Shackles

January 6, 2015

He is shackled by norms,
Yet believes all is sound.

He tells me he can make no promises
And those words sit heavily upon my hear.

Am I to be another statistic?
Waiting for an end that will never come?

I search for truth in his words,
A sign that all will work itself out.

How have I managed to put myself in yer another impossibility?

Will this be my end or will light finally shine down upon me,
Rewarding me for years of trial and error?

My cynical brain interferes while my heart races with dread.
Will this be the end of me?

Dismissals

It takes so many forms.


Friends

Roles unbound

Firms

Cursorily discarding a life's work

Fellows'

Fickle affections.


Pick up the pieces

There are too many.


Those glittering shards

Broken dreams

Carpet the floor.


A dangerous game

Treading across that expanse.


Which piece will stab you

Raising memories buried

Zombies awaken

Images of who you were

And still are.


A battle

Finding sleep.

A vicious war

Rising up from the sheets

Daylight seeping away.


Flashes

Unrelenting

Beating

Beating

Beating

You down.


Doesn't get any easier

Just clearer.


You don't belong here

Home but a nebulous concept.


If I could just switch it off

I could rest

A virgin mind

With virgin dreams.

Giving Thanks

Ode to Ned

You lived on a farm

Perhaps in a barn

One day you woke up

And all around was harm.

'Cuz the farmer came after you

Wielding an ax

And you were running and gobbling

Hoping farmer'd be lax.

Alas you saw red

And lost your head.

Oh, Ned. Oh, Ned.

But we are very happy

You lost your head

'Cuz now we can eat you

And go happily to bed.

Thank you, Ned!

Silence

Once upon a time there was a girl

And she was true.

And there were people who looked upon her

And they saw what they would.

And what they saw was not the truth

But that was what they saw.

And they made judgements

And they interpreted things

And they believed they were right.

And she was there

Listening to the whispers

The shouts

The mumblings

The accusations.

And she shut down.

And went inside herself

And chose to keep quiet.

Perhaps one day

In that perfect silence...

Perhaps

The truth will be revealed

And she may be understood.

And at last she may speak

Truth.

Through

A smile

A laugh

A glance

A flick of the wrist

The hip

The little toe.

No more judgements

No more interpretations

Just the truth...

Spoken through the unspoken.

Indifference

Photo by http://christophersmark.wordpress.com/my-profile/

Indifference is cold

Peppered with lack:

A look, a touch, a smile, an acknowledgement.

There is no passion

No want

No driving motion in any particular direction.

Just inertia:

A cesspool of stagnant thoughts,

Feelings

Actions.

The question I am unable to answer is the following:

Can you really just be indifferent,

Or is it something that grows on you?

If it grows on you,

Wouldn't that mean that you grow into lack;

That you grow towards death?

And if you are just indifferent,

Doesn't that mean that you live in lack?

That the death has settled within you?

And could it be,

That you can exit that world?

Travel from indifference to caring?

Can the current flow in that direction?

Is is a legend or has there been proof of its existence?

For once I have gone indifferent,

I cannot recollect ever having gone back to the land of the living;

Not with that thought,

Not with that thing.

Disinterest

Twould be a shame


In this crazy game


To lose interest now...


Who’s to blame?




The inane stumblings


Of drunken souls…


Forgotten goals


Ill-fitting roles.




Time passes and


Things fade away


Fall apart


Waiting for the day


When the new


Emerges


And purges


The scourges...




Upon awakening then


In a white-washed den


And all around are men


And you're the only hen...



The routine goes out the window


And every friend can hide a foe


So you come armed: arrow and bow


And hunting your own prey


Hang the status quo...




Interest...


Then,


Keeps.

Travelin'...'n Goin' Nowhere

I'm travelin'

Through the passageways of thought

The hiccups of laughter

The curlicues of convoluted conversations

I smile.


'Cuz I'm travelin'

Through the meanderings of my feet

The industriousness of my hands

The stillness of my body bathed in perspiration.


I smile.

'Cuz I'm travelin'

And even though I'm goin' nowhere

I find pleasure in the little things.


That heavy gust of wind that blows the papers from my kitchen table

Spiders vying for the privilege of my company

A stove that refuses to be sold

Smooth new sheets that have already decided to stain themselves.


Tomorrow may pass in an ever-flowing loop

But I remember.

And I smile.

'Cuz I'm travelin'...

And goin' nowhere is just a state of mind.

Open...

Peter Harris/ Manitou Messenger

Enter Eve, stage left.

Encounters Adam, in from stage right.

Exchanges are made.

Story unfolds.

One day,

Born of the fruits of Adam's desire,

Ripened by his fantasies of the new and exciting

Enters Jezebel.

Sex and sensuality,

A new cow to Eve's old.

The fresh hunt,

The excitement and thrill

And resistance is futile.

Eve looks on

Passion dies

Fantasies bloom

On the lookout for her own Jezebel.

DNA

Single strands of hair float to the ground from her parted fingers.

She watches them

And she mourns the separation

No longer a part of her.

But there is some comfort in the passing.

The thought that 29 lands have felt her presence and feel it still.

She is part of them as they are parts of her.

An inevitable system of coalescence

Impressions that remain

If but in a dust ball rolling through the breeze

Across streets,

Through fields,

Into homes,

Resting on still creatures waiting for something to happen.

Deflated

Like a display window

He is gawked at

A commodity

An oddity.


In standstill motion

Shackled and subdued

He waits

For it all to end.


To crawl into bed

And shut the day out

Better yet, the week, the year

Life.


And to have enough left inside

To rise tomorrow with a fresh face

A new look

A different view.

Bulletproof

Something to be said

About that casing

That enveloping cushion of ease

The knowledge you're protected.


Watch that ever approaching projectile of heat

An arrow reaching straight for the pumping

Throbbing orb

Not deep enough for anyone's comfort.


And observe wide-eyed how the missile reaches it's target

A slam dunk exploding in the chest

Breath disappears in pseudo-shock

As you realize what has happened.


And to look down

And to see that no blood appears

And to feel surprise

And to notice that it has not penetrated

And to open the jacket of your cocoon

And to smile with relief

As flesh is marred but not broken

And to lay back, eyes focused on an unprepossessing ceiling

As the adrenaline dissipates.




Safe.




Isn't that what it's all about?





How I wish I were...

Leap of...

Photo by Steve Mitchell

They say you must have it...
Only way you can make it
In this cutthroat life
Where survival of the wits beats survival of the fits.


Close your eyes
Visualize
Open...
Nothing.


It's not called a leap of faith for your health
It's a mindset, my friend tells me, a changing of perspectives


It's a new lifestyle and it will all work out.
With a little time and a lot of FAITH.

Empty

Skim beyond the outer layers

There was once heat there
Heart pumping blood flowing
With a purpose

And once upon a day

Curiosity

And as the cat...

Skip beyond the outer layers

And you'll encounter skin

Once a valley of slick smoothness

And as the child with chicken pox...

Scamper beyond the outer layers

Today there is a gaping hole where organs should have been

A frigid gust
And as with a cannon ball shot...

And no one to blame

No one to blame

But yours....

Truly.

Scorpion King

At first you freeze...

There is beauty to the slow scuttle

A sound so subtle

Hypnotic, you begin to move

Matching rhythm for rhythm

A slow dance...romance?

And then...ATTACK!

Stunned, you step back and stare

As the heat seeps through

You stare as your limbs lie limp

You stare as you crumble to the ground

You stare as your heart begins to slow

You stare until your eyes are the last of the organs

Processing finality.

Scorpion King.

He knows.

His power.

Concept - Shun

She takes the shot and sighs with a smile...

I am a "bad" friend for not having conceived at the same time.

Does not hurt too much to contort this body

Changing shape from soft belly to extended imaginings of a soul inside

Scary?

Sad?

Silly?

Sorry!

Ganges

In a sea

floating on

toxicity
alight despite.



Afloat
on a river of blackness
alive in prive - ate.



Upright
on a lake of sadness
survive to thrive.

Closed Fist Open Palm

Closed Fist

Poised for a flowering

Waiting

Potentials ripening

Unhidden

Some day...


Open Palm

Cradling

Caressing

Soothing

Supporting


Face up

Static Strength

Closed fist, but open palm

Toward...

Blossoming in infinitesimal increments

Possibilities

An open space

To be filled

It is time to walk the path

Welcome the journey

Eat the mistakes of my past

Pass them through

Push them out.

A less traveled place

Twigs, leaves, fallen bark

Petrified bone, coagulated blood, hair from the root

Line this way

I will step forward

Let my soles absorb, let them bleed

I'm ready.

It will not always be so.

A Wairua

The touching of souls through time and space

We are connected.

A butterfly effect...a whispered thought

And replies rife with questions, olive branches and/or apathy.

Yes...but replies nonetheless.

We are alone but together...connected.

A Wairua

Cradle

In your arms...in my arms...cradled.

As though a precious breakable thing.

Unseen but felt...a hope the net will hold

Alone?

Yes...but it need not be a draining dragging sadstain on skin

Alone?

Yes...but cradled

Cradled...

...cradled.