Missing My Brother

I am deeply missing my brother today. No particular reason why, really, I just am. I miss who he was before the addiction began. I even miss who he was in the midst of it, during those brief moments of clarity that punctuated the madness. I will never forget the pain and there was much of it but I forgive him for it. I know now that it was the addiction talking and acting and not my brother. Of course, this is where the healing begins. Unfortunately, this is also where the true pain begins.

Jeff Feldman 

May 28, 1976 - December 21, 2012

9/11

Not sure if anything captures my emotions about this day, both then and now, better than this poignant piece by artist Alex Ross so I'll let it speak for itself.

Today

A child's
Crayola scrawl
of blue sky
and round yellow-armed sun
punctuated by
white cotton clouds
and arcing rainbows
suddenly transforms
into stabs of grey
and bright white
angry
piercing
lightning bolts.
Who knew
it was going to
rain today?

For H.B.

Wings

I used to tightrope
across the line
between fear
and courage.
Now I dance
knowing
that if I start to fall
I will fly.

Shine

Easy baby
now is the time
to transcend tears
to rise
luminescent
not impervious to pain
but able to absorb
each emotion
and guide it
to your will.
To shine
always brighter
than the looming darkness.

For Good

Cosmic energies
align for good.
More powerful
than all the shitstorms
I must dodge.
Impending doom?
Kiss my ass.

If I Could Go Back

This is my fourth assignment for the spring semester (second session) of my creative writing workshop.  Just a spoiler alert in case any of my classmates stumble upon this post and don't want to see it before Wednesday night.  ;)

If I could go back
and start life again
would I do now
what I did then?
Would I make many changes
would I live life anew?
Would it make any difference
what I chose to do?
Would changing my past
bring hope or derision
satisfaction or
questioning every decision?
If I wiped out mistakes
knew then what I know now
would I be a happier
person somehow?
Correcting my errors
might destroy my soul.
Would I be weak
if I sought every goal
and was met with success?
Would it take a toll?
To go back in time
and erase all the pain
might lead to a girl
who is perfectly plain
and possibly even more
slightly insane.
No, I'll keep my past
the way it must be
and remain deeply flawed
and imperfectly me.

Misdirected Melancholia

Wait
do not collapse
under the weight
of the world.
That
seems to be
my job.

Gone (for Shirley)

Laughing
was so much
of what we did
at everything
and nothing
simply because
we could.
We never
had that
lobster dinner
but we should have.
Who knew
that we would
run out of time?
Life
is so fucking short
over
in an eye blink
but few ever realize this
until someone
is gone.

Dear Seven

Little girl
you are stronger
than you think.
Do not listen
to your fractured mind.
Follow
your fragile heart.

Depression

Oh
the games you play.
Darkness
hovering every day.
I wish
you would go away.
But alas
you are here to stay.

Precarious

Life is riddled
with psychic land mines.
The trick
is avoiding them
if you can
yet living always
as if you cannot.

Beautiful

If only
what is on the outside
reflected
who we are within.
If only
we were truly valued
for what lies
beneath our skin.
If only
our strength of spirit
spurred real change
to begin.
Then perhaps our looks
would no longer matter
and every woman
would win.

The Lost

It is
a remarkable thing
when one's present
state of existence
feels like all there is
and all that can ever be.
To seek
yet never find
stumbling blindly through life
almost
but not quite
broken.
Simply stated
until found
one cannot imagine
how utterly brutal
it is
to be lost.

Blue

Blue
eyes sometimes grey
mostly the portal
to deep thoughts
and hidden dreams.
Blue
soul in tumult
occasionally meandering
but mostly residing
in a lonely space.
Blue
is the color
that I most love
and the feeling
that I most hate.

Voice

For so long
I did not speak
but bet your ass
I listened.
Now my voice
is louder than yours
even if only
in my own head.

More Poetic Blather

This week, as is typical for my creative writing workshop, we were given four prompts from which to choose for our homework assignment. Being the overachiever that I am (or, if only that was true), I chose two of them. The following poems are the result.  (And for simplicity's sake, I simply made the prompts my titles.)

If Walls Could Talk

If walls could talk

would it fill you with dread

the thought of revealing

all you have said?

Would you cower in shame?

Would they run blood red?

Those brutal thoughts

better left unsaid?

Or like me

would you feel free

smugly knowing

what was to be

the walls rendered mute

because you see

the words remained

inside your head?

The Choice

Yes or no?

This or that?

Peaks and valleys

or smooth and flat?

Look with joy

or derision?

Hide in shame

or chase your vision?

Sometimes it seemed

I had no choice

but now I shall

unleash my voice.

Love or hate?

Courage or fear?

Chance or fate?

I'm still here.

Paradox

I am a warrior
with a heart of gold
plentiful stories
yet untold
life continues
to unfold
forever fearful
forever bold

The Deferred Dream

So, kids, this is how my creative writing workshop, well, works. We are given a choice of writing "prompts" for our homework assignments. Rarely does one "jump out at me", so to speak, and before this weekend, I didn't have a fucking clue which one I would write about.  But, as per usual, I waited all week until the day of class, to do my homework and surprisingly, after the event's of this weekend (Monster-Mania Con, something I look forward to with all my heart), the choice was obvious. This is a completely true story and John, if by some miracle you find your way to this blog, it's for you.  Thank you for everything, truly!  The prompt is "the deferred dream".

How could I have known that the simple act of saying “hello” could lead to so much more? He was kind of low-key, quiet, as if waiting for us to approach. Within moments, we three were chatting it up like old friends. It didn't matter that he was an actor or “famous”. It only mattered that we were three honest, genuine people, speaking from our hearts about things of substance. I tend to be that way, probing from the word “go”. I can't help it. I like knowing people. Not simply meeting but really knowing and I guess he felt the same way. Before I knew it, we were talking about my writing, the fact that I had been doing it for as long as I could remember but doing nothing with it. He was shocked. “Why not?” he asked. Such a simple question, really, but a powerful one. I answered as I usually do, “fear, mostly.” He shook his head as if to say, “that's no excuse.” He might have actually used those words. I told him I do write a blog and he immediately asked for the link, said he would be checking it out. I hope I said it correctly, I was so shocked and surprised. He officially challenged me to submit and when “Tommy Jarvis” tells you to do something, I'd suggest you do it. He survived “Jason”, for fuck's sake. But the best part was, in that moment, in all of our moments, he was never once “Tommy Jarvis”. He was a man named John, simply a human being who happens to act for a living. An honest man, a kind man, a man not unlike myself in that he, too, wears his heart on his sleeve, despite having chosen a career rife with the potential for gut-punches and heartbreak. Or, maybe it chose him? Maybe writing chose me? Maybe that's the reason I have never been satisfied doing anything else? The fact of the matter is this, I truly have nothing to lose by attempting to pursue the deferred dream. Life is too short not to. And really, how much clearer could that be?

Self-Love

Reaching
climbing
digging
inching
rising
slowly
above
and
beyond.

Part of Nature

The title of this post was our first writing prompt in class tonight. We had to choose an object in nature we felt represented us and had about seven minutes to write about it. My piece is very stream-of-consciousness-y so read on if you wish.

I am a butterfly. Actually, I am becoming a butterfly. I am not sure where I am in the process of becoming. Chrysalis? Larva? Pupa? I am not sure where I am. I am no longer dormant. I am, most certainly, becoming. I want to be a butterfly but I also fear it. Butterflies are beauty and freedom but their time on earth is brief. Can I live a whole lifetime in an eye blink?

I am a butterfly...becoming.

Insomnia Redux

Tornadoes in my head.
Dread.
Nothing left unsaid.
I guess I will sleep
when I am dead.

More

Heart on fire
eyes icy blue.
Feeling too much
is nothing new.
I'm ready for more
how about you?

Truth

I know enough to know
I will never know enough.
These eyes
though wise
still gaze
with wonder
and surprise.
This foolish heart
still yearns
as often
as it burns
and through it all
my world
still turns.
Facing fear
I persevere
and unlikely
as it seems
I'm still here.

Someday

Mind full of angst
heart full of fear
I do not wish
to linger here.
My greatest hope
is to be free
of the hell inside
yet still be me.