In the midst and turmoil of daily life where do we cross to find ourself?
A Bridge to Our Self Once Taken — a free verse poem
I came across a bridge and lingered before crossing
Stone and mosaic moss, it slept before me
Paths worn and tired, it tempted untold souls
Arched to perfection, its completeness concealed a blessed cruelty.
The stone bridge echoes of departure and arrival
It spans time like a mirror of thought
Reaching across from expectation and desire
It touches down in uncertainty, battles yet to be fought.
It urges us to abandon safety and…
How to know if the choice was right, a review when cuddling after 40 years.
The Disclaimer : I am not boasting the years I have accumulated, that is not my intent, I was fortunate and I recognize everyone has their own road to walk. I do not want to admonish anyone nor thump dictates into another, that would be pointless for no road is smooth and all paths have bumps which give the journey dimension.
The Location and Time : In bed at 4 A.M. thinking of what to write when I rolled to one side and found familiar…
Standing in No Man´s land, a charred post views our heroes.
The post stood alone, brittle, bereft of kindness, a peering eye.
Between the trenches it watched as man´s hubris sputtered by.
Raging courage, to quell the fears, it saw men blindly race to the fore,
Soon to be slaughtered with guts hanging in mud, terror turned inward with gore.
The post was merciless, strewn with wire, channelling a poisonous pain-filled parting,
At young men, with innocent loves tendered, who saw the light of life soon departing.
Posts, nought but wood, made a line, a christening, decorated with razor wire,
Pursued along the beach, the path of choice leapt toward me.
I was being followed. I was pursued by something I knew, and also knew not. I abruptly turned and stared at my pursuer. Was it to be my attacker, that which would crush, maim, or destroy me? So often that could be the case. This time it stared at me and I stared back. The challenge wafted in the air, crippling any possible forward motion. We stood poised like fencers about to lunge or parry. Torn in three directions, my breath hovered. …
Whether it is nobler in the mind or in the heart to seek help.
The famous phrase that Hamlet uttered has had a multitude of interpretations and applications as to its meaning, delivery, and intent. My discourse is far too pale to attempt to rival the understandings of greater minds and more learned souls on the intentions of the Bard. However, I wonder if, in the backwaters of Hamlet’s disturbed thinking and torpid actions, there lingered a greater fear.
The fear of asking for help. The inability to ask for support. …
When will the past no longer be used as validation for the future?
The little patch of medium I inhabit is once more ruffled and offended by that which I see as inflammatory and of little applicable relevance or even consequence, though its existence and necessity to be understood is unquestionable.
While reading yet another article on racism within America, a land I see as one using the vehicle of vile racial segmentation as a means to answer the woes of a poorly constructed society based on survivalist greed, I am plagued by angst toward the manner in which the…
As you think of the world so you shall see your world.
Mantra by one definition is a statement or slogan repeated frequently.
Again, in the news this week we witness a depraved unstable individual attack numerous innocents, this time in three massage parlors robbing the lives of eight innocents and damaging untold others. What madness pulsed in the mind of such an individual? What pushed the mental triggers to release such hate and violence?
Immediately numerous media outlets jumped on the wagon of racially motivated hate crime.
It is unfortunate that the fabric of our lives is woven with…
Walking the lakeshore, troubled by insults, I met a sage.
The morning was sharp, the stillness of the air was crystal. I gazed over the sleeping lake, its surface was still, lost in thought, the morning was held in a gasp of suspended time. The olive green blanket was deep and nourished a wealth of life and murky mystery, though this morning it was docile and contemplative.
I felt the lake was my reflection, my clenched consuming thoughts. Plagued by what I had seen the night before I came to the shoreline hoping for solace or some perception of solitude…
Confronting our own truth can be a shadowed journey.
Truth, like a screeching alley cat, stalked the putird alleys of my mind. I am not with out darkness, without smears on my bruised and tarnished soul. My existance is not unblemished and yet a purity of desire surges and pulses in the corners, in the wisps of my intentions.
With knotted and furred thoughts the alley cat of Truth tangled with the odious mess that littered the recesses of life.
Prowling with soft tentative steps, I watched as it crept through the excrement of a human’s hopes.
Its footprint was…
An answer for those moments when are writers are consumed by their own darkness.
Green velvet moss, like troubled thoughts, clung to my shattered mental state. The rhythmic diminuendo of the moonlight sonnata playing in the background crept along the crevices of my vision. The stench of negative deliberations, a weary haggard witch’s incantation, spewed vile and intrusive into the calm that was my writing world.
My thoughts wondered aimlessly for days and now I found myself suspended, waiting for the winds to blow me, to give me direction. …
Kamakura based writer, lover of Great Danes, vintage cars, good red wine, bonsai and the Bard