I thought I'd get over this feeling of lost. Not knowing where to go or what to expect.

Now I expect to feel lost.

It's always going to be like this, isn't it?

I guess I'll have to make my own magic.

My assumptions reveal my prejudices, even if I'm the only one that notices.

"You can get anything you want..."

"You wanna end war and stuff, you gotta sing loud."

-Arlo Guthrie

I'll try not to mess

with your flow, but, oh baby,

oh, I just don't know.

Senryus on the fly:

watching a movie

supposed to help us get "it"

time for a nap now

so it's a haiku?

(what are you trying to say?)

do you understand?

wandering here to

there never stopping for a

breath or a stop.think.

O Inanity,

you are my world, my life;

not sure it's unusual

child laughing in joy?

or is it merely a stage?

IS there any joy?

noise overtaking

all my sensibilities

leaving me behind

Stop.Go.

Trying to block OUT sound. Trying to stop it getting in. Fingers in ears, stopping sound, stopping time, stopping life. No more sirens, no more talking, no more pain. A rushing. Block it out. Keep it out, too. Can see it, see the cells, the fluid, the life rushing, rushing. Pounding through. Life. Can't stop it, can't keep it out. Breathe.

I wanted to

tell you

everything.

But I found

I had

nothingtosay.

Is that ok?

And yet

What a strange way to come to grips with my own mortality:

someone I never met decides NOW is the easy way out.

someone else is still here, if a profile is all that really counts to make a person real

And yet,

I feel the same. A missed opportunity? A blatant self-denial? An affirmation of previous beleifs?

Why should I feel any different? And yet, I don't.

Mine?

My head is full of so many words. SO MANY.

Are any of them really my own?

"Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York..."

-Richard III, William Shakespeare

Forever

"From the first of all time, until time is undone..."

-Celtic Woman

there damn well better be a reason I dream.

Why?

Maybe

because

but

but

but

no

YES.

Sometimes I wonder why I didn't see it sooner

but I have to be here to see it at all.

The Window (SP II)

05/24/08

The people passing by the

window.

Some looking in, most

not.

They come by car or on

foot.

They wander past or walk purposefully

on.

Few enter, but those who do change

everything.

With their very

presence.

A smile, a frown, a

tear.

They all go

by.

SP I

05/24/08

A scattered thought

A whisper of a dream

The day pushes onward

Reaching to its end.

But it doesn’t ever end

Even that which must cease:

life, love

Does not.

This is what I know to be true:

There is no point to life

So why bother, right?

Wrong.

Life is for living,

Not preparing to die.

Life is for living,

For dreaming of sky.

Almost Sonnet II

06/28/08

The moon loves you,

and so I do.

The stars cry with joy to see you,

and so I do.

The very sky above would give the world for you,

but that’s not why I love you.

I love you when you do not smile.

I love you because you cry.

I’ve loved you while I’ve hated you,

though I do not know why.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

The world for us is open.

For all the “whys” that cannot fathomed be,

I give you my heart, to break it, feel free.

Always (Part I)

Always spare a tear for what might have been

The silver moonlight across the floor

The golden dreams of all who wake

That gentle knocking at the door

08/28/08

It was one of those days

One of those days that make you write poetry

It rained, of course, but not for long

Not long enough to make it romantic

Not short enough to be trifling

A summer rain

Here and gone again

The whim of the wind

And the announcement went out across

The empty train station

A call for more than just a train

A journey

Of places to be discovered

Battles to be fought

Friends to meet

It may have been an ordinary day

On the surface

But a look at the sky

And the game was up

A day for dreams

Changes

Making things work the way they are

If only met at all

Even ill by moonlight

Something

Anything

happen.

It Will Have Been Forever (Screen Door Slam)

it's three days later

and I can still hear

the screen door slam

waking up to find

you've left me behind

again

and I don't know

whether it's right or

wrong that I don't

know whether

I'll get along

without

you

But it's three days

after I heard the

screen door slam

for the last time.

it's two days later

and I can still

taste the salt from my

tears

starting to say something

no one will hear 'cause

you're not here

and I don't know

if I can find bliss

because I don't know if

I can deal with this

right now

but it's two days

since I knew I'm

gonna get over

you.

Yesterday I was up

all night.

It's gonna be hard

but it'll be all right

without

you.

cause now I've got forever.

Welcome Home

01/10/2009

Beyond the city, there lies the remains of a house. It was an old house. It had resigned itself to ruins long ago and was content in its retirement.

The roof had crumbled, and many of the walls had lost their grip on verticality, but there were trees and sky. Just enough shelter to hide from Hook, and just enough space to command the heavens.

For on any given day this house could hold anywhere within its walls. Bucking ham Palace or Neverland, Narnia, Oz, or even Lowood School.

There was no magic there, at least not as far as anyone could tell. No sightings of fairies, no talking animals. But perhaps that was the point. It wasn’t there unless you saw it.

It called to the young ones, of course, to The Children. Perhaps a reflection of light would lead to investigation, or, following, the wind would bring one to the doorway. They may have never met before, the ones who came. They didn’t need to.

They rarely shared their given names; they each became the role the house asked of them. Edmund, Lucy, Peter, Wendy. They would become whoever was needed that day, even those yet to be named.

The house called to the young, but they aren’t the ones who remember it. That comes later. After they have grown up and moved far away, after they have become “responsible”. That’s when it happens.

Perhaps they will ruin into one another at the party, or see each other across a crowded railway station. The Children find each other once more. They can catch the eye of a stranger and know they have met before. Then they introduce themselves and catch up on life together. They share stories, and find once again the wonder and beauty in the world.

Beyond the city, there lies the remains of a house that on one has ever tried to tear down. And so it sits basking in the sunlight and rainfall and snow cover, waiting. It calls to its Children. And when we are young no longer, it welcomes us home.

Perhaps

I'll never figure it out.

Maybe that's the point.