And it all goes back to childhood....

Cardboard Filing Boxes
It is the chaos I find most difficult to survive. If only
Every day
There was a place to go for a little quiet. If only
Every day
I could take an afternoon nap.

I have a few dreams, and in them I aspire to bring myself all together into one thing.
To tie it all in means to cry a little, on average, to feel all of that again.
I'm not sure I will ever be strong enough. I don't think I want it in that
Impossible to ignore driving force kind of a way.
Part of my challenge is complacency.

I have left my life in Hansel and Gretel like pebbles behind me, and I am still waiting for the moon to rise and show the way home.
As I stare at the fire in the woods, I wonder what figure in my life led me here and
Why I walked so willingly along the way.
Sometimes I am half convinced I was born into this place, with all those chapters closed in the distance, and that sums it all up in a language I almost understand.


******
I actually reread "Hansel and Gretel" so that I could make an accurate reference. If you wish to reread as well, check this out: http://www.mordent.com/folktales/grimms/hng/hng.html

Sometimes it makes me bleed

Somehow I had forgotten the risks associated with sharing. Today I realized that a few of my poems are floating around out there for anyone to see and I panicked a little.

Once upon a time I wrote poetry in secret. I didn't start that way, but when They (my parents, my teachers, my friends) got a hold of some poems They started freaking out. They saw death and destruction and chaos and told me to get over it. They told me that nothing I had experienced was really all that bad. They taught me that in order to purge my mind I had to hide it away. Typing this, I realize that a part of me hates Them with pure white righteousness.

For a very long time, no one read my work and offered me a hug.

I grew up a little and gained better control of my own life and I started to share more often. I remember a time when an awesomely talented friend would sit on my back porch with me, chain smoking, while we read out loud our poetry. Those nights were some kind of literary magic because it was all accepted with such simplicity. I miss those times of sharing. To you, my literary friend, I say "I want to hear some more of your poems. I love your vision."

So, yes, today I panicked a little. I wondered what people are thinking of me when they read this stuff. I wondered how I could possibly keep moving on knowing that someone somewhere out there knows a secret about me. A part of me is absolutely terrified to let go. I'm becoming convinced that part will always live on. I berate all of Them for teaching me to hide myself, to be ashamed.

I used to deliberately cut open my skin and watch the blood well up. To feel something, to touch reality, to know I was more than my broken mind, to calm and soothe my soul. I used to drink quietly, locked in my bedroom, until it was all I could do to climb into bed to sleep.

Panicking about this blog seems ridiculous now. I'm really good at minimalizing everything. It's a learned talent.

Lewis Carroll to the rescue

Hey there. I've been struggling a bit with writing lately. I've written a few things, but they were pretty awful melodramatic crap. I kind of like this one, though, so I thought I'd share.

Children's Literature
"'And what is the use of a book' thought Alice 'with no pictures or conversation.'"
-Lewis Carroll

Again, it seems to be all about you.
In my dream today you were living, but only barely.
You were sinking faster than I could imagine despite knowing you were already gone.
My reality fades a bit under such pressure until I am half convinced I'm living in my own poorly written novella.

One of my big secrets is that I used to play pretend after I crawled into bed.
I would be turning to the left, bouncing my leg, humming under my breath
Until I settled into a fiction that required me to lay still.
I would imagine playing some car crash victim, comatose, surrounded by people praying for me to wake up
As I would fall asleep in some imagined quiet.
I wish that I could say that I played the heroine, but no heroine waits quietly for something and besides
I was never the heroine type.

Sometimes I close my eyes and for just a moment it all slips away and I am something
Different.
Where do you run,
What haven is there for someone who's imagination lures them from reality?

I have always wondered why I felt so radically different from everyone else.
I was the only 11 year old I knew who thought about things like last will and testament.
For a lifetime my grasp of reality has felt tenuous and brief.
And yet I function, almost daily, in this world written by someone else.
The horror makes me wish I could cry out more often with explosive release
But such profound simplicity escapes me.

And it's all about you,
Or all about me,
Or all about where I went wrong on this page.

*********

I was considering the title "Down the Rabbit Hole" but this line from the book seemed rather appropriate. I might change the official title, but it seemed a little redundant after using the quote. And while I am trying to 'grow' my poem titles a little, the whole quote seemed a little long.

Unless you knew me way, way back when my titles could be longer than the poems themselves. Don't worry, it's a phase that has come and gone. Good riddance.

Unpredictable nature of this thing

So in an attempt to keep myself focused on my writing, I've been submitting to the occasional contest. It's an interesting experience. Sometimes the process leaves me inspired while other times I vow to never write again. And that's completely discounting the fact that so far I haven't actually won anything. Just going through the old poems, trying to familiarize myself with them again is meaningful in some weird way. It's like meeting an old friend - love 'em or hate 'em.

'Found' this one today, and I remember it quite fondly, so I decided to share:

Change
Oct 2001
Rolling hills and green grass
Changing under the force of the cold;
I pull my coat on again, find a nickel covered in grime, an empty cigarette pack, and a piece of paper that seemed important a year ago.
It's the same coat I've worn for four years and it's seen better days
But it' warm and soft and comfortable and reminds me of a time different from this.

I'm cold all the time. I seek out a cat to sit on my lap or the dog to cuddle with, borrowing the warmth they radiate.
They all sense trouble; the bird is quieter, the cats are near, the dog is calmer and even the fish seem to want to hibernate.
I wonder what they must think when despite the furnace and well furnished rooms the house still chills and there is no escape.
I try to be like them: calmer, quieter.

It's a sleepy life now. Yesterday was full of anger and pain. Peace is but a memory I don't remember anymore.
I hide in words and pictures, seeking comfort and oblivious ignorance.
I want to cut myself open to see if I still bleed, to bleed out the disease I carry.
I want to sleep until it's warm again, like a bear, and if sleep takes me I would understand.

Life got all turned around again. Life keeps changing and I can't seem to change with it.
It reminds me of driving down a highway, hopping from town to town, when radio stations fade out on the dial and it takes 20 miles to realize the silence in the car is so pure.
Echoes haunt me, keep me awake at night, asking me for understanding.

I lost myself a while back. All the towns seem the same now. All the days are just reflections of one another.

I can't find a new radio station. And I'm so cold all the time. And my illness will carry me away in torrent of agony and suffering.

I'll leave little notes behind: don't forget to feed the animals, don't forget to change the station, don't worry - I took a coat.

Little surprises

I was fortunate enough to make it to one of my favorite bands last night; Over the Rhine was playing at Blueberry Hill. As they promised, it was an evening of acoustic music and conversation. Marc even got a nod from Karen after saying a clever remark just loud enough.

This piece got started there.

Friday Night Show

I was listening closely, trying to take it all in and hold on for a little while.
I was having a fantastic time, just hanging out and not thinking too much about all those other things
Kids
Dog
House
Car
Life
It was an oasis of present tense.

And then the music went deeper, took me with it.
Made me remember those things that have been so on my mind lately and as easily as inhaling
I thought of watching my skin open just a little, to let some of the poison out.
It's been a long time since I thought of that.
It made me thirsty for something salty and intense and real.
Before I made a conscious decision to drink water instead my imagination went there and took a nice long drink.
The music cut some emotional scab free and it hurt in that sweet hurt kind of a way, as if the cast has come off, leaving weakness and freedom.
It was amazing to find that kind of blood-letting catharsis hiding in my head just waiting for the right call to come in.

I've been carrying around this stuff inside of me wondering how to let it go and go forth and
Be strong.
A little music spoke to my soul.

*I'm not real thrilled with the ending, but I'm not sure how to 'fix' it either. Maybe something will come to me. If it does, I'll revise it later.

Blonde Woman, Two Rows Front

Blonde Woman, Two Rows Front

I keep thinking about how tired I am and that it's mostly my own fault. Instead of going to bed I stay awake
Watching interesting television or
Working number puzzles or
Reading airport paperbacks or
Wandering through the house moving things from one place to another.
Despite the fact that when I close my eyes and take a deep breath my whole body pauses in anticipation of the refreshing quiet of sleep.

In my head I'm blaming everything but myself despite the fact that I know too much.
I stand at some weird emotional point, not stuck but not moving, remembering things that used to mean so much to me.
Every time I miss someone it hurts differently, dependent on how difficult it would be to touch them again, to see them again, to love them still.
And each piece is amazing in it's complexity, and changes each day. Some days the dead seem closer than the living,
Some days living after death is the most difficult obstacle of them all.

I thought I saw you the other day. I've started going to church again, and I wonder if that would please you.
Sitting in front of me was a woman who, for a moment, could have been you, and my heart ached a little bit - a little less and a little more when I realized it was a stranger...
And that you are a stranger too.

So here I am, wondering how you are. Wondering how any of us are, really. How we are managing to get along without each other.
I don't feel stuck, but I'm not moving forward either.
It reminds me of television that I just keep watching because I want to know what happens no matter how bad the players are.

Long lost, or something

I was recently reminded of my first best friend. And in remembering her, I've been caught up in the details of our 'break-up.' We had a naive relationship, her and I, convinced that together we'd take everything life had to throw at us.

But life threw a great shot and broke us apart. My mom got sick, and died, and neither of us could take it. And our perfect friendship failed us both. Now, I kind of want to cry because she's only met my daughter once - in a restaurant we both happened to visit - when she was about a year old. Last year, even a few months ago, I thought 'Oh, well' - in total denial that a part of me still aches for that little piece of friendship heaven we had.

So that's a little bit about "Blonde Woman, Two Rows Front."

Where has all the momentum gone.... Long time passing...

Those of you who might keep up with this randomness will note that I'm not actually great at regular posting efforts. The last week, though, has been a crazy roller coaster that's left me too tired to sleep. No, not a typo - so tired I can't seem to relax and let go and sleep. Stupid conundrums.

But I'm back! Ok, not really. But I thought I'd make an effort. I wish everyone was piled in my computer room so I could give out hugs.

But only so that I could gets hugs in return. :)