SIDEWAYS EIGHT PROJECTS

I try to,
now and then,
with the accompaniment of music and a speech from sarah kay
that is twenty minutes in duration,
forget the past
and focus on the present.

The gift that is and will be,
upset by plans with misgivings that crumbled like dry ice
leaving a fog and some scars across fingertips

Forgiveness of others and self
to live this extinguished life before the spark
fades completely

These dreams do demand rhyme,

And this seems to expand time.

We squeeze teams by the hand, I’m

Going to walk out onto the page,

And bare my soul to the stage,

Which screams of the man’s climb.

Upwards, inwards, outwards, other,

We may just have time to become brothers,

And sisters, if you miss, it’s theirs,

To keep; like a fragment of the soul,

Which dares to reap what it sows,

Because it knows the whole hole,

Compares with what is deep.

I light up a silent spark,

With a ‘calling all out’ to the dark,

Which goes right up the violent bark

Of the tree from the roots of that initial.

But the edge of that mosaic cliff,

Which has me reading, and Re-Reading ‘If’,

And somehow putting it all out on a riff,

Which even at its best,

Only lifts up to its will.

I am sitting here  after my shift;  tired, expectant, and wanton of greatness.  The fireplace displays a glowing, flowing, wispy orange show through the high tempered glass view window.  C.S.I. Miami adorns the television set in the background as I type in the universe that is particular to my laptop.  I cannot hear the volume, as I am sampling two recently downloaded albums that were recommendations from a buddy in New Mexico.  I wonder if you are asleep right now, or just getting up.  Its something like twelve hours difference, maybe more.  Plus you throw the whole international dateline into the mix, and things get confusing.  If you are sleeping to dream, I wish you sweet dreams.  If you are waking to life, I pray you meet it with eyes wide open, and complete awareness.  This moment.  Right now, I have my dogs laying down inside, rain soaked from the days activities outside.  The fire is nice and relaxing.  Greatness is upon me.  Here and now.  Momentous occasions for drawing from the place that we’re all aware of but can’t quite explain.  Pulling from the place that allows us to cry freely at brilliantly made films.  Resting.

Eyes dancing in my head as I think too fast to put keystrokes to the electronic page.  Crisp cool air outside that I am shielded from.  Thank you.  Simple gestures of real, raw, and rivoting life involvement.  Refreshing.  Breath of rejuvinating air.  Sighing with relief that someone else gets it.  Thank you.  We don’t agree on everything, but that is the beauty of individual gifts, talents, and experiences.  Writing can be the adventure, and exploration can be in the mind. 

Someday, I will get a chance to visit Australia, and you’ll probably be in the States somewhere, and we can laugh about that too.  Until then I will think of crazy anectdotes to send your way that are intended to entertain.  Supposed to motivate.  Hopefully inspirational.  Definitely reaching for more from life than the hum drum status quo.  Ideally the thing speaks for itself. 

So here goes….

Come along for the ride, inside my mind, with a spark and a glide, a jolt and a slide.  You might find something I didn’t even know was there along the way, and say it to me as if you were the one who thought of it to say.  I even may write it down and forget it again within the day.  I think of the monologue by Jamie Foxx in the film ‘Jarhead’, starting out with “I could be working with my brother right now”, and ending with “Hoorah!”  In about seventeen seconds I will be running down a different path, analyzing things that were said half a year ago, within the context of the present day.  Again, and again, and again I lay awake trying to fall.  Trying to dream beyond the confines of my own mind.  Trying to dream of a kingdom in which hearts don’t have to be guarded, and hopes don’t have to be dashed.  Where worth isn’t discarded, and building isn’t smashed.  Filled with a drowsiness that pours through my hands, this epic white canvas mocks me but understands.  And the ears aren’t open in the audience.  But I must get it out of me to sleep.  I don’t want my words to keep.  I want to give them, and plant them, and let them grow and enchant them with the music other people are listening to right now, rather than reading as they should be.

The road seems longer the shorter it actually gets,

Each stride shorter, each breath harder to draw,

The one walking learns to live with the regrets,

And learns somehow to forget what he saw.

These old dreams repeat in teams, and before long,

They may fade away like the day of the road behind,

We may see the signs of stopping and turning wrong,

But we stare for, somehow, we want them to remind.

In the remembrance we have a belonging in the past,

Which cannot be lived out in the now,

Yet when the future seems somehow too vast,

We may wish to revisit the vow.

The electricity fades in and out,

In this old farm house,

Lines once held in clay,

Need to be replaced.

The connection fades about,

As much as a fleeing mouse,

Who will only stay,

Until he’s chased.

Candles near their end

This love’s hands may not mend

The sand that seaps cannot intend

To roughen the bottle

And the message send.

But voices can be heard in the dim light.

And choices stirred if the heart’s right.

Those prolonged versions

Of conversations never had

May echo within the trees

And cast dispersions

Which may seem sad

But dream as happy as the breeze.

I dream with you when its quiet,

I speak to you when you allow me near,

In the midst of a full blown riot,

The apt description is lack of fear.

Scratches in the wooden floor

Trace imaginary lines to the knots

Which give shape to the pattern therein

The walkway becomes the psyche we explore

Making distinctions between our wants and oughts

Wondering how and where another ends and we begin

What are we looking for?  What are we looking towards?  Doesn’t everyone want more, as well as just rewards?  The friends we make when we are young, change as we grow old.  We either grow closer or apart I am told.  Bridging those gaps, providing those claps, mean the world when we’ve no one to hold.

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