I want to sit with you,
Coffee in hand, under
Your favorite blanket
As rain streaks down.
I want you to lean up
Against me, look into
My eyes, and tell me
How your day went.
I want to share all of
The words that are in
My head and heart and
Let you know truths.
she was a dream
a beauty like music
a frantic need
I pictured her
watching rain and mist
my love by the sea
Magnetic Poetry copyright info found here.
So apparently June was a thing that happened this year. I’m not sure exactly how I missed it, but I want to apologize. I’ve not been writing lately. I’ll make all manner of excuses. Working at the Ren Faire again this year eats my weekends, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Faire’s a whole different world, and it gets even better when you get to know the people who make the magic happen. I moved, too. Not far, only about five miles, in fact, and my shortest move from one residence to another in over five years. Now I don’t have the workout room that I was finally utilizing at the apartment, and I don’t have the pool, and so on and so forth, but I have a house that my roommates and I can spread out in. We have space. So much space. SPAAAACE.
I’m closer to my favorite cemetery. I’m closer to work (all three of the various things that I do that people pay me to do). I’m closer to most of my friends (with one notable exception [the one who would go walk in said aforementioned cemetery with me if circumstances would allow]). It’s going to be a good opportunity for me. I’m really very happy about things (except as mentioned above).
My room’s coming together nicely, so there’s that. On the other hand, I’m still more than a little sleep deprived (for all of the best reasons). I’ll post a picture of the new setup once it’s all done. I’m pretty proud of the whole thing.
Anyway, I’m going to get my ass in gear and knuckle down on my writing again. It’s not been fair to you, dear readers, especially after tolerating my poetry for the last few months. New original stories are coming. I’m also hoping to get into some more writing challenges. Stay tuned. This is going to be big.
The camera cannot capture
The vastness of the sky.
Memories of that summer
Afternoon, many years
I’ve managed to wrangle a little bit of work time to craft another Magnetic Poem for you.
Muahahaha! Still getting paid to do this.
As per last time, copyright info for Magnetic Poetry can be found here. I just use the product to come up with ideas for you, dear reader. I’m not sponsored or anything, though that would be awesome. *cough* HEY! MAGNETIC POETRY PEOPLE! *cough*
The text of the above pictured poem is here.
“I ask only for you to
lie near me my goddess
sing of light and beauty
live for when the moon loves
like we do
recall love and soar”
“I Feel You”
I feel you, touching at the edges of
My consciousness as I sleep, dancing
The dance we never shared and laughing
Brighter than the sun that peers through
I feel you, distant but never lost
In the darkness that has filled me
Since I cast myself into exile
And set upon my path, questing
I feel you, my muse, reaching for me,
Struggling to find your way to me,
Hesitant but bold, timid but daring,
Seeking courage in contradiction as I seek
“The Girl Who Smelled Of Pine”
Once, I met a girl who smelled of pine.
I saw you from a distance,
Winged goddess of death and
Beauty, pale, raven-haired,
But baring a smile that belied
The danger behind it, and
So I was drawn irresistibly
To you, heeding no warning.
Your eyes are a distant green
Light across the narrow bay.
Every whisper from your lips
A siren song, beckoning me.
I grew closer to you with each
Passing year, and yet you
Remained elusive, hovering
Just beyond my reach.
I know that I will find you again,
My lover who smells of pine,
No matter how many years or
Lifetimes may pass us by.
And I will never forget the
Scent of you, the brightness
And laughter that has faded
But will return in its time.
“She Too, Wonders Why”
Umbrellas dot the square, round tables
Surrounded by chairs beneath them.
Beers sit slowly seeping condensation
From their frosted glasses as they’re
Sipped by hipsters too poor to afford
A second and forced to make the first one
Last til last call. Soon the sun will set on
Belmar and the fountain burble will fade
A young girl paints pictures of the flowers.
She sells them to tourists to pay for her education.
She dreams of becoming an architect,
But when her paintings fail to sell,
She grows desperate.
She has a true talent, but it will not be
Noticed by the right people until it is
Her body will be found in her dorm
Room bath, the final dollars in
Her checking account used to buy
Not paints but painkillers and vodka.
A tragedy, but lo and behold a collector
Comes along and buys all of
Her paintings of flowers.
The money pays for her funeral and her
Mother and father’s growing stream of
Why didn’t she call home?
Why didn’t she reach out for help from
Maybe only her girlfriend knows,
But no one knows that
She even exists now. The only one
Who ever cared is being buried
A four hour flight away, and the
Family wouldn’t want
Her there anyway, and so
She sits alone in the square,
Sipping a beer from a frosted glass,
Tears slowly rolling down her cheeks
To match the condensation soaking
She too, wonders why.
If hell is what I
Must face, then
So be it. Eternal
Damnation is a
Small price for
Originally written 4/27/13.
Brightly lit shelves and cheering voices
Of children hearing the call for storytime.
Frazzled researchers sharpening golf pencils
And digging for scraps of paper from their
Hand-written records of family trees.
Lines of the question-filled masses forming
Before the reference desks and the smiling
Librarians, seeing the benefit of their job
With every answer they dispense, every
Mind they help to open, every misconception