and there

there are mornings like this which linger across days
gentle mornings filled with the wonder of your presence
and the touch of your skin against mine
and they wrap themselves around me
for longer than i ever dared dream


yeah, so i get a little sappy sometimes. so what.

i haven’t been writing much, because i’ve been pretty happy. i’m of that sadly predictable bent that requires conflict, angst and/or depression to write “artistically”, and i just haven’t really been conflicted, full of angst, or depressed.

yeah, sorry, i know how terribly much that stinks.


it was a long, cold, wet spring, and now the summer whistles by far too quickly, with far too little time for doing all the things i’d really like to do, but that’s how it always is.

i’m happy, but i think internally i may still be at a crossroads. the determination of how, exactly, to move forward beneath the light of some things, while firmly outside the light of other things, weighs on me now in ways that i don’t find comfortable. so much change has been, and so much continues, but what stands before me now seems simultaneously insurmountable and insubstantial. i feel that i can just barely discern what’s standing before me, but i know damn well i have to cross it before i can truly begin moving on.

and one of those things….


little deaths

it took a couple of little deaths for some things to begin healing inside me. the first of those was back in January, where complete, abject avoidance proved to be the stronger suit. it was a tough series of cards to play as an empath, i don’t mind admitting, but having played them, i know i am the better for it. i couldn’t hold anything resembling a coherent conversation with that one, and as a result, i am now even further removed from my past and the dreams i once dared to dream.

but that was quite fitting, after all.

the other little death occurred just recently, and while i still fail to understand just where exactly that particular train got derailed, i’m by no means pleased that i had to once again play the “unconcerned non-observer” role to get by. the words should have been enough, and the actions (or lack thereof), would have made my intentions clear to even the most deluded. but no, somehow, they were not. so that one wandered away in a fit of peevish self-pity void of exactly what i knew all along was lacking: a true to desire to change the reality in which she had entombed herself.

life goes this way, sadly, far too often. no one has piqued my pity and disappointment quite as well as these two fine souls have managed, and they are gone.

little deaths: little things turned grey within me, but i hope their lives prosper in positive ways.


(for that last one, a restatement of the obvious ~ in peace)

you knew
what it would and wouldn’t
be, let alone become,
long before i ever had the opportunity
to confuse it all. you knew
what would fail to move
before you set about to redefine
the benefit in attempting
to change what you knew would be
unmoved.

you knew
the realities surrounding
you, and chose to color them
in forgettable hues. you knew
where i stood, and transported
me, redefined me, and who i became
through your eyes was unrecognizable,
so i stepped away, thus becoming
unmoved.


the 23rd/24th of this month marks the completion of our first year together, ghosts, memories and all. we don’t like being apart from each other.

and that is the greatest gift i have ever been given.

collide

the days have collided into one long, interminable scream: so much so that i’ve forgotten what i’m screaming for or about or to or why or wherefore. and i don’t even scream aloud.


so same, the days
in essence
so governed by extremity
and the levity of change
          that dream
     undisclosed
we grieve that none may know
the inner joy
engendered by the storms


that was jotted down during some work meeting in which i had only a bit part, if any. i don’t know exactly when. and the entire sentiment of not knowing that is exactly how things have been.

shit. that rhymed. you can shoot me now.

i am actually doing well. things change rapidly, which always seems to be the case with me. i don’t try to make things difficult, but that could well be simply another way of saying that i don’t have to try.

happiness approaches, which is not to say i’m entirely displeased with the here-and-now.

ugh. i’m gonna stop now. too many caveats, and i barely just started.

(on a completely unrelated subject: i don’t know what the hell “melon berry” skittles are supposed to taste like, but they taste like the smell of an old man’s farts contained with decades-old wet flannel. don’t ask.)

The following is at least tangentially relevant to my mental state of late. Which really isn’t saying much for me.

Sigh. I did it again.

(from “Porcupine”, Echo and the Bunnymen, on “Porcupine”, 1983)

There is no comparison
Between things about to have been.
Missing the point of our mission
Will we become misshapen?

A change of heart
Will force the nail,
Nailed to the door
To all avail.

There are no divisions
Between things about to collide.
Hitting the floor with our vision,
A focus at some point arrives.

and now for something slightly different

(and since i’m tied here running photoshop batches for another hour or so….)

forgiven

in the palm of my hand
lies the crystal shield
of compassion
it glimmers and glows
with a light of its own
caught recklessly
between the lights
of two worlds
it satiates the primal urge
to run and fly away

what nought but this
that seeks suppression
what further drawn
alleviates the burn

come closer now
and the thought shall linger
chill mansions rose
where no one dwelled
before

~ December 18, 1992

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

recalescence

those days . . . .
vitality and strength
and the will to continue on
how much else then rectifies
the waste of an eternity
so many days now long forgotten
unattended in the graveyards
of my mind
some shadowless subdivision
of the thoughtless reclamation
of the emotion of a starry night
. . . so long now passed
that like eternity reconciles
the pasted glimmer
of a thousand stars
that fade like water pours
from between my fingers

i would live again
if only in this allowance
could the tokens be recalled
i am paled by the significance of others
their flows surround me
their auras imprison me
and without escape
i must sequester myself
behind the walls of solace

silence is a form of compassion
have i lost myself
or is this glowing spark of regeneration
only now coming before my eyes
i would be dead without these things
but alive
sometimes they stifle me

and those days . . . .
once remembered
. . . remind that i have grown
into what i do not know
but in this
i find i flow again
with the will to live

~December 3, 1992

this is becoming habitual

of bluer skies and rain

and then like rain these fetters fall and crash upon the floor

windows on a world and pictures moving sway and tumble
come to me and sweet surrounded water-torn love me
sing to me your songs of love and unity and peace and joy
and i shall sing to you and cling forever like the dawn’s sun rising warm

when winter comes and covers me in cold and blanket screaming
warm me with your heart and soul and spirit and your strength
and like these cracking windows melt and break the chains that bind me

~ Abilene, Texas; September 1988
~ © 1988, 2003

By request

after i posted that last bit of ancient hieroglyphics, a friend wondered if i had more published elsewhere. i did self-publish a collection of 333 poems back in 1993 (yes, 333, because i’m only half evil, and because that number was exactly 1/3 of what i started with). i haven’t made an assessment in these later days as to my editing skills at the time, but theoretically, the sabre, as i titled that collection, represented what i felt were my “best” works. and occasionally, when i read back through them, i am not displeased. although quite often, i am so far removed now from those sentiments and the emotions which brought them into being, that it seems like i’m reading the works of someone else. especially the really long ones.

anyway, i’m contemplating making this a weekly “feature”, but i want to keep it relevant to current events, if at all possible. so, to kick off your monday’s “fix of dawnne”, here is something i wrote on my birthday 1990 while in Saudi Arabia during Operation Desert Shield.

windless

The wind shuffles its feet like an old man waiting to die,
. . . and in the passing of an hour,
I came to know the emptiness of that moment.
And still, only one thing remains truly clear:
I shall remember you . . .
. . . and your memory shall light my way
like the peace of the forgetfulness of slumber.
And now the wind lies on its back like a young man already dead,
. . . and like I never thought it could,
it burns me with a coldness that leaves me void of words.
So, I say this one thing with all the fear that I have:
“Goodbye.” —
for I know not what, in truth, it means,
or what it promises . . .
. . . to then become.

~ near An’-Nu’Ayriyah, Saudi Arabia, November 2, 1990
Copyright © 1990, 1993

i haven’t done this in a while….

i have no doubt that at least a few of you will get where this came from long before you get to the end of it. it’s really kind of odd to look back on the things i wrote ‘so long’ ago. i had a tendency in my writings back then to waver between the literal and the surreal. and i pretty much steadfastly refused back then to say anything straightforward.

~~~~~~~

Into the face of a thousand endless screamings . . . .
(Like never before this silence had a name),
for all in its own self-righteousness
seems as if in silence only breaks the spell —
imprisoned by the words this hunger imparts . . .
and like forever, dawning on a sea of rust,
it is shaped by naught but silence
(the silence of a dream),

and then it dawns with a light brighter than solace —
shining through a glistening veil
of the tears the maiden sheds alone . . .
(and her daughter suckling at her breast
was once more to me than any view of heaven
could ever hope to dare become),

and the child knows nothing of it —
at least, so I pray.

Into the face of a presence that once I let surround me,
and out of a darkness I have yet to comprehend . . . .
And yet to be forced to live with the gnawing realization
that everything I have loved so well, I must do without . . . .

It is a different lifetime
(but one that must certainly be lived with understanding),
and the hope to live but once again without the fear.

Again, like diamonds glitter and the killing of a dream —
a forfeit of tomorrow and the wonder of eternity —
and it screams before this effervescent window,
and softly, it turns about itself,
waving as it drifts towards the door —
(a holiness that comprehends no indecision),
and like the calm before the storm,
it is the passion of eternity and the silent world below.

~“Into the face of the nemesis”, October 23, 1989

hidden light

while i was in Saudia Arabia for “Operation Desert Shield”, “Operation Desert Storm”, and “Operation Political Flatulence”, i exchanged a letter or two with The Elder and Unknown’s mother. i’ll skip the details of all that because to go into them would delve into pettiness. suffice it to say that i somehow managed to get two “Dear John” letters while i was over there: one from The Elder and Unknown’s mother, and one from the girl i was dating at the time.

i cannot recall if i wrote this before or after receiving “the letter” from The Elder and Unknown’s mother, but the name of this blog is derived from this, and this was written while i was thinking of my children in general, who at the time were just The Elder and Unknown and her brother.

entranced in hidden light

entranced in hidden light
sequestered then in silence
still the waves that fall
all our wonder in the shadows
every day that fails in moonlight
every wavering in madness
to then become the stream
fissured in the sadness

entranced in hidden fear
sequestered then in shadow
filled the clouds that rise
all our silence in the beyond
every scream that sounds in mourning
every quivering in passion
to then become the clean
missioned in the ripeness

entranced in hidden folds
sequestered then in rapture
shrill the mist that drifts
all our vision in the growing
every dark that fills the midnight
every rallying in triumph
to then become the seen
enmeshed within the rightness

every fright that chills the morning
every challenging in reason
to then become the dream
entranced within the lightness
of our minds as one
and free

~ near An’-Nu’Ayriyah, Saudia Arabia, December 9, 1990