down below was gone. Now there was only blue sky as far as his eye could see, even to the horizon. Below him green foliage waved cheerfully. The tops of trees, he realized. From above it was difficult to identify the types of trees, but they were large, that he knew. Yet it seemed as if he looked out upon a carpet of living green tendrils, welcoming and inviting.
The sky glowed an even deeper blue. The sun was nowhere to be seen and if he had to guess, it was surely not far past noon. Yet the breeze floating through the window was cool and crisp and he breathed in the scent of jasmine once more. He came to himself and found that he was standing still at the window, captured by the glories of the day, enraptured by the true found stories. He had heard tell of this, but even now, he didn’t know how it was possible. This was a dead world. Or so he had been told. Where did this life come from? Was it a dimensional pocket extrusion or a fancy holographic illusion? He doubted it. Even the finest light tech couldn’t replicate such beauty as lay before him. Maybe it was a different universe. Indeed, he thought his own incapable of this. Maybe in Old Earth. Not here. Not now.
And now he understood why some would come to pilgrimage here. Now he knew why some would come to live a half-remembered dream. Even if he didn’t truly understand where or how or why he was, he did not doubt that he was. He breathed in deep. Again the jasmine. Again the light of the heavens startled him with its brilliance. Surely it was not possible for something to be so blue.
He supposed he should keep climbing. He had been standing at the window for what could have been either hours or days. He knew not. With a sigh, he turned and stepped upwards. He knew he dare not linger, even though he felt as if he may never see such a glorious sight with his own eyes again.
As he continued up the stairs, it seemed that the staircase started to spiral in a tighter circle, that possibly the stairs began to narrow. He wasn’t sure, so gradual was the change. The deep mahogany of the handrail felt warm beneath the skin of his hand as he ascended. His legs now seemed incapable of stopping. Upward and onward.
Every few steps he would pass another window of blue radiance and he would smell jasmine and honeysuckle and he would feel the wind caress his cheek. Yet he did not stop for he knew that what he sought was nigh. What he sought! But he sought for nothing, that’s what he had told the old man down below, so long ago now. The old man in his violently violet robes, welcoming him in a voice that had seemed overly pretentious and full of joy at the time. Now the man wondered. Was everything coming true?
He wasn’t a pilgrim, he had told the old man. Pilgrims are fools, blinded by the whispered glories of a dead past. Why was he here? Well, it was simple – he had superiors who had superiors who in a most superior fashion had declaimed desires of revealing what lay beneath the pernicious rumours. And he was the least threatening of his kind, so of course he would be the one sent. To discover and learn and seek the truth. To expose, as he thought of it. To rip the curtain back from the hallowed temple of the weak-minded.
And so he had entered the squat building earlier this morning (week? Month? Year?) and despite the cheap ceramic-overlaid interior décor, he had smiled as he heard strains of Rachmaninoff’s 2nd faintly echoing, as if from a far-off room. And then the old man had ruined everything with his ridiculous grand entrance and pretentious posturing and vain attempts to justify the existence of the Tower.
Despite the old man’s pleas, he had ignored all the scribblings and carvings. He had seen the same such artifacts countless times before. Forward to the main attraction, forward to the staircase. At least he knew of the staircase now, after his…encounter of the night before. Gooseflesh rose. He would not recall those memories.
But now he climbed. And at the bottom he was a man who believed nothing and ventured everything because what was there to lose? Now as his hand gripped the rail tightly, he shuddered. Did he believe? Could he believe?
A doorway loomed ahead. There were no more stairs. The door was small, barely taller than his own height. It was of oaken appearance, inlaid with finely wrought metallic elements. Light glowed and pulsed amongst the metal engravings. Warming, welcoming light. His hand left the railing and he grasped at the doorknob. It was cool and smooth under his touch, and it seemed to melt into his hand as if his hand was the only key that could unlock the door.
He shuddered again. In fear? In bliss? He did not know. What had they done to him?
What were they doing to him?
He could not resist any longer.
He ever so slightly turned the doorknob.
And the door swung open.
A wisp of wind ruffles the hair
of a boy sitting upon the bench
guitar held loosely in his hands
as he looks up to the stars on high and
ponders all that has come before
and so he strums a note or two
before letting all fade to silence
except for the music of the stars
and because his face is marred
and his hands so full of scars
he knows that not all is as it should be
but he knows that all is not as it will be
because the music from far away
calls his name and seems to say
Come now, Come now
Little child
Come now and hear
Let go your past
Let go your fear
Let go your pain
and listen dear
Little child
Come now, Come now
and upon the scuffed concrete sidewalk
falls a tear
because the name he is known by
is known by
that One who he knows is
the One who composes
all the music of the stars
all the music of those scars
on the hands and on the feet
of the One whom he
is known by.
And so I return to this posting apparatus, though not as quickly as I thought when I wrote last post. It is now Thanksgiving Eve and I sit with my mug of coffee here, about to do some more reading…but thought I should continue my chronicle first, while it is still fresh in my mind! I must say as I type this, I am much enjoying the Tampa home keyboard…it is very mechanically responsive and fun to type on. Much more bouncy than my laptop keyboard, I approve. This may or may not contribute to my being even more verbose than usual…apologies in advance.
Anyways! I think I ended my last post talking about game night with Laura and Caisson and friends and getting to bed far too late. Thankfully the next morning we were able to sleep in a little…had some coffee together, then we went out to get breakfast(/brunch?) at one of their favorite breakfast spots – a diner that had definitely not been around when I was in Gainesville! Actually…this was a running theme throughout my time in Gainesville…so much had changed since my residency there, even though it’s been less than nine years. Whole new roads had appeared and new shopping centers and other things have replaced woods and fields(my favorite open field at corner of University and 13th is now a shining uber-modern apartment complex – the horror!). Progress(in shape of concrete and steel) marches on unimpeded by more poetic concerns…
Pardon that interlude – but onward! We had a lovely time eating breakfast(I had a delicious breakfast pie with eggs and cheeses and meats and it was wonderful alongside the good strong coffee) and of course talking. We had so much good talking times throughout this trip that I shall soon neglect to mention them, but just know they happened because Laura and Caisson are truly both so dear. Following breakfast, I’m trying to remember what we did next…if I recall correctly, it was a trip to campus! We spent a few hours wandering the gameday-crowded campus, seeing old spots(the Bunker at Graham! the new-(and improved??) Union! the Florida bookstore – I think we spent the most time there perusing random books!) and eventually ending up at Pascal’s Coffeehouse. Oh Pascal’s – truly the holder of so many memories. I even have an old adolescent lit story I wrote back in ’09 where this coffeehouse was featured prominently. And I am actually wearing one of their shirts as I write this now, randomly! Anyways – it was great fun being there again, walking past the table where Laura remembered first getting a text from Caisson, peeking into the room where so many good Creekside College Ministry Wednesday night meetings were held…and eventually, we got some drinks(a hybrid London-fog/peppermint mocha for me!) and ended up talking there for a while, the three of us. Expounding on the power of poetry and the characteristics it should contain. Caisson has a good “Three Laws of Poetry” summary that I really need to heed when I’m writing. I have discovered that I’m not really that good in presenting a clear and easily understandable theme to my audience in my works. I may know what’s there, but the readers most definitely do not always understand what I’m getting at! But I shall not attempt to summarize our whole conversation here.
Eventually, it was time to part ways…for I had told Laura and Caisson that I had wanted to spend a few hours by myself. These hours that I spent wandering campus…I don’t know if I can fully and properly put them to page here as it is something maybe best left to my heart and soul alone. But I had long desired to undertake what I have now called a pilgrimage back to the lands of my youth. And so I did walk through campus, stopping at the sites of so many hallowed memories. At each spot I was able to sit and reflect and think and meditate and pray on what God has done in me and for me and through me these past years. And as I brought back many memories…some bitter and some sweet…I could not help but thank my Father God for holding me fast throughout every dark night and every raging storm. I was able to write various things in my little notebook throughout this pilgrimage and while I shan’t reproduce them all here(partly because they’re very crude and quickly written and not at all amenable to proper editing and partly because I want the majority to remain truly personal), I will put down one…
Lake Alice
gleams prettily
in glow
of setting sun –
its quiet beauty
thrills my soul.
A heron rests
atop the stillness.
I shiver
at the
crickets’ song.
That is the least emotional(and/or personal) so I think it’s ok for sharing here!
Now eventually I realized that even over two hours of walking around by myself was not sufficient for my purposes…but I knew I must return to Laura and Caisson’s place for dinner! Laura came and picked me up and after a quick detour to Target(where asparagus and…er…the long desired new Taylor album reputation were acquired), we returned to the apartment. Caisson was in the middle of crafting a delicious Guinness-beef stew..full of beef and carrots and onions and parsnips and other savoury ingredients. This was poured over mashed potatoes and it was definitely a proper and hearty dinner! After we enjoyed that, we eventually decided a quiet movie night was in order. It may have taken us a while to decide on a movie, but eventually we did settle on an old classic I’d never seen before…10 Things I Hate About You and it was much enjoyed – full of classic Shakespeare references and fun 90s nostalgia! I do so love fun high school movies from my era and this is a well-deserved classic…Heather Ledger and Julia Stiles..simply perfect.
Now…this entry is far too long and I’ve decided to end it for the now. Going to go off with my coffee and have more reading time. Also listening to some classic hymns(And Can It Be currently playing) and I just can’t focus on writing anymore. Peace and love.
It is yet another Saturday, yet another playlist! (I promise, I’m almost caught up…only one more to go after this! …for now)
The below mix CD playlist is one that I’ve been pondering for some time. I really wanted to make a light and frothy dance mix but had the hardest time finding the proper tunes for it. I finally got (what I think) is a solid list…a mix of some fun pop tunes and then the whole middle section is non-vocal pure beat. Ended up being a bit more moody than I had expected but still – good stuff, or so I say. Great great car music!! It’s inspired me to make another one similar to it – currently crafting a playlist that will be “dance Vol 2” with much more techno. It will be rad. Just saying. But I’m getting ahead of myself – this one I made sometime this past summer…allow me to present…i Don’t Mind If You Don’t Dance, but Pardon me if I Do:
1. The Prologue – Halsey
2. Breathe – Telepopmusik
3. Holiday – Vampire Weekend
4. Blank Space – Taylor Swift
5. Sola in Citta(feat. Elin Melgarejo) – Thievery Corporation
6. Some Chords – deadmau5
7. Sofi Needs a Ladder – deadmau5
8. Tie In – Recondite
9. Who Loves the Sun(Original Mix) – Nu & Jo Ke
10. Solitary Daze – Maceo Plex & Gabriel Ananda
11. Levo(Club Edit) – Recondite
12. Sunset(Jamie xx Edit) – The XX
13. Green Light – Lorde
14. We Are Young(feat. Janelle Monae) – Fun.
15. I Can Feel Your Heartbeat(feat. Jordan Frye) – A New Normal
How the road tarries and dips and spins
now out of sync with the earth again
yet still the moon rising o’er the land
signals, beckons with uplifted hand.
May this lonely wanderer rest a spell?
Or discover some forgotten dell?
There is a candle that flickers anew –
And for that hope oh I hope ’tis true.
The light upon the path is fearful bright
And does so illumine this fearful night –
Though not as glorious as coming day,
Unto my feet this lamp grants its ray.
For slowly, surely
the tears may flow and
fall upon the path
for that hollow of the dark
for that creeping horror stark.
Yet the rising morning star is promised
and it shall surely not delay.
Praises to that Bright Morning Star!
Praises to the Coming Promised One!
Praises to the Lord of lords!
Praises to the King of kings!
Praises to the Son of Man!
Praises to the Christ of God!
Praises(praises!) to His Name!
Praises to the One who was!
Praises to the One who is!
Praises to the One who is to come!
Praises to the One who is First!
Praises to the One who is Last!
Praises to the One who lives forevermore!
Praises(praises!) to His Name!
See now light descending from the stars,
As through kitten kisses from the rain.
Thunders softly the gloried storm clouds.
Whispers furiously the storied dawn.
Wrote a quick poem yesterday…when I say quick, that is not an understatement. I think I wrote it in approximately 45 seconds. Of course, that also means the quality is a bit…compromised. Nonetheless, I share it below as a glimpse of my random soul.
Pride cometh before a fall,
but sometimes the fall precedes
the threatened pride,
and this fall may be
a stumble, large or small,
and may stinging
bring such tears of pain,
but nevertheless it is
a mercy true,
that we might remember
we are not
the fairest of them all.
