The rain came last night —
I could hear the raindrops crashing
on the awnings above my windows
in my living room
Then, just like that
the power went out
Nice . . .
Continue readingWaiting For The Wind To Pick Up
I know you are out there.
you . . .
I always knew this too
but yes, I admit it
my faith was questioned
and my doubts were mounting
I am here with you now
Then again, where else would I be?
Where else would I be, unless the Gods
had other plans
and yet, same as the driftwood and the shells washed ashore;
everything we see
and everything we feel was predetermined by fate
so that destiny could solidify our place
beside one another.
Waiting For The Wind To Pick Up
There had to be another chapter, I think.
And, so, I decided to pick this up from here
and make do with some poetry
and make do what I have
instead of thinking about the things that I don’t have,
or that I’ve lost.
I never wanted to leave, per se,
but I left just the same
because this is how the cards came out
And so, I folded my hand.
and lost my bet
which is one of my pet peeves.
Losing
without playing . . .
Being Honest With Fiction
I am certainly a witness and a watcher and above all else, I admit that I am someone who participates in the oldest sport of all time. This is a little and special game known as people watching.
I cannot say how I look or seem or appear to anyone else.
No, I do not have the right to claim any kind of special or exceptional beauty.
I am just me.
I am only a man, average in many ways, hungry, seeking and searching and at best, I am equally as confused as anyone else here in this place called Project Earth.
Being Honest With Fiction
It amazes me to see who I am as opposed to who I used to be.
Then again, I am amazed at how different life can be from what it was, this time last year.
But this is life.
Always changing and always throwing a curve
(or two)
This is us too, moving and going through different phases
I am amazed . . .
I’m amazed at the times which I have lived through
And yes, it amazes me to realize how much time has passed since the last time I stood on a rooftop and felt rebellious.
Being Honest With Fiction
I know that maybe I say this too much. Or maybe I say too much period, and this is what causes distance between me and those who I wished were closer.
I know that I often talk about going back to the beginning.
But this is where I am . . .
I talk about the beginning so that I can turn back and start.
Or maybe this is the only way I can clear my history and hit the reset button.
Perhaps this is why I was told memories are not always my friend.
or memory is a liar.
I was told that too.
Being Honest With Fiction
Blades from the ceiling fan spun beneath lights and flickered in shadows against the white cinder-block walls.
I’ve had this dream before…
I know exactly where I am.
But I don’t know why and I’m not sure how I got there.
The sound dulled into low volumes of electricity.
All l heard was a buzzing sound..
I heard the sound of a soft metallic hum given off by the overhead fluorescent lighting.
And if you don’t know, then I guess you wouldn’t know what the sound of fluorescent lighting sounds like.
But I know.
Being Honest With Fiction
I saw the lightning bugs for the first time this season.
I saw them the other night and then last night too.
I love this,
I view the lighting bugs as a sign that summer is about to begin. I also view them as a kind memory from my youth, which meant the school year was coming to an end.
This meant the days would be longer and greater and like the old saying went, this meant, “no more teachers, no more books.”
And ah, relief.
Being Honest With Fiction
In retrospect, I find myself in the contrast of my past and wondering what happened.
What went wrong, and how the hell did I end up where I am?
Is this an accident or just a moment of clarity.
Perhaps, this means I can wake up now . . .
and start over
I say this not to say that where I am is so terrible or dark because of course, we have all been in much darker places and lived through darker times.
I cannot say exactly what I said or what I wrote but I do recall my first “goodbye” letter.
I say this without the intention of this sounding desperate, like a final measure or an ultimate farewell.
This was not a case of me saying goodbye to the world.
No, In fact, this letter was quite the opposite.
Being Honest With Fiction
I can recall the time when I realized one of my most valuable facts.
No, really. This is true.
Perhaps this was caused by a moment or calm in the storm.
Or maybe this was a realization that there is no lifeboat on its way. And, so, if I am to win or at minimum, if I am to survive then the way I survive is up to me.
Whether I pull myself from the swamps or how I gather myself and escape the emotional quicksand is up to me.
I remember when I heard Saul Williams record in one of his spoken word moments:
“If it is up to me, then it is up to me.”
And, so, I agree,
It is up to me.
Thank you, sir.
