A Walk

Mist rises in a mass
of silver and grey,
obscuring the path
that I know so well.
Vague outlines
of moss-covered boulders
and trees' bare branches
come up sharply
out of the silver haze.
The ground is soft
beneath my feet
and I leave my matching
imprints behind me
in the hastily fading path.
The sky above has been
concealed by a rough fabric
of interwoven branches.
Moonlight struggles down
in dappled beams of silver
and white, uneven on the trail.
I take a deep breath
of the crisp night air
and exhale, my small cloud
of white joining with
the shrouding vapors.

My Grandma's Quilt

Perfect black stitches
zig zag and cross in
perfect perpendicular seams,
corralling eccentric bursts
of mismatched color
and blocks of pattern
with a teal edge.
Yet somehow it fits together
like puzzle pieces
or knowing intuitively
the correct answer
or which path to turn on
or putting together an
outfit just so.
This, this window of fabric
and seams and thread
and pigment
broken and shattered
scattered in a hundred
different forms
hanging above the banister-
a portal to my ancestors.

The Most Beautiful Days

Puddles here and puddles there
Raindrops catching in my hair
Sparkle and glitter by my eye
As I gaze up to an overcast sky

Umbrella forgotten in the slippery road
I twirl around in the street, a wordless ode
To the beautiful clouds, so inky above
And the shower of joy that I so love

When clouds recede and puddles are dry
My last bow reaches across the sky
Glowing in all its radiant glory
And all the world in perfect harmony

Insecure

You are like the leaf
that trembles
and falls
at a breath of the wind
tumbling down
and landing perfectly
on the liquid mirror below.

Saturday Market

I take a deep breath
and a million scents
waft towards my open face:
Freshly baked breads,
savory meats,
light fragrant flowers,
sharply perfumed spices,
sweet kettle corn.
Colors whirl around me,
an oasis in the middle
of dark grey offices.
Vibrant reds, pulsing indigo,
radiant yellows, verdant emerald.
Tinkling charms
and trinkets
reach my ears,
hoarse voices calling out prices
and offers
with the upbeat guitar
and drums
to complete the melody.
Soft fabrics run through my palm
like a river through a valley.
A cold pendant rests
on my chest,
sending shivers up my spine
and down to my toes.
Young children splash
in the center of a fountain
crying out with adolescent joy.
I close my eyes,
and soak up all the motion
swirling around me,
lost in the beauty
of the marketplace.

Invisible Children

Recently, a four-day event took place in Los Angeles, California at the UCLA campus. This event was called Fourth Estate Summit. During this conference, 15,000 young adults attended to listen to several inspirational speakers such as Jay Naidoo, Jolly Grace O. Andruville, Maryam Elarbi, Jamie Tworkowski, Jason Russell, Jedidiah Jenkins, Luis Moreno-Ocampo, and Dale Partridge. What was so inspirational? The organization entitled Invisible Children. This organization is dedicated to the eradication of the Lord's Resistance Army in Uganda and bringing the LRA's leader, Joseph Kony, to justice for his crimes.
In 1986, a woman named Alice Lakwena of the Acholi tribe in northern Uganda gained support for an uprising against the government under Yoweri Musevini called the Holy Spirit Movement. However, when Lakwena was exiled, the HSM had no obvious leader. Joseph Kony, claiming to be a distant cousin of Lakwena's, claimed and enforced his leadership.
Soon after Kony came to power over the HSM, he changed the name to the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA). With little support of the LRA, Kony began to steal food and children from villages to supplement his army. These children who are abducted from their homes are forced to serve as child soldiers- trained to kill the enemy, no matter if friend or family- and the girls are used as sex slaves for Kony's officers. 
Because of the threat of Kony's abductions, the children are forced to leave their homes at night, when the abductors come, and flock towards cities and hospitals for safety. 
It was this world that Jason Russell, Laren Poole, and Bobby Bailey discovered when they went to Sudan to document the war and society. When they found out about the children having to leave their homes at night- night commuters- the three young college students interviewed them and promised to come back and stop the LRA's destructive practices.
Today, because of the combined efforts of the three young men, the organization Invisible Children has been able to hamper the LRA's progress and reunite the abducted children with their families. 
On March 5 of last year, Invisible Children launched a 30- minute video called Kony 2012 that caught the attention of the globe. because of it, there has been an increased desire and effort to bring Kony and his commanders to justice and free the women and children that have been displaced and abducted because of him.
Now, Invisible Children's new project is called #zeroLRA. Their goal is to have as many LRA defects as possible through radio broadcasts and dropping flyers in Central Africa. As of August 6 of this year, 96 members of congress signed on to #zeroLRA and committed to the eradication of the LRA.
"Joseph Kony and the Lord’s Resistance Army have been abducting, killing, and displacing civilians in East and central Africa since 1987. We first encountered these atrocities in northern Uganda in 2003 when we met a boy named Jacob who feared for his life and a woman named Jolly who had a vision for a better future. Together, we promised Jacob that we would do whatever we could to stop Joseph Kony and the LRA. Invisible Children was founded in 2004 to fulfill that promise." ~ invisiblechildren.com
For more information on Joseph Kony and Invisible Children, go to http://invisiblechildren.com/. To donate to this cause, visit http://invisiblechildren.com/donate/. To help support #zeroLRA, go to http://zerolra.invisiblechildren.com/. 

A Puzzle

Life is a puzzle
made up of a thousand pieces.
Each piece unique
in shape
color
and texture.

Some pieces come together
perfectly
in an instant
others take a while
to find
and there is always that
odd piece
that doesn't seem
to fit in anywhere.

Some pieces fall
to the ground
and are temporarily lost
under the couch
or chair
or behind the lamp.

Eventually
these pieces are found
to discover that
these were just what
were needed.

And in the very end
all the pieces
come together
to create a beautiful
picture.

Yes, Another Interlude

So. Here, again, is another interlude between Parts Two and Three of Violet. As a matter of fact, I believe I will be discontinuing the Violet series. I misplaced the papers on which they had been written before this blog, and have many other things currently on my mind. So here I will leave it up to you to decide upon the fate of Violet, Gail, and their mutual acquaintances. Meanwhile, I will be posting more of my poetry, shorter stories, and general writings. I apologize to any of you who were hoping to read more about the adventures of Violet and Gail- they were fun to write, and maybe I will post more on them in the future. 
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The first sign was in the wind. It blew with unprecedented and sudden fierceness, casting away stray leaves and loose dirt to the side of its erratic path. The second sign was what followed. As if they had arisen out of the deepest, darkest natural pit, inky black clouds blotted out the previously clear sky and optimistic sunshine. The clouds were an enormous formidable chariot, the wind the legion of horses that pulled them across the sky.

Below, the small rodents and animals of the hills hid for cover in their individual holes and hideouts they called home. The plants steeled themselves for the onslaught of spear-like water droplets necessary for their survival. One lonely figure stood atop the tallest hill and waited for the clouds to break open. 

The sky continued to darken into a premature night. Thunder rolled. Lightning flashed in the near distance. Rabbits huddled in their families. The wind howled in curves around the green sea of hills. The long grasses bowed to the elements in a smooth rippling pattern.
When all the world was darkened, objects only visible with thin, weak, shafts of light that made it through the thick wall of clouds, there was a moment of peace and calm. The absence of the wind's howling made for an eerie silence, a dead tranquility.
And then it all shattered.
In unison, the thick veil above burst and pellets of water came down in furious waves. Within seconds, everything had become completely drenched. The hills quickly transformed into slippery mudslides, and all the excess water flowed down the sides into small creeks and rivers.
Lightning flashed brighter and closer, crackling an electric purple. Thunder clapped and echoed across the landscape.
Atop the tallest hill, the figure began to dance. 

A Second Interlude

So... Part Three is still in progress, and I'm afraid I've run out of ideas for where the story should go next. If any of you have ideas for the next part of Violet, feel free to comment below! However, while you wait, here is another short piece.
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The day had just begun to cool down when the sun sank lower, the sky darkened, and the stars sparkled against the ever-deepening twilight. A cool breeze started up, and the meadow grasses whispered as they bent around two prone figures in the middle of the isolated park. Both Izel and Katana breathed in the fresh night air, grateful for the breeze after a sweltering day.
The two girls had been best friends since the time they had been three years old and their mothers had placed them in the same daycare. Throughout preschool, elementary school, junior high, and high school, the two had been absolutely inseparable. Now, both of them were applying to colleges and moving on with life's brisk pace. today had been the most difficult day of their lives.
Izel had chosen to go to a school out in California, where she had dreamed of living since she had been a little girl. She had a cousin who lived there and visited exactly once for a family reunion and couldn't wait to return to the sun, the beaches, the cities, and everything.
Katana, on the other hand, had elected to apply and was accepted to a college in Illinois. Most of her family resided there and the majority of her childhood and teenage summers had been spent there visiting her uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, and other obscure relatives.
Today was the last day before each friend was leaving to go her separate way- the last day they had to spend in one another's company.
The entire sunlit hours had been spent out and about the city- downtown, to be specific. The two friends had gone into every store, ate lunch at a favorite restaurant, and enjoyed an outdoor concert. All through the day both girls had laughed and smiled as they usually did when they spent time together, avoiding the fact that they were not going to see each other again for many months while away at school. Now, at the conclusion of the day, by unspoken consent, the two friends had gone to the meadow, where the best memories of their lives had taken place.
The sky continued to dim and the stars continued to brighten and neither girl wanted to face the reality that would hit them in the face in the airport the next morning. Instead, they sighed, and wished for this moment to extend into eternity.

An Interlude

Part Three of Violet is taking a while, so here's a short interlude while Part Three is in-progress. This particular piece was inspired by a picture I found on Pinterest here. Enjoy!
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Wolves howled in the distance at the full, shining moon far above the lofty silhouettes of skeletal trees with sharp limbs that stuck out at periodically odd angles up and down the unnaturally straight trunks. Thorny brambles shook beneath their superiors from a soft eastern breeze. Tiny drops of dew no larger than a needle's eye shivered and fell in small puddles on the pine-strewn ground, seeping into the moist earth. A cloaked figure stumbled and fell into a previously unseen thicket of bushes with thorns drawn and ready.
Quickly, almost frantically regaining footing, the figure ran on, drops of crimson blood that seemed black in the midnight light trickling down and splattering onto the ground. The fabric of the cloak tore and left strips hanging in the brambles like ribbons, conspicuous evidence that the fugitive had no time to retrieve.
As the runaway's footsteps and heaving breaths faded away northward, more prints were being made- hoof prints. A large, ebony stallion paused while its rider leapt off its back and investigated the undergrowth. He smiled at the sight of cloth dangling from still-quivering branches.
They were close.

* * * * *

Violet- Part Two: Old Friends

I'm sorry for the long wait, but here is the second part of Violet. I hope you enjoy it! Part Three should be coming soon.
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When Birdie bustled in an hour later, it was to find a very despondent-looking young lady gazing out the window in one of the palace robes. She turned around just as Birdie was closing the door. Their eyes met.
For a moment neither of them spoke. Both were surprised to find the other there.
"Gail?" Violet whispered disbelievingly.
"Vi!" Birdie replied excitedly. "How on earth-"
"It's a long story," Violet explained. "But why-"
"It's a long story," her friend repeated.
The two women stood there for two seconds, still shocked at having found one another at last, then happily embraced, shedding a few tears in the process.
"I thought you escaped!" Violet said incredulously when they broke apart.
"And I thought you went for reinforcements," Gail replied with the same disbelieving tone.
"I did, but I was caught," Violet said ruefully. "But how did you end up here?"
"I'll tell you while you dress- here, this will do." Gail pulled out a simple light green gown from the wardrobe. "I'm supposed to bring you down to see him."
"Oh," Violet said with disgust shaking her head.
She paused, then looked up with an odd look on her face.
"Actually," she added, "do you know why he wants to see me so badly? I escaped once already, but he caught me again after only three days!" She shimmied into the bodice of the dress.
"I'm not quite sure, but he's been talking about some prophecy about something or other. Do you need help lacing up?"
"Yes, please; I still don't know how great ladies can stand all these buttons and ribbons and such- it seems too much trouble for anyone."
Gail smiled at her friend's frank opinion. It was almost like old times, before any of this had happened.
"Did you wash?"
"I was about to when you came in."
"I see. Well, I'll just arrange your hair so he doesn't notice."
"Thank you."
Gail nodded in acknowledgement while she tied and crossed the many laces on Violet's back.
"So, tell me," her friend continued, "how did you end up here?"
Gail almost laughed; that was a very long and somewhat complicated tale.
"Well," she began, "after our attempts failed and everyone was running for it, I hid myself in a tree. I waited for hours until I was certain that everyone had gone and I was alone. My legs had cramped up as well, so that made it difficult to get down. When I heard no other sounds except for a breeze, I quietly sneaked out of the tree, donned peasant clothes from those that were left strewn on the ground, and posed as a laundress in a nearby village.
"I was washing one day when a palace guard came up and asked-no, demanded- me to wash a shirt for him. I didn't want to draw attention to myself, so I removed the stains as hastily as possible and gave it back to him when it was dry. By then I'd been living in the village for several months, nearly a year, and the village folk knew and were comfortable with my presence. I'd say we were all friendly acquaintances.
"When it came time for the guard to pay me, he only gave me half the charge, adding that I'd been lucky to receive that much from him. I was absolutely insulted by this remark, a feeling that only intensified when he snatched his now-dry garment from my hands and walked jauntily away, as if I were his servant.
"I called out for help, and the village leaders came, along with the rest of the community. They confronted the guard and forced him to pay me the proper sum, but he spat at me after depositing the coins in my hand. The next day, he came back with what seemed like a small army and demanded I come away with them. They were all very strong and imposing, and I had no choice but to go along with them. No one else would stand up to them with me this time- there were too many of them for a small village to overcome with sheer numbers.
"I felt like a prisoner- which I may as well have been- with all the guards on my right, my left, in front, and behind. The posse brought me to him, and the guard, who was like the ringleader, spoke to him, saying that I had defied him the day before and was guilty of rebellion and treason. He peered at me and asked if I could verify the guard's story. I said that I could not, only saying that there had been a slight disagreement over the price of my laundering services.
"That's when things turned a bit... strange, I suppose you would say. He seemed a little off that day, as if his mind was elsewhere. He began interrogating me as if I was applying for a post at the palace as a laundress. Hardly any questions had been asked before he declared that I was the new head laundress and thew guard was to be relocated to a place far away from where I was working. I've been here ever since."
She jerked Violet's hair as she said this and pulled it back into a rather excellent bun that was simple, but covered her unwashed roots with a few braids intertwined throughout the hairstyle. A perfect disguise.
"Wow," Violet said in awed tones. "So you've been here for how long?"
"Eight months and sixteen days."
"I'm amazed! You've pulled many stunts, Gail, but none as spectacular as this. No one has suspected you of anything?"
"I don't believe so. But you'd better start calling me 'Birdie'- just to get in the habit, you know. I've only lasted this long because no one has known anything about my true identity. I'd greatly appreciate it if you would act like you have never seen or met me before."
"Don't worry, I won't give you away," Violet promised.
"Thank you," Birdie said.
With one final tug, Birdie completed the intricate chignon with Violet's hair and stepped back to admire her work.
"Well, I'd say you're ready to see him now. Do you feel all right?"
"As well as I can feel after enjoying the effects of a concussion."
Birdie's lips tugged at a smile. She had missed Vi's dry sense of humor.
Feeling in her bag, Birdie' hand happened upon something cold and hard. She grasped it and pulled it out, presenting it to her friend.
"You might want this, then, just in case."
Violet accepted the gift. It was a dangerously sharp dagger with a silver handle and a small inset diamond that sparkled in the light like a teardrop splattering on the ground. She gazed at its deadly beauty, then placed it in one of the hidden pockets in the folds of her dress.
"I suppose I'm ready now," she affirmed.
The two friends stepped out of the chamber and began to walk down the corridor. This time Violet paid attention to her surroundings, memorizing the turns and twists of the passageways. at last the two came to a large, imposing oaken door. There were intricate carvings and designs etched into the dark wooden face, depicting centuries-old coronations, landscapes, and monarchs. Though she had been here before, Violet still found the decorations quite striking.
Birdie whispered in one of the guard's ears, and he went in to announce the arrival of the two women. Violet and Birdie waited only a few seconds before being ushered into the great throne room.

* * * * * * *

Violet- Part One: Recapture

The following is the first part of a short story that I've been working on for a while. I hope you enjoy it, and there will be more to come during the next week!
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Sparkling drops of dew quivered and fell, glittering, as the leather-soled foot flattened the area of emerald blades. Silver mist lay over the lush glade like a film of dust on an archaic tome. As the soft, worn shoe lifted to crush another miniature forest, a long, wavering note, low and mournful, reverberated through the pre-dawn peace. The foot paused mid-step, hovering in the air like a hummingbird's wing, listening as the last echo faded into silence.
Almost at once, a large mass of intertwined vines stronger than rope tumbled down and trapped the fleeing escapee, who thrashed around like a fish out of water, trying in vain for release from the entangling net. A series of loud footsteps were enough to pause the struggling fugitive mid-thrash as the shady silhouette of a tall, lean body towered over the cowering captive. A leering mouth filled with pearly white teeth was the last sight before everything went black.

* * * * * * *

Shadows. Stone. Seeping coldness. Shackles cutting into scarred wrists and ankles. Skittering rats with glowing red eyes hungry for the taste of rot.
Eyes, covered a moment before by thin, pale curtains with dark tassels, snapped open to reveal irises the color of violets in springtime with the barest hint of sea foam green. A pink tongue ventured out to appease the cracked, dry lips that once were ruby red with its temporary balm.  Long tresses of chestnut-brown hair hung limply to the prisoner's shoulders. Pinned against the unfeeling stone of the cell, the fair prisoner seemed to do nothing but hang limply from the rusted chains secured to the solid wall.
In such a way many a day passed, but whether it had been a minute, an hour, a day, a week, it did not matter to the darkly clad prisoner. Her leather belt had been deprived of its simple dagger and now hung with an unfamiliar lightness. She did her best to ignore all the unpleasant memories that the cell had clawing at her wall of indifference.
And so an eternity passed.
A sliver of light, no wider than a needle, pierced the thick darkness of the gloom. The prisoner didn't so much as stir. Soft footsteps, barely discernible above the echoing skitters of vermin, slowly and deliberately approached the cell. All at once everything became silent. It was as if all the world had stopped turning. The hostage still did not so much as raise her head. A tall figure, thin and lethal, leered down at the chained captive.
"So you have deigned to return. I must say that I am rather glad of it; everything seemed... incomplete without your presence here. I hope you have found your room accommodating.  We do try to make everything as comfortable as possible here, as you know."
The speaker allowed himself a small chuckle, a sound that dripped with irony.
"Now then," the voice turned cold and sharp, "we must discuss your fate. I was not pleased when we found you were gone. Your incompetent guard has been done away with and a newer, far more able guard has taken his place. Many events have transpired since your leaving, Miss Violet. You shall find that I will not be so lenient the next time you step out of line."
Violet kept her head down, giving no indication that she had heard or comprehended the thin speaker's words.
There was a snap, and a large, burly man with a goatee appeared next to the thin man.
"Show Miss Violet to her new room. Allow her an hour to freshen up, then send Birdie in to bring her to the throne room."
The large man nodded, loosened Violet from her fetters, and took her limp body by the arm to gruffly lead her through a complex maze of hallways, doors, chambers, and staircases. Violet knew she ought to at least try to memorize the twists and turns the guard led her through, but the exhaustion and fatigue from her escape and recapture had taken their toll on her physically and mentally. As it was, the servants changed the adornments on the walls so often that it had taken her several weeks before she had memorized all the corridors when she had previously escaped, information that had flown out of her head when the net had fallen over her face.
The guard stopped abruptly, causing Violet to trip over her own two feet. She would have fallen on the cold stone if not for the firm grip the soldier's meaty hands had on her arm. She looked up to see a mahogany door that seemed to radiate familiarity. She knew where she was immediately. Her old room, her old prison.
As the door opened and Violet was roughly shoved into the small tower room, she recognized the satin sheets, the only slightly worn rugs, the smooth oak wardrobe. The curtains were the same gossamer blue, a stark contrast to the general air of foreboding. Indeed, Violet would have been easily tricked into thinking that Sir Ryan had lied concerning her quarters, if not for a single detail that was not immediately noticed, but made all the difference.
"Your clothes are in the wardrobe. There is soap and hot water in the bathing chamber. Birdie will be here in one hour."
The guard's voice was deep, like rumbling thunder, but not all that threatening in its tone. In fact, the bulky man seemed to retain a bit of sympathy in his eyes for her current situation, and perhaps a touch of sorrow in his voice. This surprised Violet. When last she had been an almost permanent guest here, nearly all of the servants and guards had treated her with an air of indifference, as if afraid to connect with her or form any kind of relationship with a dressed-up captive of their master's. But this guard... he was different. Right then she resolved to discover as much as she could about him.
Violet nodded, then turned away as she heard the door close quietly behind her. Now she could have a better look at her surroundings. Everything seemed untouched, exactly the way she'd left it- except for the curtains.
When she had left before, she had made sure that the thick gossamer curtains were closed all the way. Now, however, they were about an inch apart. Cautiously, Violet approached the sky blue hangings, expecting the same view of the southern hills as before. When she drew them back, though, she beheld a very different sight.
Over the horizon, there could be soon a faint hint of pink, tinged with gold. Reflected across this occurrence was a lake, still and calm as if nothing terrible had happened. It was when the golden orb burst forth from the jagged mountains that had been its protection that it hit her.
She was in the East Tower.

* * * * * * *

Ode to a Peach

O, Peach!
How lovely is your fuzz,
So soft and gentle to the hand.
How perfect your hue,
That which is yellow-orange
Like the setting sun o'er the
Lengthy horizon
Or reflected across the surface
Of a still pond.
O, Peach!
How unparalleled your shape
So perfectly spherical to fit in my palm.
How sweet to the tongue
Your tangy, sticky nectar
Dribbling down my chin.
O, Peach!
Dear Peach!
No fruit can hope to compare
To your exquisite way
Of flawless ripening
On the spring branches laden
With your blessed weight.
O, Peach!
You are my idol,
My love,
My heaven on earth!

eternal perspective

it is still dark outside
when i take my first breath.
the trees are nothing
but shady silhouettes
backed up against a slightly
darker shade of sky.
even the birds are silent,
so early am i awake.
no clouds hide nature's
spotlights, so high above
me in the immense
and eternal heavens.
it's almost incomprehensible,
really,
how small i feel
compared to how wide and far
space reaches out
to untold limits
(if there are any)
and other worlds so
different
and perhaps not so different
from my own.
i take this time alone
to ponder such things
and for a moment,
i catch a glimpse of what
an eternal perspective
is really all about.

Silver Was

Silver was my dress
When we first met
On a chance, a whim of fate.
It shone with a glory
Surpassed only
By the celestial lights
Glowing high above.

Silver was the moon
When we first met
Under the willow
With its beams shining through
The natural curtain
Of fluttering leaves
And branches swaying
In the night breeze.

Silver was the stream
When we first met
A ribbon of silk
Flowing o'er the land
To reach its destination
So far from where
We stood.

Silver was the ring
That you placed upon
My quivering finger
So simple, and so delicate
A symbol of joyous union.

Silver were the tears
I shed when you asked.
Tears of delight
That reflected the stars
And eternal happiness.

A Slightly Different Explanation

A slightly different explanation
Dawned on her as she tried
To unravel this mystery
Concerning a book, a man, and an odd-looking pen.
There was something she had overlooked:
An avoidable error, 
But soon remedied.
She searched and scanned the papers,
The reports,
The confessions
Of all who had been involved.
Aha! Here it was,
A rather clumsy translation
Of an oft-quoted origin,
But in essence the same meaning.
The testimony of the man
(not quite the freedom fighter they had imagined him to be),
Scrawled across the paper
In nearly illegible writing:
I, the Discoverer, hereby state
And testify that the ancient Text
Which I had found on a chance of Fate
Is one which ought not to be read
Until it is the only option.
It was this statement which had
Caught her off-guard, but now
She thought she saw it-
Just a glimmer of a hope, really-
But within contained all possible
Surety of the future.
Her supervisor had questioned
It, and reasonably so- 
The testimony seemed a bit too
Far-fetched, "lacking force of the usual form,"
As she had observed.
And perhaps she was right.
Perhaps all it was-
All this fuss-
Perhaps it was all just
Complete twaddle.

Under the Spotlight

There's something about it
That spotlight shining down
So bright, so hot
Underneath its ceaseless gaze
And yet so thrilling,
Exhilarating, even;
When your heart beats
A thousand miles a second
And you feel as though
You could run far and wide
Beyond all limitations
And you can't help but smile
With all your teeth exposed,
Pearly white incisors gleaming
In that spotlight shining down
And you can't contain this energy
(There's far too much to handle)
But when the lights fade down
And you know where to go
And the music starts to play
And you take a deep breath
Before the world shall see
Everything you've done
And worked tirelessly on
For what seems like forever
And the lights come up
And you put on that smiling face
Glowing with anticipation
And excitement
And anxiety-
There's something about it
That spotlight shining down
So blinding, so stimulating
Beneath its constant stare
And, quite simply,
I'm nearly at a loss for words
For nothing can truly compare
With that spotlight shining down.

Progression

Once in a desert vast
Where no man or beast could dwell,
A small shoot sprang forth
Among the coarse and grainy well.

Years did pass, and soon the small,
Tiny seedling bloomed
Into a tall and beautiful plant
With boughs laden with leaf plumes.

But soon the sun shone forth her light
And the life was taken from the root
Of that seedling full of hope
That had yet to bear its fruit.

To this day the desert bare
Retains no memory of the growth
That quickly came and quickly went
Back to its home in the mother earth.

The Tale of Lisa Clays

Lisa Clays sat

in the midst of a lilac grove

pondering the puzzle

of pi.

As of late,

she had been thinking

when her thoughts stumbled

upon what pi really was.

She wandered

over to her favorite place,

the lilac grove,

and sat on her

favorite bench

and wrote her thoughts

in her favorite notebook.

Lisa sat for hours

and hours

and hours,

but she just couldn't

unravel the mystery

that so unwillingly

sang its secrets.

For many more hours

and hours after those,

Lisa and pi

were at an impasse.

Lisa took a deep

breath full of the

sweet lilac

perfume,

lay down on the ground

with her notebook

next to her,

and took a nap.

Haiku

The sun dawned brightly
And light fled into my room.
When I woke, it rained.

Miracle

A tiny seedling

so small,

barely the size

of my fingernail,

so fragile,

easily fractured,

yet when planted

in good ground,

nourished properly,

with enough

water

and sun

and tender care,

can become 

something wonderful,

something beautiful,

something spectacular.

A miracle

that began

with nothing

but

a hope.

Frustration

It's bottled up
inside
almost ready
to explode
The pressure
is building up
and
you don't know
what will be left.
The bubbles are
frothing at
the surface,
popping
and
fizzing
in an almost menacing
manner.
You begin to shake
from all the
intensity,
not sure if
it's them
or you
that makes you
feel this way.
Soon you will
have to let
it go
and splatter
all over
their faces
in a huge mess
of
frustration.

The Traveler

The traveler had walked
 on the dusty road
all through the night,
trying in vain to catch up
to his elusive quarry.
His walking stick,
carved in the likeness of an owl,
had been put to good use.
Now, the sun rose,
bringing with it
a light that would help the weary
traveler with the promise
of better sight than at night,
when all the moon would offer
were a few weak beams.
As he approached a copse
of trees
(beech by the looks of them),
the traveler quickened his pace,
knowing the promise of
a good rest underneath the
shade of the gracious and
kindly leaves.
He sat down in a heap of
dusty and worn clothing,
taking this chance to rest
his fatigued body and mind.
As he sat there,
walking stick on one side,
pack on the other,
the wanderer lay back
his head and dreamed.
He dreamt of lovely things,
of happier days,
of peace in his homeland.
When he awoke,
it was to find a red sunset,
and a willowy figure before him.
Stunned and surprised,
the traveler stood up quickly,
grabbing his stick and pack,
which lay untouched on the ground.
He glanced at the stranger
in front of him-
his eyes widened in surprise.
It was her.
He whispered her name.
She nodded,
the curl in her hair
bobbing in conformation.
It was miraculous.
They had
found one another
again,
just like they said
they always would.

Reflection

The sun had gone down
just minutes before
with no sign except
the darkened sky.
Clouds above were
invisible,
inky black,
blotting out the sunset's
brilliant palette
of vibrant colors.
Reflected in the street
illuminated by the orange
glow of tall, indifferent lamps
was a face-
smooth, young, innocent
of the exposure of
adulthood.

But those eyes.

The eyes were bright
and intelligent
with a depth that spoke
of internal aging
and growth uncommon
to the younger generation.
The eyes were full of
grief, sorrow;
a sudden need for
abandoning childhood,
stripping away all pretenses,
leaving behind a hardened
youth
with a steel core
and disciplined mind.

The reflection disappeared
with a splash
and the ripples smoothed out
the surface
left to reflect darkness
alone in the rain.

Then and Now

Can you hear us?
We have been calling
for you since the beginning,
the very beginning.
Our voices echo across
years, decades. centuries,
eons.
But always our voices
come back to us,
empty of any reply.
Please come back to us,
even if only in murmur.

Yes, we hear you.
We have heard your
tales and stories, as if calling
from the very dust of past ages.
We heed your every word,
at least in several attempts
to follow your words
of wisdom.
The world is not
as it once was, and though
we try to call back,
there has been no way
as of yet to do so.
But we wish we could,
oh, how we yearn
for that opportunity
to speak with you!

Yes, we hear you.
Yes, we can.

I Said Hello

I said hello to the birds today.

I greeted them with my song.

I said hello to the newly grown grass.

I greeted them with a tousle.

I said hello to the trees today.

I greeted them with a bow.

I said hello to the sea today.

I greeted it with a wave.

I said hello to the sun today.

I greeted it with a twirl.

I said hello to the world today.

I greeted it with a large embrace.

I said hello to you today.

I greeted you with a chill.

Did you know me?

In the Shadows

I see things
in the shadows.
I see people-
at first.
But then the people
morph into 
beasts;
birds, lions,
monkeys, dogs,
cats, horses,
cows, and the like.
But then the animals
change into
something different.
Myths and legends.
Dragons, fairies,
elves, mermaids,
and so on.
I see all these things
in the shadows.

Odd and Strange

Every night I lay down to sleep
And dream of the odd and the strange.
No one knew how far or how deep
The sad, broken heart had to change.

The Monarch

Streaks of red and gold

colored the sky like

magnificent banners

proclaiming the entrance of 

a greatly honored monarch.

Rosy pink flushed the canvas 

with its gentler hues,

a watered-down blue

just on the edges.

On the horizon, a touch

of white and yellow

barely spread across

the work of art.

As the seconds and minutes

wear on,

the much anticipated

guest arrives in a 

splendor of color

and light.

A new day begins.

Late Nights

Late nights

spent working,

typing

and writing

my fingers to

the bone.

Eyes barely open

hardly paying attention 

to surrounding

activity.

I need to sleep.

Appreciation

Everything has a blue-green tinge
down here.
You would like it.
The trees here are tall and graceful,
but bear no fruit.
Instead, they wave in an invisible breeze,
green forms seeming to dance
in their groups of many thousands.
Everything has a dream-like quality
down here.
You would like it.
As I wander through the many mazes
of vibrant colors-
orange, blue, white, green, purple-
I often remember when
all was an adventure to us
and we'd take no thought
for the cost of travel
or what we did,
so long as there was something
new to see, new to know.
Everything is different
down here.
You would like it.
Few people tread the streets
and highways are rarely crowded.
Everything is beautiful
down here.
You would like it.

Watch the Sky

This morning 

I looked out

and saw 

a gray and 

cloudy sky.

"It's going to rain," 

I thought,

and pulled on 

my light jacket.

This afternoon

I looked out

and saw

beams of light

shining through

the dark curtains

like celestial rays

heralding angels.

Perhaps I was wrong.

This evening

I looked out

and saw

a ruby sun

settling in the 

western horizon.

"How beautiful,"

I thought,

and captured

the memory in 

my heart.

Tonight

I looked out

and saw

the first star rise.

I wished upon it

like a little 

child

and dreamed

of the heavens

singing.

The Rose

The rose bloomed yellow
in the spring.
So sweet and innocent
petals soft and fine.
The rose bloomed pink
in the summer.
Bright and vibrant
with petals
smooth to perfection.
The rose bloomed red
in the autumn.
Rich in color
and smelling of forgotten
days of sunshine.
The rose did not bloom
in the winter.
White flakes covered
the bed where it lay
sleeping, dreaming
of better days.

Magnifying Glass

On the city streets

rain pours down,

ushering flighty innocents

into drier shelters.

Behind the building's shadow

a dark form with

a trench coat and hat

waits.

A scream, a shout,

perhaps a few 

shots in the dark.

It all adds up to one thing:

a case.

And likely a good sum

of money on the side.

Some snooping,

investigating,

questioning,

finding.

Evidence.

A wild chase

through the rainy streets

ensues.

A small wound,

a slight pushing 

back of plans.

Healing, rest.

Planning, plotting.

Another scream, 

another shout.

Another shot in the dark.

Another chase,

this time with

silver bracelets

ready to clamp

with a key to match.

Iron bars,

pleading tears

coming from a beautiful

face;

uncommonly beautiful.

Shunning,

wailing,

cold eyes screaming

revenge.

Case closed.

For now.

Bloom Where You're Planted

In a barren desert it grew

So tall and proud and strong

Above the sandy dunes it grew

Till it was taller than my head.

With every year it grew and rose

Far more lofty than the rest

It was the prettiest thing I've ever known

And by far the very best.

Rainy Days

The sky is gray today.
My shoes are wet from rain.
Downtown streets have been abandoned.
Most people take shelter inside.
There is a steaming cup of cocoa on the table.
A fire gently roars in the furnace.
Beside me there is a book open to page 394.
Ink drips from a dipped quill.
Dark spots spread across a sheet of paper.
What shall I write?

Tomorrow

Yesterday
was the last day.
The last day I wrote
and accepted farewells
forever engraved on my soul.

Yesterday
was the last day.
The last day I walked
among the blooming trees
that had been my refuge from fear.

Yesterday
was the last day.
The last day I allowed
memories to wash over me
like so many nights out in the storm.

Yesterday
was the last day.
The last day I delved
into a smooth cedar chest
that held heartbreaks and healing.

But that was yesterday.

Today
was the first day.
The first day I ventured
out into the wider, vaster world
beyond my childhood haunts and havens.

Today
was the first day.
The first day I traveled
past the city limits on a dusty road
with none but my conscience for company.

Today
was the first day.
The first day I left behind
my broken years and heavy heart
in exchange for a fresh page, a new start.

Today
was the first day.
The first day I discovered
that old things can be renewed
and that our past does not define our future.

Today the road extends to possibilities.

On Lonliness

Across the valley
stood a tall, wizened willow.
It drooped to the ground,
branches brushing the
velvety grass.

In this tree
sang a lonely robin.
It did not twitter away happily
as its brothers,
but piped melancholy tunes for its friend.

The notes that left
the robin's throat
were carried about with the wind
and drifted to the ears
of all the lonely beings.

Those that heard
the robin's song
wept with pearly tears of understanding
and gladness, endowed with the knowledge
of another empathetic creature.

When the robin sang no more
great mourning spread across the land
and those that heard retreated
back into their shelters
while the willow withered silently away.

Only an Apple

It was only an apple.
just a shiny, perfect, ruby red apple.
So innocently sitting on the counter
minding its own business, not bothering anything.

But it was tempting, that promising color,
the sweet scent,
the lack of bruises and soft spots.

And so you reached out,
hand eagerly grasping the flawlessly spherical shape,
mouth watering in anticipation of the first, juicy bite,
ears expectantly awaiting that satisfying crunch
that came from the initial taste,
lips anticipating that rivulet of stickily sweet nectar
soon to be dribbling down your trembling chin.

Pearly white incisors cleanly tore open the rosy skin,
revealing the soft whiteness underneath
crisp and sweet to the tongue.

But there was something more, an underlying metallic
that before had gone unnoticed to your hunger.
Slowly, it seemed, all the world passed by
as you fell to the floor, all sounds gone mute, no feeling in your limbs.

And as you lay there, waiting for the darkness to close in,
perhaps for eternity,
the last thought that crossed your mind
before waking by a kiss:

"But it was only an apple."

Dreaming

They came in the night
And took my love
They took my love away.
And far off to the ocean
Down beyond all commotion
They sat and waited for me.
So I dove and I swam
Gave chase to the edge
Of the darkness, a trench so deep
No longer could I
Sight my quarry, and so
I sat and waited for time.
An eternity passed
Along with another
So long was I waiting down there.
Green algae grew to a mossy beard
Down to my seaweed toes
Silver fish wove between
My coral hair
Making it home so dear.
And when I awoke,
I sat up with a start
No longer at the mercy of whim
A breeze wafted through
My opened window,
Bringing the scent of the sea.

Disappear

In the years I dwelt in the city

My soul began to drift

To far-off places that no one knew

And none had caught a whiff.

As the days rolled on and on

I often walked and wondered

About those places from fantastic tales

That echoed in the voice of the freebird.

Soon I began to lose myself

Among these childish dreams

Few days had passed before anyone knew

Or recognized my face.

And so I began to disappear

Among the clouds of night

Into the darkness of the forest I delved

The better to remain far from sight.

National Poetry Writing Month Begins!

Shining in the dark
a beacon of sorts;
a little silver,
a little gold,
a little something-in-between;
Neither sun nor moon
not a disk in the sky
or wisp of a thought
a stroke against the velvet sky;
Not a pinprick of white
glittering like a million diamonds
set against a lady's silken skirt;
More of a warmth,
not a cold, half-lidded eye
watching every move,
More of a soft glow,
not a radiantly penetrating beam
heating the heartless stone,
More of a gentle throb,
not an aloof awareness
with no care this way or that;
Shining in the dark
a light close to the heart
of all who see
and feel
and know.