soundtrack

When he met her it was like the
end of a movie. A very long movie.
You know the type, where nothing
turned out right. All the pieces
were jagged and left their marks.
Nothing seemed to fit. Right there
you expected it all to come
crashing down. With no solution.
Then the music started playing. By
a band you never heard of. Yet you
vowed to get their album.
As he walked the beats teased his
steps. And it all fit together.
Because it touched him. He didn’t
even know it was there. Until he
turned around and it met him. Face
to face. Staring into his eyes and he
could feel its breath. His lips
moved. And you could make out a
faint utterance. Like soft fluttering
wings fighting against a storm.
You couldn’t quite make out what
he said. But you didn’t need to.
You knew what was next. Events
lined up magnetically. Pointing to
understanding and light. That
glimmer of light up ahead. True
North. And he smiled with his next
step. And so did you.

if (12-28-08)

if

If I could write a poem, filled with
words so beautiful that they would
float to you, swirl around and cradle
you. Penetrate to your innermost
depths and unlock your heart. I
would find them all.

If your heart opens for a song I
would study the greatest composers,
construct the sweetest melody, and
train my voice to serenade you nite
and day.

If you fancy paintings I would fill it
with bold strokes. Bright and sure.
Yellows and oranges. Images that
will make you dance and sing.

If I could captivate you with the
beauty of the universe. Quarks and
leptons constantly spoken into
reality, creating and sustaining all
that we see. Infinities perfectly
matched. I would unify the forces.

If I could do anything to make you
see what I see. What may already be
there. I would do it in a flash. With
gladness.

All I can offer is incense. Rising up
to our God. The creator of majestic
mountains and lush valleys. Words
of hope and surrender.
A poem of sorts.
A prayer.

candle

After three strikes the small candle lit
it soon burned brightly,
with a pure light
filling every corner of the room
they basked in it as they flowed through the many rooms
dancing beside the quiet light
their shadows flickering and blending
moving from room to room
each better than the last
they were delighted,
for there were infinite rooms
but the light only filled one at a time
so they moved from room to room
going where they wished
until it sputtered and soon went out
leaving darkness
and surprise
the candle was gone
and they left
one at a time

New Day (4-28-08)

they glided down the highway
on a day made for convertibles
full of anticipation
the weekend at last
blue skies fenced in orange
their journey began
two pledged friends
in search of the perfect picnic spot
surrounded by vines
overgrown parsley covering them with lazy shadows
as they learned more about each other
eating pickled up sandwiches
and drinking the children of those vines
toasting joyous things
he stole a stroke of her hair
respect and admiration growing with each moment
lamenting the short end of the solstice
a warm goodnite came too soon
with admiration melting into delight
a perfect day

Hero

The Writers Studio – Level 2b, Assignment #8?, December 1, 2008

Preamble: 3rd person to allow distance. Omniscient with restraint working against strong emotion. Describe character with telling details. Show multiple perspectives. Mood: sympathetic, Tone: descriptive. Persona narrator example is “The Mother” by Marie Howe.

Hero

His big silly ears were still the first things one notices.
Even after so many years,
part of his curse.
Most find Jesus after,
he found Him before, on a lesser charge.

She couldn’t have been more than 10.
He would have recognized her from the news photos,
had it not been so dark, when he came to save her.
After her final whimper poured into those ears.
And the final breaths of her heart spilled out onto his hands.
Always help your fellow man he said,
you will sow what you reap.
Grace skips a generation.

Deacons and members came and went.
No forgiveness without repentance they thumped.
His children, alone at school, lasted another year or two.
Longer than their mother and her curled upper lip.
And her new husband.
All everyone gone.
Forgiveness is free.

A set of paints. His cell’s walls.
Covered.
And covered again.
And one more time.
Paintings.
He sat, closed his eyes, wiggled his ears,
lifted his hand and made bold defiant strokes.
As he smiled.

robot

The Writers Studio – Level 2b, Assignment #5 October 20, 2008

Preamble: 1st person, past tense. Older narrator looking back with confidence. Pick specific object from past and describe it. In process revealing how narrator feels about a significant relationship or time. Feeling is not from what is told but shown. Tone: calm, straightforward (hmmm, anger?), Mood: melancholy.

robot

Preserved under living layers of newer
lives. Excavated from my closet. Your
robot sits crouched. From a Christmas
not long ago. So long ago. I played with it
twice. Once to scare your cat. You
never knew me.

Christmas cookies. Family
introductions and dinners. Snow
covered mornings. And the robot. The
extra thoughtfulness of batteries. A
light lit his way. A light he never
shared. Next to him, that leather-bound
book for my poems. Pristine but for
the dedication. Its innocent and
hopeful pages. I couldn’t betray them.
A pack of golf balls for my then new
hobby. Unopened. All piled up. Piled
over.

Do not touch.

Do not look.

Do not remember.

Once sacred area. A temple of another
god. Excavated to make way for wine.
Carefully moved to the donation pile.
Robot cradled. Book transferred
without scratching its elegant and
fragile cover. I hope you don’t mind if
I keep the golf balls. I think they will
go 500 yards.

hunger

The Writers Studio – Level 2b, Assignment #4

Preamble: 1st person, present tense. Put two people in a potentially dangerous situation. One being the narrator who understands the danger. Tone: reportive, Mood: ominous, dark. Lots of drama and mood.

hunger

Fire burning, never ending,
pieces glowing, plane no more.
Gone the pilot, and co-pilot,
they were lucky, burnt to ore.
Then the feisty, oh so feisty,
but yet filling, portly miss.
Keeping her and me quite healthy,
me and lovely baroness.
Eyes such beauty, lips so fruity,
hair so curly, kisses sweet.
Dare I say I found my true love,
amidst the wreckage, near my seat.
Hands are holding, bodies twirling,
midnite dancing, cheek to cheek.
Underneath the frozen moonlight,
our outlook, much too bleak.
Stomachs growling, nearly fainting,
food we need, weight to gain.
No one left to ease the hunger,
no one left to ease the pain.
Off to sleep now, gentle whispers,
quiet prayers, sing her song.
Cradled in my arms so sweetly,
rocking gently, we belong.
Stomach roaring, eyes are blurring,
hands are folded, empty dress,
that she once wore, sleek and trendy,
on my tasty baroness.

waiting

The Writers Studio – Level 2b, Assignment #3

Preamble: Entertaining description of a place I wouldn’t have thought to write about. A place I have strong feelings about, maybe unpleasant. Not judgmental. Narrator doesn’t talk about himself but reveals himself through the description of the place. Either 1st or 3rd person. Have joy of language (don’t know about that one!). Tone: descriptive, flowing. Mood: anxious, paranoid.

waiting

With the delicate ballet any dentist performs, at
least the ones that got it down and I mean working
the rooms like a perverted honey bee splitting his
time between 5 flowers, he wouldn’t be able to fit in
an unexpected drilling. I would be safe, at least till
the scheduling. Reading recycled magazines with
the addresses ripped away in a comfy chair doesn’t
make the wait any easier. What if I had a cavity?
Then what, right there and then? What if the worst
will happen. The dreaded root canal. The reference
point of pain for any comedian.

Field and Stream. Relaxing enough. Wish I were
fishing right now. I turn the page to find it crinkled
in ways not common to regular reading but more
out of abject stress. Multiple shots of Novocain in
the gums. Shots with a needle. I didn’t know my
gums went that deep. Shots administered with
cheery precision. Drilling. Smokey whiffs rising up
out of my mouth. Smelling the essence of cavity.
Drilling, cracking, pulling, scraping. He doesn’t
break a sweat. His demeanor is unchanged. Like a
busy serial killer doing his thing. 5 at a time. Music
drowns out the buzzing and the cracking. The Fields
and Streams giving the hands something to do. The
eyes something to see. The waiting room to hell.
The free toothbrush.

stars

your giggles unrolled the pinkest fluffs high up,
laughter piercing through letting orange rays pass.
all swept away with a breath,
sprinkling the glisten in your eyes across the heavens.
our hands clasped,
you fit into me and I surrounded you.
compressing into the uncontainable,
igniting the sky once again.
the nite yielded and one by one they fell,
until the last star leapt from the sky,
back into your eyes.

ice 8

the castle rose over time
harsh sunlight filtered through its clear, crystal structures,
beaming down soft patterns
shielding her

its walls were transparent,
keeping her safe yet free
it grew higher and more intricate
with her laughter
a masterwork

her soul twirled and sung beneath its arms
embraced by its soft nightly glow,
cradling her
crystal spires caught her dreams as she slept
gently awakening her with orange outlines
and softened breezes ringing through her palace like a morning chime

but her dancing lost sync with its spinning pieces
as she missed thorny concrete
so she stopped twirling beneath it
the most ornate pieces were the first to melt
angered, she built a huge fire on its altar
its walls began to loose definition
great vaulted rooms collapsed
as she stoked the fires
unceasingly
corner turrets were the last to melt
she remained until it became a vast pool of water
then left without whetting her feet
revealing the illusion of it all