Blog Archives

Truth in Four Sentences

To someone that I used to know.

I don’t think of you every day.
You aren’t in my life; that’s not new.
Years have passed since I last loved you.
I’ll still cry when you pass away.

 

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Poem Seed: Inspired by the Jane Eyre musical

From the musical: ‎”My heart moves through his unquiet sea…”

My poem seed: Hearts have no limbs with which to swim, but they are awfully good at drowning.

Filk: “The Lost Girl Connection”, ttto “The Rainbow Connection” as sung by Kermit the Frog

“He that will not sail until all dangers are over, will never put to sea.”
~Thomas Fuller

Why are there so many songs about pirates
and what gets brought in with the tide?
Pirates are fiction, and only delusions,
and grownups have childhoods to hide.
So I’ve been told and some choose to believe it.
I know there’s more, wait and see.
Someday I’ll find it, the Lost Girl connection.
It’s the LGPA for me.

Who said that wishes will never be granted
when wished on the righthand star?
Someone thought of that and many believed it.
Look what it’s done so far.
What’s so entrancing it keeps us from dancing
in the rain at age thirty three?
Someday I’ll find it, the Lost Girl connection.
It’s the LGPA for me.

All my life under a spell. I know that it’s seems kind of tragic.

I have been half asleep, and I have heard voices.
I’ve heard them calling my name.
Is this the sweet sound that calls the young at heart?
The voice might be one
and the same.
I’ve heard it too many times to ignore it.
It’s something that I’m supposed to be.
I think that I’ve found it, the Lost Girl connection.
It’s the LGPA for me.

I know that I’ve found it, the Lost Girl connection.
It’s the LGPA for me.

[Edit] It’s appropriate that this is my 42nd post on this blog.

Poem: The Point of Return

One day, I met a wizard.
He requested help with his spells
and I, being a student of such a school,
volunteered with vigor.
The days passed,
and we spoke on most of them.
The weeks passed,
and I grew to know him.
The months passed,
and I grew to love him.
When I heard he’d begun to summon,
a chill froze the pit of my stomach.
Did he not know that these are dangerous?
He grew confident in his ways.
I and my fellow students watched in wary dread,
waited.
One day, the demons broke loose,
and they stole him away,
wounding the lady of trees
and badly frightening the rest of us.
We now seek he who we have lost,
he who was taken from us.
I, being well-studied in dreams,
seek him there.
I have now begun this many times.
I lay down, close my eyes,
and am there.
“Give me back my friend!”
I demand.
The demon shakes his head.
“No. He let us in. We are guests here.”
The dreamsky darkens,
clouds rolls in,
the derecho beginning.
I feel the power gathering,
in the ground,
in my hands,
in my soul, the wind.
“Leave.”
One strike, thunder that follows.
“Him.”
Two strikes, cacaphonous, drawing closer.
“Be.”
Three strikes, the last licking the demon’s lashing tail.
His eyes widen in shock and sudden comprehension.
“You cannot have him. Be gone, utterly and forever!
Nevermore shall your shadow slide over the earth
like a slug after a rich meal,
nevermore shall the lady of trees thrash in your claws,
nevermore your cruel touch beautiful things to mar.”
I am thrown to the ground,
the demon towers above me.
“You cannot banish me, because you cannot banish him!
He must fight, and he must win,
or he will never again see the light of day!”
I smile, a grin so feral and bright that it splits the dark and,
staff ablaze with my storm,
fire and lightning ,
stand in the doorway in the demon’s shadow.
I shriek with all that I was, am, and can be,
“The gate is here,
unlocked, open, flung wide!
I hold the light
that you may always find
a way back
through the darkness!”

Poem: Truth, Plain and Unadorned

This could be a poem about how I don’t understand.

I could say,
“I don’t understand why bad things happen to good people”

or

“I don’t understand how good people can still do terrible things”,
but it would be a lie.

This could be a poem about how I don’t care.

I could say,
“I don’t care that you are suffering. We all suffer”

or

“I am suffering. Why should I care when you suffer?”,
but it would be false.

This could be a poem about how faraway problems do not affect me.

I could say,
“That problem’s distance is great, and does not relate to my life”

or

“I haven’t known those people very long, their day-to-day means nothing to me”,
but it would be patently untrue

I understand.
I care.
You matter.

These things are my honesty,
waving a red flag in code
from my aching heart
to yours.

I love you.

Poem: Prayer for the Lost and Wandering

Your path and feet have parted ways,
and though none but you may find it,
your chosen methods leave a daze
over those you love who’d mind it.

I have watched you of many days,
your worldview with confusion rife,
unknowing, watched you slip away,
seen what you have done to your life.

I wait in silent simmering
for word from the lady of trees.
Rock bottom dropped from under me
lifting my prayers up to the breeze

that they may be carried to She
Who resides now in summer bright,
that She may grant Her blessings three
to reach you in your deepest night.

Heed them, at your peril ignore
the signs and portents you have made.
You have been placed at Justice’ door
It’s only She can give you aid.

Those who love you do fear for you,
and sadly of you they fear same.
Metaphors cannot help you, true;
it is left to you to take blame.

I plead You, Psychopomp, hear this:
he lies at losing’s very door.
It’s not his time, he’s gone amiss,
must mend those precious things he tore.

I love you like a dear brother,
Gentle, clever, witty, and true.
Your place, ne’er filled by another,
Is now taken by something else.
Not.
You.

Poem: Storyteller

You will not ask me if I love you.
I will not tell you I do.
I will not ask you to break your word.
You will not tell me you want me to,
And I won’t.

You will ask me if I understand.
I will tell you I do.
I will ask you to break out a story.
You will tell me you want to,
And you will.