A Simple Truth

Tell me, if luck favors the prepared then how cavalier the brave must be? A drifting thought on an open breeze. Dancing with winds that embrace the main sail of the open seas. A design that puts rhythm and rhyme in the driver seat next to Time. One time. Two times. Three times. I'm counting backwards to get back to one. Since after the second time the first time was done. How's the weather; I feel the warmth of the Sun. Amazing the words we whisper to ourselves but never let crawl from under their shells. A silhouette of their former selves trapped in the image that it sells.

Can I? I need to. You know, walk up to you grab you tell you what I need you to know and what you don’t want to hear. Seeing the battle that transpires intensely when our eyes collide.  It’s an endless waltz between our story and our lives.  Yours tell me your pain with every pleasure.  Sealing your soul’s existence and capturing mine. Playing a vicious game with my heart daring me to cross this line.  And I could not be thwarted by the fear of a loss.  So I wrestled with opportunity to show him who was boss.  I knew she wouldn’t surrender softly. Wondering what this war we waged would cost me.  A price I had to pay, but this particular time was to be ever so lofty.

She stated sincerely in her deposition that she had to protect her borders. Mine were beaten drearily into submission from the surrounding waters. Her touch made it possible to see. Energy was resurrected in the moment we started to make peace. I felt the calm breeze take over. And the warmth settled over us slower and slower. She gave me her declaration saying that she wanted the nations to combine. Mine’s was a traveling nation moving through space and I didn’t know time. So I read the stipulations of the proclamation and I was satisfied with the terms.  Unfortunately she was a nomad in the desert’s heart and left before an answer was returned.

To the Guru who wrote what I have read, and displayed what I wanted to see, is there any end to this ability? Or is it bounded by simplicity transformed into complexity for your convenience? You do not have to answer a thing. Just do this for me, tell me that the thought was original. I'd appreciate that much lady. Au revoir, Madame…adieu.

The Images of Leaves

The Image of Leaves

“The ground parched and cracked is

Like overbaked bread,

The greensward all wracked is,

Bent up and dead.

The fallow field glitter

Like water indeed,

And gossamers twitter,

Flung from weed unto weed.” – Autumn, News of the Universe, pg. 57.

This is an essay about an opportunity that I had a few years ago that allowed me to visit a place in Chicago that stretched out into Lake Michigan.  It is a tiny peninsula that is covered by trees, bushes and shrubs. It sits beyond the Chicago shoreline isolated by the rocks that surrounds it.  I am going to first describe my initial and most memorable experience there and then follow it with my last.

The dawning light erupted breaking up the congregation of stars and the blanket of darkness that lied sprawled out like a veil in the night. The vague glimpse of the rippling reflection of the morning sun christened the silver surface of the lake.  The wind danced lightly with the tree branches and at once the moment was transformed by the glowing horizon.  The awakening of life triggered by the rising sun in the nearing distance spoke to the soul.  The air was beginning to warm up as the sound of the waves began to pound more ferociously against the rocks that grounded me.  The sky slowly became lit up as if it were a canvas and the cackling of sea gulls intensified with each stroke by its artist.  The warmth of the summer breeze was exalting.  The clouds turned into a dazzling golden arch with red and purple highlights that offset a burning orange similar to a late autumn leaf or the cinder of burning coal.  I stood encompassed by the earth and her caregiver, on a bed of rocks that protruded out of the lake that were the only barrier between the grass behind me and water in front of me; the outer garments of the land. 

Behind me and the rocks stood my salvation, a piece of land that protruded out from the rest of the world like an anomaly or better yet still, a bump on the skin.  A modest piece of land that was only big enough for one man’s imagination and the rest of the world.  Any more than that could have been disastrous for both parties.  The land would not have wanted it any other way.  I felt my body inhaling the crispness of the air and the volumes of water lifted into my nostrils with each breath reminding me of how enormous the lake was if my eyes had forgotten, or in case my ears were damaged and I couldn’t here the beating waves engaged in its shoving match with the land.  For a second, I felt one with the water and the humming wind, as well as the burning sun and the morning sky.  Something compelled me to take a step forward as if I could walk onto the water as if it were a solid surface, though reason told me else wise, I still believe else wise.  For a moment, that tiny second in time, everything felt truly pristine. 

My worries of tomorrow began to subside with each awakening moment of the new day.  It seemed as if its mysteries were revealed to me between the dusk and dawn during my anticipation; the truth alas realized.  I was baptized in complete tranquility as nature’s nectar engulfed my being and lifted it up into a higher echelon that conjoined me to it and it to me as if a marriage had occurred that I did not know had existed.  In that moment I had become committed to this place and I then realized that it too was also committed to me.  And all the questions I thought I had and never knew existed had been answered.  A deeper meaning of life had been realized outside of the boundaries of the city walls.  This place had become a room and the room was like a library with books of many colors, various content and they all beckoned me to read beyond their covers and lines. 

The population of trees became alive as they began to sway in the glory of the dawning sun and the whispering wind as if tickled by the composition of their rhyme.  Their fine dark green was vibrant and healthy.  Squirrels scampered about the small cluster of woods wrestling with one another playfully in a methodical fashion.  There lives resembled their actions; childlike, innocent, curious and questioning. 

I sat upon the rock until I saw the eastern sun turn upwards on its daily journey and stood at the glory and height of its meridian.  Just like a choir is attentive to its director so were the trees and the waves, and the lilies that were behind me, and the wild flowers that grew in their patches in the dirt to the great light chiming the time with its own eyes from up yonder.  And as I starred upward, I began to contemplate where I had been if not here or this place.  What more could have been that important that I had not realized this place before?  Then I wondered how many souls had discovered the existence of this tiny peninsula of land.  I had become an explorer and this place and all its wonders I claimed selfishly as my own.  It existed uninterrupted by the rest of the world or at least for my stay in its precincts.  And as so far as I can recall, it felt like home.

Days had turned into nights, nights into weeks, weeks into months until finally the trees blossomed into a fine orange and gold.  I found myself distant from all things and maybe even myself.  There I was at home and inundated by the somberness of the settling fall. Around me were the cries of cars screeching off at green lights and a buzzing city filled with blaring sirens, the electric hum of the television and bustling sounds of stereos pumping into the comfort of homes causing their own havoc.  In my bed I lied wanting to change something.  I got up and began to put on the Chicago attire so that I would be prepared for the elements I was sure that would exist outside of my bedroom doors.  As I stepped outside my preparation was not disappointed.

As I strolled along side the shoreline, I felt the winds of the racing cars zip by in a frenzy trying to avoid the upcoming light change.  The day was not yet fully settled as it was still early.  The air was crisp and refreshing. The waves receded back and forth soothing the quails that I had developed in the confines of my room.  The wind lifted my spirits and I felt myself again being swept away into another dimension almost and my mind started to become clear. 

The sky was a mellow grey.  I could hear the familiar sound of sea gulls in the distance.  With every step I took approaching the land that I had so long ago claimed for myself, I wondered how much had the world changed.  Were the trees going to be in the same location?  Living in the city had me guessing all of the time; I felt that this place was no different.  It was susceptible to the same changes and the misfortune of progress and development.  I walked under a long tunnel that led to a bike trail. Beyond that trail was a walking path that led to my salvation.  As I walked along the trail, I could hear the crumbling of dead leaves that had managed to land beneath my feet.  The trees stood tall and still in possession of its royal garments; a beauty in and of itself. I progressed further down the trail until I saw an opening that radiated light and an explosion of sound.  Here the intensity of the moment came to a climax unparallel.  Just beyond my feet were the very rocks that I had called home some months ago.  And beyond those rocks was an unending swell of water that was Lake Michigan. It stretched out as far as the eye could see and its power was amazing.  Here my place of rectitude and salvation remained uninterrupted by time and forward progress.  The leaves had their own aura that exuberated energy and time.  The wind carried the waves against the rocks and with it the fallen leaves from the trees that were nearby.  A peace had come into me.  Again I was a fan of a show that was much more than I could imagine in the boundaries of my room and house.  This was a far greater joy; it was being alive.

There was such a contrast between the seams of the city and this woodland paradise that I had claimed for myself.  It was discovered in chance, while the city was discovered by force.  The sounds of televisions that couldn’t be silenced, stereo systems that had to be heard and blaring sirens that was unforgiving to the ear and almost cliché.  Yet the tiny peninsula I stood upon, it was vibrant and alive in its own way, like the earth itself producing life.  And the more I contemplated it; it had its own sirens. And as I went further with this thinking, it had its own television.  And yet further still, there was again its own sounds.  The difference was the television was the perception of the swaying trees and the motion of the sea gulls and squirrels.  The sirens of waves were blaring uninterrupted since I had left and come back so many months later.  It was always there in fact.  The wrestling leaves and breaking sounds that they committed as foraging animals surveyed the landscape further cemented that thinking.  A circle that was so tightly knitted the difference was undistinguishable.  The exception was image the leaves had on me.  Because in the growth of those leaves, flowers and bushes I nurtured their contentment and survival as they had nurtured my own. I mimicked them in a sense by identifying with their need to grow.  I justified their existence with mine and I then realized I could not do the same with T.V., sound systems, blaring sirens or any other manmade item that I had observed and heard.  And in the full glory of fall, I felt settled and complete with the anticipation of the upcoming season in my life and in theirs.  The waves again calmed me and soothed my soul.  It was nature at its best, and my observing it and living within it helped me at mine.

There I was again, exactly as I was at the beginning taking in something from nature that I couldn’t get any place else. It was satisfying.  I starred into the swelling water and I almost felt submerged.  The wind lifted the particles across my face and it was refreshing.  I spent such a long time away from where I wanted to be.  And in a second, a moment, an instant I was transformed into a joyful spectator of a show grander than any other displayed in any arena. Simply, this was a sport that had been played longer than any other had existed.  And no matter the season, you could enjoy this show all year long.

An Endless Narrative...

A vague nuance arose in her eyes as she stared into the mirror again for the first time.

Bewildered by intrigue she delivers a kiss to bestow upon her audience the affection she was denied. A crime that lovers commit incestuously at the feet of their Royal and self-righteous pride. Shelling out promises whose weight alone could swell its own Tides.

A shame she bore in the darkness of her own eyes.

“When was the last time??” her thoughts as she waltzed through the corridors of an empty Hall. There she stood the lone witness to the shelter's deep and dreary walls.

Yet the question echoed in her mind to no end or pause.

A somber stride that reflects the nature of her new found resolve.

A willing rebel of sacrifice for the unimaginable passion the journey called.

Such a short distance to touch the soul.

Words much like their thoughts that produced no sound to recall.

“Such a bitter-sweet taste.” she whispered as her hands touched the curtain drapes.

As a soft wind trailed them through an open window to find her fragile face.

Invading the surroundings that made her feel as if she were at a distance and safe.

Looking directly into her desires and doing what it pleases and loving what it takes.

All the while her Heart is moving as rapid as her mind's pace…

And this sensation, no this desire, this urge beacons upon its target until it penetrates.

Still Pictures

I revisit moments in the past

With a vision of memories lagged

Like the one's in the Grandma's bag

When time was a point that everybody snagged

And your thoughts provided the path to the thoughts that we add

Long days suffer to the discontent of its own missing laugh

Wishing upon wishes for a sober path

But the trail was blurred by the vision of this drunken math

Bitter sweet, and sometimes sad

But I still believe

As I sit near the shores of change and follow the wind's speed

Captured by the steps of this untamed breeze

We dance a dance that makes the waltz easy to seize

A nervous kiss transformed into a gentle squeeze

Something to behold from the banks of this sea

A pain that goes further into the bosom leaving no place to flee

This pandemic befalls every captive eye that only wanted to peak

Growing more intense with every word that we didn't speak

A battle for the strong but the victory was for the weak

Because nobody knew the struggles that strengthened him underneath

Dissenting Voices

The torture gathered by the voices of deceit

Lost my visual perception within the sounds of the deep

Very next to my soul under the breaths of my lungs and the thumps my heart beats

Where mysteries lie in the truths we all seek

Now where is this going?

No questions, no guessing, nobody's knowing

Something sinister in the mist where everyone is throwing

Thoughts collide under the hopes that possibly we're growing

Short waves tell a path of telepaths for the fortunes we craft in disaster's showing

Where do we land from the crash, is this love or is this wrath

The distorted confusion paralyzes the paralyzed with more pain than is televised

Nothing is as it seems so much for the nightmare that started off as a dream

Mere moments that have passed and virtually destroyed the precipitous of an uncrowned king

Visions we cherish along with the good times that we cling

Hostilities arise in the ambitions of fiends

Who’s going to save these souls?

A script is written for no man to play the role

An undesired effect its Author perpetuates so the prospective lost in the fold

Casualties of a minor calamity stricken with partially realized goals

Seductive crimes that aches hearts until grief finds its toll

First came a gesture from Heaven's width that bled out the abyss buried within

Seeping outward until the tunnel vision blinded foes and reminded friends

Souls and sore eyes might have sight like bitter sweets have its revenge

Silhouettes play joyfully to the tunes of their sin

How can we let go?

More answers to questions we didn’t know

Or was it questions we had and just didn’t know...No?

Guessing at the epithet my version of lost regret

Found my shield to guard myself and inoculate my pride from the threat

 What do you protect in this societal veil?

Stories are televised but the news is not what they tell

Which was it that felt like beating life?

146 beats per minute stored on the shelf

Never to see the pain that you felt

Hidden again because the truth was hot enough to melt

No drug to assuage the death, missing an infants’ laughter

And haunted from its missing breath

No pictures, no first steps

No mom or mother or father no body wept

Just abortion and another murder that we all accept

At night the haunted pages of your memory torment the sheets where you slept

A planned mistake has its neglects

Maybe we’re next adjoined in this respect

So the funeral is a sigh of relief that earns every bit of its vex.

A Subway of Sinners (The Forgotten)

A subway of sinners
Angry beginners, there ain't no righteous winners
Guilty of greed
Once sown the seed of the devil's vengeance
Planters take heed no turning back once you're in it
Similar sentence across the prisms, listen
Sorrowful sounds underground found a vision
An eye full of spite and a mouth filled with repentance
Opposition in the peripheral didn't make a difference
Living in inches it's a fight to the finish
I hope I last
Walking upon the broken glass
Scattered rags from homes with no moms or no dads
Abandoned faces form a hardened mask
Hiding their expression from the society that walked past
Where the wind was blanketed their skin
And their hopes were their only pair of pants
A night time transition
Where concrete slabs transformed into sleeping pads
Now the trains are speeding past
Wondering which one was better this life versus the last
Collapsed under the weight of a lonesome place
No one budged they just stood and judged or played it safe
The story read while toasting bread for breakfast plates
The forgotten never remembered until another took her place
A sobering trail of tears that smeared another face