Ice...Lemon Supreme Moons and the Power of Art

from Love Poem #27

It was but a momentary dream in rhyme

a stolen moment in the scheme of time

Paralleled paradise under gloomy noon,

we shared a lemon supreme moon.

-- Richie M. (2010)

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People of the Internet!  In order to survive apathy we must participate in our human endeavor, we must empathize, we must strive, we must create!

Don't take your voice for granted, fight for what you believe in -- because "if we die, we must die" but not until we have truly lived.

This is my call for action! Find a way for you to actively change something; even if it only a couple of minds.

Continuing on, I will discuss the nature of ice and the metaphors we adopt in order to enlist a justification for various ideals.

In his novel One Hundred Years of Solitude Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote that when Jose Arcadio Buendia upon seeing ice for the first time claimed "This is the greatest invention of the world" yet as the history of the family unfolds, so does the illusion; The City of Macondo --  the city of mirrors -- undergoes a whirlwind of destruction predicated on its own tragic self-reflexivity. Likewise, Japanese Haiku poet Gozan wrote "The snow of yesterday / that fell like cherry petals / is water once again."

-- Although Gozan encapsulates a zen-like meditation on the relationship,  both writers invoke the forces of nature and on a deeper level speak on the transience of life and desire. In this blog that is seldom read, I seek to take part in this discourse that transcends boundaries of time and space (credit Mucluhan with his notion of the text as an extension of the nervous system).

Our dreams were ephemeral, and like ice melted into water.
Not like thats a bad thing, water is fluid, it is strong. As Bruce Lee said, Be water my friend.

(coming next post: A Thrilling tale on the relationship between Lions and Sheep as they relate to modern life)

My band (The Stanton Street Collective) has been doing pretty well. We played for a benefit fashion show last weekend at The Lancers Club. Proceeds were donated to the battered women's shelter in El Paso. We played with Chrissy (wonderful singer) and the powerhouse known as Ribo Flavin'!!!! It was a really fun show, and to be honest I couldn't quite complain about the event :D

This weekend  (Sunday  March 14th) we will be playing another benefit show at the Border Network for Human Rights (BNHR) office on 2115 Piedras. This is to support the El Paso delegation in the Texas Caravan to join the national rally in Washington DC to demmand immigration reform. Show up and enjoy some local entertainment and delicious food from various members of the community. Volunteers and donations are appreciated.

Here is the flyer for the event:



I hope that you can make it. If you are reading this after the date then I hope you will be able to come out and support future events dedicated to human causes.

Now go and make a difference,

Peace and Love,

Rich

Welcome!

My friends,

Welcome to the Wandering Poet Society

Feel free to post original poetry, quotes/poems you find inspiring, posts about music, posts about art, posts about local culture, or simply if you need a space to put your thoughts down.

This should be a welcome atmosphere and a place for us to share ourselves to the world.

-- Rich

Stanton Street on the Beat

Hello all,

This is a post from my friends @ The Dodo's Nest

Stanton Street Fashionistas


The Stanton Street Collective had a small show this weekend for our pal David's Fashion Show this Saturday March 7.

It was a bigger spot than we were used to but we pulled it off nicely. Preceding us was Christine singing, with Josh doing bass work, and the mystical Mouse on the drums. Mr. Mouse went on to sub for our beatmaster Tony. Following our set was a great local band called Riboflavin' who performed some impressive hip-hop that sounded like it had heavy influence from People Under the Stairs.

The Stanton Street Collective: Rich, Eddy, Zelene, Freddy. (Not pictured: Tony)

I am currently looking for any recording someone may have made. In the meantime, here's a little list of our set:


* Freddy's Red Robin
* F Key for Sax
* Tiene Hambre, Tiene Sed
* ¿Como te Llamaras?
* Avian's Forgotten Dreams
* Zelene's I Am Leaving You
* Zelene's Juarez Poem

Achy Obejas was Here

Achy Obejas was here




Achy Obejas, Cuban-American writer, translator, and journalist just recently visited El Paso and UTEP for Women's History Month.

As a journalist, she has received awards for several of her freelance stories written in the Chicago Tribune. In addition, she has earned the Lambda Literary Award for her novels Memory Mambo (1997) and Days of Awe (2002).

After meeting her in person this past Tuesday, I have to say that she has a wonderful and refreshing personality. If you have the opportunity, check out some of her novels.

Bibliography:

* "Havana Luna (novel)" (2009) Akashic Books
* Ruins (novel) (2009) Akashic Books
* Havana Noir (editor) (2007)
* This is What Happened In Our Other Life (poetry) (2007)
* Days of Awe (2001)
* Memory Mambo (1996)
* We Came All the Way from Cuba So You Could Dress Like This? (1994)


On Tuesday, she signed several copies of her books for me; during which we had a small conversation. I noticed that in my copy of days of Awe she wrote: "Send me a Poem" with her e-mail. I found it very flattering; yet as soon as she had written this, I felt as though every thing I had ever written in my life was suddenly crap. Of course, I'll follow up though, I just wanted to share.

New Night

(Part I: Philosophical Treatise)
[scene: the mind; allegro, ryhtmic]

Oftentimes I feel misplaced,
torn apart, rearranged and retraced

So I sit late nights by a starry fire
And seek thoughts of which to inspire

So this must be what it feels like when a flower blooms
The simultaneous collision of a thousand heartshaped moons

Blurring the division between dream and reality
In a single daydream spent eternity.

***

(Part II: Invocation)

Humanity, Humanity,
You’re a muttering bum.
Sitting there, complacent
Under a stuttering sun.

Goodbye, Halcyon days
Golden goodness, will not end.
Human kind and our desperate ways.
Hello, darkness my old friend

But I’ve had enough of this
Dreary, desolate, way of living.


We have to do something!
So we may stay up late at night and write new stories for the stars.

***

(Part III: Wandering Poet)

Sometimes.
When the time is late and images of contemporary society are sprayed upon the canvas of earth.
Faceless masks and empty words, makes pens mightier than swords.

Although.
The images flicker, rapidly and enigmatic, shadows upon the wall. Shape-shifters roam the earth in nomadic tribes, extinguishing the flame of whim.

WOOSH! was the sound of moonlight breaking into millions of particles
which gently lay down in a blanket of dim fog upon the eclectic city night.
A snow globe of misty light; both lunar and electric are the sounds of the still dark flood as tragic faces move along like yellowed leaves crumbling in the wind.

The leafless trees outside the library stand like red giants, rustling and dancing to the beat of seismic samba as they anxiously wait for the final explosion.

An unknown HOWL darts throughout the fragmented universe as angel-headed hipsters grab their bongos and travel to the promised land -- seeking music lessons from god; the best improviser this side of the imagination.

An island onto ourselves; we build bridges to connect and shout: enough!
And sprawled across the wall. Across the canyon wall; the sacred word: LOVE!!!!

Trapped in the amber of the moment and with no "why," we prepare to be cremated upon our death that way so we may go on as lightly as we wanted to have lived.

And when the wind picks up around the ears of new generations, we -- the voices of the dead -- will attempt to whisper sense to those willing to listen:
Dammit children!, if you do one thing on earth, you've got to be kind to one another.

And they run away in laughter, the only way they know how: towards the future as other voices struggle to be heard.

So this broken world lays outside as a solitary stroll invokes a seemingly coincidental foray into the musical etudes of memory which trigger a brief moment of nostalgia.

This is the now and we must be prepared for any moment upon this spiraled timeline.
Like water, formless and strong. Both empty and full. Tranquil and relaxed yet, ready to act at a moment’s notice.

This is the life we live, no longer directed by sinister muses but by the gentle spirit of love. And the dreamers stand up and jam to the fluid movement of feeling romanticized in the form of other worldly rhythmic vibrations.

Two lovers: both existent and non-existent. Yet, lying in the realm of Possibility.

They stay up late and write new stories for the stars.

***

(Part IV: Masquerade)

Sometimes, I think that I too
have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness...
And burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo
In the machinery of night…

(looking for anything)
(…anything)


They are the burning hot quasars of existential memory -- nostalgic interludes of this melancholy masquerade

-------

(Scene V: Poetic Perseverance)

[scene:late night]

I step of my house -- tired.
I look out at the deep dark ocean of a starry night
and breathe a sigh of relief as my eyes caress
the milky white streaks of matter spilled across
the sky: straggling clouds separated from the herd,
distant star clusters blurred by restrictions of sight,
and spiraling galaxies -- whizzing by at tremendous
speeds. Unfathomable.


Drifting away.
Swept under
the gravitational pull
of an angry sun.


Humanity dwindles on the edge of reason
softly singing a song -- quite possibly a requiem.
The cool breeze of chance glides around
our collective skin -- chills recollect static.

The sound of silence, deep in space.
Under the glow of a million dead stars.
The settled dust of an empty planet
begs for the creation of life.

I gaze outward into the open void
of the desolate universe and wait

…waiting.

Waiting for the moment to soar.
Because this is the one where we learn how to fly in the end.

The Simultaneous Collision of a Thousand Heart-Shaped Moons

So this must be what it feels like when a flower blooms --
The simultaneous collision of a thousand heart-shaped moons.

Blurring the division between dream and reality
-- in a single daydream, spent eternity.

A Glance:

She ripped away the heavily-weighted nets of hate which instantaneously caused everybody to gently float upward
to the skies in a simultaneous dream of lingering euphoria.

She finally showed us how to love;
and her name was music.
Contemplating upon the complexity of a moment, a heavy thunder
hammers upon the fragile strings of poets and philosophers alike.

It leaves a resonating echo in the chambers of
both the heart and of the mind -- repeated invariably
across a landscape of fluctuating mediums.

They simultaneously sing the archaic elegies of yesteryear
and the pseudo-colloquialisms of our current endeavor.

The result is a blur of possibility that lies hidden
within the haunting chords of an unknown song.

Wandering the cusp of existence; where the world is
freshly planted in the soft damp soil of infancy
we are able to experience things again for the first time.

The soul is reborn and the origami dreams of the heart
take flight in a blizzard of rare snowflakes that have been
forged in the icy-blue jet-streams of mysticism.

Romanticized symbols dance inexplicably about my being,
unknown in the world yet meant to signify a refined, pure, soft
and gentle love. But in the process become choked up,
pianissimo mumbles, garbled up with the nonsense of
incomplete incoherent mumbling.

So this must be what it feels like when a flower blooms --
The simultaneous collision of a thousand heart-shaped moons.

The Place Where The World Ends

I temporarily gazed into the grotesque
and all too REAL eyes of Mortality.

The grand scope of all things threw its
intense weight upon my being and pinned
me down to the dusty earth.

- I saw sand turn into glass.
and all around me: glass dissolve into sand.

- I saw the mountain landscape change
flowers and plants and trees, disappear.

- I saw the hard wooden casket of a loved
face, no longer with us. Only then did we
regret lost time.

Staring out the window, I see a dead world.
-- have we truly removed ourselves that far from nature?

My heart sings a song of melancholic reflection
and My mind engages a maze of philosophic meandering.
but my soul...

my Soul transcends beyond the known
and into the hidden flux of all things.
I too, become a transparent eye

and I see what we have done
and I see that all is one.

Ode to Buddy Bolden

Play on! Buddy Bolden
with your sweet cornet
and the big fourth note
(ba-dum, bum, clack, Bee-AT!)

If only America had the chance
to hear you play again
or -- at least one more time.

Unrecorded and lost in time
they say you were the cool cat
who first played Jazz.

Playing in many halls in the very
early part of the Twentieth Century
You could play it ALL
and you could play it HOT!!!

Playing in the counter-culture Red-Light District.
In Storyville, New Orleans
the children head you eternally practicing
and quickly called you King.

If only we could hear you once more
we thought -- as you walked away from that
one parade -- and found yourself within
the pristine padded walls of the institution
we know as the mentally insane.

And America wept as we slowly
found out we would never hear your soulful sound
again -- in the Kasbah of North America -- or anywhere.
All that is left is one blurry picture
and a legend to last a lifetime.

And Resonating through your legend
are powerful heavy notes --
played loudly and unpolitely;
the new music of the soul.
It is simply what you did --
..and it was beautiful.

Take Five (Dave Brubeck Tribute)

Bass drum, snare and cymbal work together with percussive placidity to forge the beginning of a new song.

Soon blasts forth the syncopated piano rhythm in the feel of five-four.
Put your hand to its heart and feel its heartbeat.
A new voice is quick to join the romantic affair of harmony and melody.

In comes the smooth timbre of a sleek saxophonist. Poetry flows from the bell, telling us a story that only our imagination can remember.

The resonating boom of the bass strengthens the foundation upon which this romance is set:

-- all parts fit snuggly together as pieces of the puzzle, for this moment in time, music reigns supreme.

A fine diminuendo commences as lead drops out and only piano remains. We are graced by the sound of ivory keys jumping up and down to the elation of precise musicianship. The stage has been set once again for magic to take place:

Percussion takes the forefront, persuading us of our rhythmic endeavor – the chains of restraint are lifted and all notion of form ceases to exist -- The neglected rhythm generator becomes the untamed and a beast of the beat. We call it a Drum solo

Tonight: Jazz fills the air with its intoxicating aroma of pleasant perfume. Music holds our hearts in firm embrace as it reminds us of our humanity and our capacity for human expression.

We are all different as the instruments upon stage; as diverse as the notes to a harmony. Yet -- we all come together, and for one moment create something uniquely beautiful…


***



* Dedicated to Kriss Thompson, fellow music lover, lover of life and most importantly my friend. The world stops to hear the symphony of our lives – Richie Marrufo

The Open Road Revisited

I can be Jack Kerouac
and you can be Emily Dickinson --

together we can blow this joint
and hit the only open road yet to be traveled.

Overcoming our dichotomous anxieties
we will flow as Yin and Yang

A poet's heart, a poet's soul: you and I
build paper cranes until its time to nap.

Off we go into space -- the new frontier
tiered of squaresville and mundane bedrooms.

Off we go:

I can be Jack Kerouac
aand you can be Emily Dickinson --

Subversively singing soft mad lullabies
to our infant dreams: the children of the world.

And we faded like the stars above us, in one last dance

If I were to tell you that this is a sad story -- would you believe me?

If this story had a soundtrack you would hear the sound of a rueful piano playing like a lost dancer on a frigid tundra.

..and just as you began to believe me, our hero picks up tempo and dances across the fiery desert -- locked within a cosmic samba in which all the universe comes alive and shakes it hips to our rhythmic narrations.

Burning hot quasars ackowledge that we are not alone, as soon comes in the jungle-like rhythm of an inventive percussionist. Not to be forgotten is the wild heartbeat of the bass: thumping to the spirit of a curious wind.

If I asked you to dance -- would you join me?

This is the one where we all learn to fly in the end

A Haiku

#7

You are my morning
Cup of tea ; side of sugar
soak like peaceful rain.

Piece of Mind: Il Penseroso-lved

Oftentimes while on a midnight stroll the scenery of night plays out like a lonely piano in a moonlit ballroom as each heavy note gently tears away at the heart -- surely shredding it in halves.

A scene: viewed over and over through the mind's memory
the questioning begins and so it is said: : "It isn't supposed to be this way"

As often as it is, passion overcomes the logic of reason and the inquisitive battle of the mind is held upon a grayed field of interchanging, intermixing, light and darkness.

What solemn sanctuary awaits those who fall into darkness visible --
What grudgingly painful step up the mountain will be made less by that of grace?

Your chaotic asylum holds refuge for the nobler mind --
for at the lowest of our despair lies the capacity for ascension more glorious.



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This is perhaps one of my more complex poems so I wanted to attempt to explain some of it to my readers.

The title is a multiple play on phrases and such. Of course, there is the phrase "Peace of Mind", well that is definitely what I want to achieve with this poem. However, it is also a single thought I had, and thus, it becomes a "piece" of my mind that I wanted to share. The other half of the title is an homage to John Milton's poem Il Penseroso. (usually accompanied with the poem L'Allegro)His poem is about engaging in a type of melancholy but in the sense of scholarly contemplation. by adding to it, I hint that there is a type of "solving" going on in this process of "penseroso."

The first stanza is an opening in which I introduce the setting and attempt to produce an atmosphere of melancholy. These are the moments when we stop and reflect on things in life, and sometimes they aren't kind to the heart.

The second stanza, is playing off this type of inward reflection in which we usually doubt ourselves and such.

The third stanza is exactly in the middle of the poem separating the first two opening stanzas and the last pair of concluding stanzas. This is done intentionally because it is about the balance of life, such a theme is imbued within the imagery of light and darkness in a constant battlefield of grays. The "grays" indicate the complex nature of everything in which, most of the time it is neither black or white. In addition, this stanza makes not of the passion overtaking logic. This happens way too often during moments of melancholy, in which sometimes, logically, there are MANY reasons why this person shouldn't be depressed, however due to passion taking the lead, it becomes a moment of almost despair.

The last two stanzas to me are the most important of the poem because they come up with a type of resolution or acknowledgment to be made out of dire situations of the heart and mind.

"darkness visible" is another allusion to Milton. It is a funny juxtaposition of words in which darkness is SO dark that you can actually see it. In this case, I liken it to despair. So I question what kind of solomn sanctuary can you get from such darkness? Similarly, in the same stanza, I liken life as to climbing up a mountain, and with each painful step the hike becomes harder, once again I question how less can the pain be taken away by grace? essentially, grace becoming the kindness and help of others.

The answer lies within the last stanza in which a justification for a nobler mind comes out of a "chaotic asylum." In the sense that once we feel that we have hit the bottom, the place with most room is to go upwards. For at the lowest of our despair lies the capacity for ascension more glorious.

Looking out the Window

This time, I am working on a five act expostulation in which the shift goes from dialogue to monologue with each act. Make what you want out of it.



I.

person a: Why do you suppose I am here?

person b: To make rhyme and reason out of chaos


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II.

It came to me in a dream.

It often comes to me in dreams. It seeps through like rain on a warm summer night leaving pools of wishes that glisten under a jeweled moon. If only you could hear the music, such music flowing in around in physical form, it absorbs emotion and it transcends words.

As a dreamer I have to realize that we wake up eventually.

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III.

person a: What am I supposed to do?

person b: Follow your heart

person a: By leaving it open, It will hurt.

person b: Then you will learn


-------------------------------------------------------------------------
IV.

I'd like to understand you, if I only could.

I look outside and watch the rain fall. I listen to the rhythm of the rain as it hits the eclectic canvas of earthly surfaces. I think to myself and consider how the rain connects the sky with the earth, and in essence they all become one.

Then I sit back and wish that, in much the way the rain connects the heaven and the earth, I would use love to connect our hearts.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
V.

We move forward:

With our eyes on the future, we remain aware of the past and in control of the present

At least we try our best.

"With each mistake we must surely be learning." It is a cycle where we will never stop learning, and indeed, where mistakes will be made as the Earth remains turning.

So in my free time I'll close my eyes and drift away -- humming the music stuck in my head.

Anybody may join me, nobody is required.

Thus spoke Serendipity

 There he was:

Why was it that these types of things always happened to him?

 

Looking into her eyes he noticed that usual horrible sinking feeling in his stomach.

 Except this time he liked it.

 

There was something about her that lured him. He was a stupid fish and she was holding the hook. There wasn't even any bait on it!

 
Why yes there was… the bait were here eyes. Eyes –that burned through him like the mist from a distant fire.

 

He took a deep breath
…at least he tried to take a deep breath.

 

Crap!  He had forgotten how to breathe.

 

Stupid! You look like an idiot

 She gave a slight smirk, almost as if she could read his mind.

 

Could she read his mind!

 

He had just seen half of her smile. His heart beat rapidly. Growing faster and faster.

 

What goes one on the other side of the room?

 

There He Stood.

There she stood.

 

All was still and all was silent. And yet...

 

There she stood, as refreshing as a soft breeze on a summer day

and there he stood, mystified by the music.

 

The music from his dreams, perhaps?

 

He felt a sensation in his left foot. He took a step forward.
What had he done!?

 

Slowly looking back up, he realized she was still there.
She hadn't run.

 

Two more steps.

 

His legs felt heavy, yet he was now two steps closer.

 

…She was smiling now.

 

…so was he

 

?———§———?

 Eternity lived within the the fleeting moment

Eclipse

Due to a more recent lunar eclipse I wanted to write of the beauty of the moon and its ability to influence us at times. It is a simple poem, but I like it.




Lovely Luna who doth steal light from the sun,
grace us with your image sweetly, thou shall not be outdone.

Tis no wonder couples sit snuggly under your magnetic allure
and vice-versa to the broken-hearted whose pain you may cure.

Before light there was darkness as you clearly attend,
as such you inspire us and our souls perhaps mend.

Fallen Leaves

A compilation of works, quotes and snippets of thought that I want to share with the world. Surely all these words are not without meaning. I now give you the compilation I call Fallen Leaves.



Introduction:

Somewhere in time, I sribble madly upon my notebook. The smooth jet-black ink dances against the canvas of freedom. Together - they move through time and space, reconstructing lucid dreams and creating new worlds.

I hope you may gain something from any of my words, I now offer you this collection for your interpretation. Whether I have accomplished to open your mind and heart or rather strike you with inspiration I will have felt that I have done enough.

-- R.D.M.


Listen:

---

Fallen Leaves

The wind blows abrupt
the tragic tale of time.
Softly and sweetly.

Leaves fall like music
in tomorrow's sleepy haze.
Unaware, un-phased.

Caught in our own glance --
time holds us still in embrace.
Our hearts drift as one.

---

---

"Together we can walk into the unknown, singing songs of adventure." -- Richie Marrufo

---

---

"Do not hide yourself beneath the blanket of leafy death¹, but rather expose yourself to the beauty of the world and allow yourself to be inspired." -- Richie Marrufo

1. from Descent into the House of Poe, my attempt on a parody of the Gothic or at least a quick tour of the Gothic through Poe's rhetoric. The main character is in a secluded forest in the fall. As expected, the leaves continuosly fall to the ground -- symbollic of death, foreboding the coldness of despair -- eventually creating a "blanket of leafy death." The character is within a fit of oppressivly low melancholy in which he desires to hide away from the world by falling under the "blanket of leafy death.

---

---

"It all rolls together, all of it -- and it forms a song. A song of us. Beauty in a higher plane, our souls create the melody while the beating of our hearts give birth to a tempo. Our song drifts through time and space, unbroken, for all the world to hear." -- Richie Marrufo

---

---

Elevation

There is a remedy within the night sky.
as I sit along the grass, head held up high.
As I dwell of the past, I must move along
constantly searching for new and lovely song.

Constantly writing...
Constantly dreaming...

---

---

"I believe in the blade of grass that blows against the wind. I believe in music. I believe in art. It is in dreams, that I belive: I believe in LOVE and I believe in peace. It is true that I believe in hope. These are the gears that drive my being." -- Richie Marrufo

from The Power of Expression

---

---

"Revolutions are grand designs, they create masterful ideas that move the gears of time. Out of that kinetic friction arise sparks of hope. So with this revolution I write the experience that is the rebellion of my broken heart: While I breathe, I hope" -- Richie Marrufo

from "So You Say You Want A Revolution?"

---

---

Beyond the Cloak of Emerald

O Gentle land of a meteor lake
sweep within your view a splendid
scene of the beauty natural in heaven's wake --
An array of visual magnificence you have blended.

To one side, seven sisters do not hide,
clear and bright, do they hang upon the sky.
In the seasons do these serve as a guide
and never will shall the the end draw nigh.

Unyielding to the cold and refusing to freeze
a noble lake, surrounded in emarald skies
stands in tranquility and serves to appease.
The unseen forces at work, to turn an old man wise.

---

---

a Discourse on the Universality of All Things

IV.

If the early bird gets the worm
and the second mouse gets the cheese
where does that leave the lowly germ
who is lost with a simple sneeze?

from Poets and Madmen

---

---

[choices] Just Another Day

We walk around each day
encountering others along the way.

I'll smile, and you'll say nothing, not even a word
But I really can't help it if I look like a nerd

Sure, at first questions may seem random,
but they truly aren't bad when executed in tandem.

So say something like, "Do you like Ramen?"
and I should respond with "HEY we have something in common!

So next time you see me don't lose sites
Instead ask me "Do you like to fly kites"?"

---

---

from Earthsong

In the middle of abstract and reason
Resides the human race; unpredictable, obnoxious and untamed
Yet--with the passing of each and every season,
Lives the chance for hope, inspiration and beauty unnamed

---

---

Words still flow out like poetry...
The music continues to play...

I'm a lover and a fighter.
I'm a dreamer and I'm a writer.

Listen to my song, and I'll listen to yours


~ *R*

(Peace and Love)

Proximity

Everything can become within reach if you strive for it with your heart's ambition. You may never ever reach it, but you'll never know unless you make an attempt

When all hope seems lost, it can take the smallest of signs to get you back on track. To quote Herman Melville, "Surely all this is not without meaning." I just threw that quote out there to dissect, if perhaps, just a little bit. You see, the very fact that I chose this, surely has meaning to it. At least as long as you make it to be. The very fact that you are reading this, perhaps holds some meaning to it. You are a friend and I now hold you dear, but now you should try and gain something from my words.

I have written an incredibly short free-verse to represent an internal struggle in the never ending search for hope. In this particular instance, something incredible happens and perhaps for even just a moment, salvation is achieved through a miraculous event. Indeed, this story is not without meaning as it represents a time in my life and the one I am going through right now. They are quite literally my dreams, my fears and my hopes.

I now present to you:

PROXIMITY

The winds of change blow abruptly in my dreams, I am carried like a wrecked ship through the raging waters of Neptune.

It is not my place to decide where I go..I am tugged around violently to the point that I wish to be slammed across a rock and immediately end my pain.

My heart sings to you, knowing that you are warm and complacent and for a brief moment I can smile knowing you are happy. The moment is fleeting as I am submerged by water. I can no longer breathe as it seems more difficult to grasp on to hope. I reach my hand out for yours and realize you will not pull me up. I begin to sink as the water grows even colder and the darkness deepens.

Through my eyes, closed shut -- I was touched by a golden light. I regained a second wind and fought my way to the surface. I feel as though I were being held by heavy chains that have been melted into the bottom of the ocean floor. NO! These chains are connected to the core of all life -- the Earth.

With my eyes open I saw the golden light protruding above the surface of the murky water. I had not known it but I was being propelled to the light as if by some unseen force.

I immediately felt the cool breeze against my face as I took in all the air within proximity of my mouth and nose. What was it that had saved me? In the distance I saw a magnificent bird flying past the horizon. It flew with majestic strokes of a goddess painting a new picture for the world to admire. I held on to hope again as I floated around the water..there has to be an island near

-- I hope there is music


-----------------------------------------

Poets and Madmen

I.

A strange misfit
we all stood upon the stage.
A false opera, dimly lit
entangled in a fury of rage.

Dusty leaves shatter across the cold surface of your patio floor.
and out of confusion, we remain without purpose and head to the door.


II.

"You can fall from the sky
you can fall from a tree
but the best way to fall
is in love with me"

Thats ridiculous, simply ludicrous. Why would anybody benefit from falling?
Thats absurd, perverse and strangely intoxicating, to who am I calling?


III.

A dimly lit candle
firmly recalls it's fleeting seconds as it diminishes into twi-light.
Awake: I ponder into moonlight's fragile stare
as I think of you
to gently dream the night away, with sweet and hopeful care.


IV.

If the early bird gets the worm
and the second mouse gets the cheese
where does that leave the lowly germ
who is lost with a simple sneeze?


V.

She sang with the heart-felt tunes of yesteryear
with rueful eyes and tongue of tart.
I witnessed something quite so clear
The Rebellion of my broken heart

VI.

Like a madman, he played diligently upon the ivory stones.
Shrouded in an air of remorse, the music he played
that had filled the room t'was enough to chill the bones.
And often did he stop to think, of her memory which would not fade.

VII.

And yet the fool lay half-awake, half-conscious in the alley way gutter.
Stricken by the booze disease, he found himself overcome by the fear
developed from alcohol induced paranoia. Aghast he stood in a shudder
of insanity, he behold the ghost of the girl he once held dear.

VIII.

The bentalope of the gerryminnd stood partly still in ninnygrauv
for the mildespec had taken from the pealterstone.
And in yult for cause of veltavazzle, remained one and only huffapauv.
The wuzzlesnorten from mactilist could not go home.

IIX.

Atchoo!

- Bless You [and it is spelled achoo]



IX.

Thunder captivated the crimson sky.
Mighty thunder soared across the land blasting forth mighty echoes.

Echoes that seemed to whisper to tragic tale of mankind.

Two figures: Hero and Villain stood upon their stage with puppets at their command.

In darkness they fought till the earth no more till all their was was battle..
Nothing more.
Thus, was the prevailing wish of Mr. Zaruthrusta who stood behind it all.


X.

Comment faire le monde réagit quand j'offre mon dernier au revoir?
How would the world react when I offer my last goodbye?


After walking miles into uncertainty, he finally released a short sigh of immense depth.

The air around withheld a distinction of selfishness.

From the wake of the illusion he ventured into a darkly lit dream.

From the tree branch he stood
grasping the rope within his fingers. Placed
The noose around his neck--

He jumped towards safety

Fallen Leaves

The wind blows abrupt
the tragic tale of time.
Softly and sweetly.

Leaves fall like music
in tomorrow's sleepy haze.
Unaware, un-phased.

Caught in our own glance --
time holds us still in embrace.
Our hearts drift as one.