Secrets

I see you from afar
Stepping back half a lifetime
Or more
Or less

You seemed a fragile soul
Brittle to the touch
Shards, pieces, "please don't shake"
Not handled with care

Living, and dying, in poetry
Parallel understanding
Searching, needing, reaching
Ever short

Cry yourself to sleep when you could
In the thirteenth hour
Life and death conjoin and diverge
Much to your chagrin
Blessed sleep eludes

An owl to show the way
Hoot-hooting a message from the dead
From the past
From the present
To live is to write, is to die, is to live

Sweet goodbyes
Even though unaware
A saving grace
The last good deed
Care taken to ensure small lives

Immortal youth
While still possible
Beating insanity's race
Before the thirteenth hour

The fine line traversed
The final deal sealed scarlet
Blood for blood dried and dust
The dead hold their secrets close

Opinions scatter
Tortured soul
Trapped, seeking release
Insanity's bleak and coloured scapes
Enlightened, ensnared, enslaved

The dead hold their secrets close


I started writing a poem "Handled with Care" (no that is not a typo, Handled is the intended word, I saw the phrase on a moving truck, it stuck) but it had no direction...about a week ago. It found direction and completed itself in light of my current reading and brief investigation of a poet that a friend turned me onto. I am not in a position to comment on any technical observations, other than she didn't seem to like punctuation...(unless that is the fault of the transcriber)...which suites me just fine [;^). Anyway, I like what I have read so far. I see where she is heading with her writing, impression only mind you, but I cannot describe it plainly, which gives rise to the reworked "Handled with Care"...re-titled to ...I don't know what yet as I don't think it is complete...."Secrets" maybe, to keep it short. Lots of gaping holes yet to fill, more reading but it is a start. Like a skeleton it needs some meat and skin to complete it, a project for another day after I have read everything there is to read.

The poet is Sylvia Plath. Suicide in '63. I won't go on about anything here as anyone who might be interested can find all the same stuff I have found by just searching the web.

Jeff

Out of the Shadow

We walk in the shadow of who we think we are
Careful not to tread beyond the bounds of shade
Lest the light burn away our facade
Or to venture too deep into the dark
Should we meet something malign

This is the thin line of life
Neither dark nor light abound
Unsure shadows reveal nothing
Safety in the grey
Languishing as comfort numbs

Each day a new branch in the path
A new revelation awaits
Just beyond the border of dark
We see it, but cannot touch it
For fear of the sun

Thus the crux approaches
To know the light we must know the dark
Step away from our sure path
And chance the cold to endure the heat
One does not exist without the other

Brave steps need not falter
Loathing self pity ignored
Plunge into the icy depths
Secrets faced, released
Embrace the worst to know the best

Emerging from the pit, dark armour intact
A temporary shield to endure the light
Exposed by slow ablation
We take the path we dared not tread
From fear of success going to our head.

I thought I was over the hardest part of personal growth, the awakening. Yesterday made me realize that I have only taken the first few steps and that there is no real destination on this path. How can anyone truly say that they are complete or that they have arrived until the next day is past and the last fork taken to the very end.

Jeff.

Steadfast

Shell formed, calcium hardened
Years of accumulation
Cracks abound, filled with bitter resentment
Mortar of existence
This shell opens upon a new world
One of acceptance and peace
Tentative steps
Bold emergence

But this is not the last cruel joke
A facade, a play
Cloying in it's seduction
Lured into a sense of security
Unseen the whip lashes
Torture begins anew
Old sting all but forgotten
Newly searing in it's fresh malignant manner
Streaks of blood and tears
Familiar pain throbs
Refusing the sanctuary of the shell
Let flayed flesh rot where it falls
New wounds, new lessons learned

This is not of my making
It will not be my unmaking
I will not let it
I hear the whip lash
I listen to the flesh cry
I know the pain intimately
I remain steadfast in love
I Am.


I have nothing more to say about this one.

Mediocrity

Relaxing in front of the fire
Flames licking away another log
Day has not yet dawned
Stars bright as diamonds in the sun
Stillness in the cold outside
Memories of recent days flow
Staccato in the mind
Point and counter point
Good offsetting the not so good
Languishing in comfortable neutral
Each day a chance to rise above
Chance will be salvation
BAH!
There is no boon in chance
An empty dream
Recalling all that chance has scotched
Resolve failed
Will failed
Imagination failed
Corrupted by "what if"'s
Chance and mediocrity synonymous
But that is a digression
Today is a new day
As the stars fade
So too the derision fades
Looking forward to the dawn
Warming of the air
Next opportunity to tip the scales
Coaxing the good out of life
One second at a time

I load up the fire and sit expecting to fall asleep as the fire warms the room, to no avail. So I write about the moment to see what is really keeping me awake. It's always interesting to see what can be teased out of the subconscious when it is caught unawares and relaxed.

The past week has been a blur of paperwork that had I been procrastinating so it felt like I was coasting, relying on chance to spring some grand surprise upon me. I have come to know that chance springs no surprises, I just need to remember that. It shows it's true form in the final days when people reflect upon their life and realize that relying on chance has robbed them of their own direction and, while they may have been contend and satisfied, they never truly lived.

I had a question posed to me a few months ago, "what would you like people to remember of you, write a eulogy", or something similar. My response was something along the lines of "I didn't really have any great need to leave a mark to be remembered". I have been willing to live based on what is chanced upon and not leaving any mark as a result. I still do not feel a desire to leave a mark but perhaps grasping for more than chance will result in a larger footprint than had I continued to coast.

Chance exists, I do not dispute that. It is not good or bad in it's essence. Consider the simplest exhibition of chance in the flipping of a coin. On average, fipping a coin will result in roughly an even number of heads and tails appearing. So while flipping the coin of life, good and bad appear in roughly equal measures. It is not chance that sways the flip to favour one over the other, it is the will and the action to reach out and turn the coin to get what you desire. Sometimes it is not your will but someone else's will imposed to create their imbalance of good...so do you get their bad by default?

In mediocrity there are still imbalances within the whole. Someone is getting more than average and I am about to make sure that I join that group. My conscience nags me to consider others so I don't intend to force my good by pushing bad onto others, I doubt it works that way. Raising the level of good experienced, or at least felt, perhaps just adds one notch to the overall collective tempo of life. More good does not result in more bad somewhere else. It just means there is more good to pass around. Like love.

Perhaps good is just another expression of love anyway.

Jeff.

Dream Interrupted

OK, so this is not a poem or anything terribly interesting. I still thought it worth noting.

I was lying on the couch in front of the fire nicely asleep after being up early doing a bit of writing...likely to follow later.... and WHAM!

My wife shakes me awake.

I was having a dream, I know it was a good dream too. I can't for the life of me remember even a moment of it though.

Ironically I was actually thinking this morning how I should have a little notebook beside the bed and a small light so when I wake and recall a dream I can jot a few thoughts down about it to recollect the dream later. Mostly for curiosity, perhaps some stuff to write about, maybe for the odd message. So the first thing I thought, besides why am I awake? was what was the terribly comfortable dream about? ...nothing, not even a vague notion.

So, dream busy lights. They would be cool. Just a little message...maybe just a "please do not disturb, dream in progress"...and followup "I'm dreaming so piss off!" once the shake sensor detects movement.

Should I apply for a patent now?

Jeff.

Golden Gaze

Gazing at an open field
Snow covered
Copse of birch in the distance
The moon smiles down
Form familiar
Power unmistakable
As always, seeing more than letting on
Old friend refracted in the flakes
Diamonds beyond count
Magic in the night

A wolf howls in the distance, calling
My skin prickles in anticipation
The night seems brighter
The snow inviting
The howl echoes yet
I close my eyes

Primal urge
I feel a shift
Trees fly past
Rabbits scatter, deer bound away
Fear palpable, a taste in the air
No kill tonight
There is a oneness
Conjoined energies
Family force

The wolf calls yet again
Muzzle raised, howl returned
Excitment, thirst, desire
Flowing as liquid
Distance means nothing
Time does not exist
Run, steady, silent

A scent captured
Musk, sharp, familiar
Trail blazed ahead
Memories triggered
Home
Sharing
Duties
Death
Life

Golden gaze reflected
Meaning without words
We are one
There can be no return
What once was, is no more


With winter approaching I always look forward to hearing the wolves howling in the evening. We heat with wood so I often am outside around that time chopping or just bringing in wood. I always feel drawn by the howl, the clear cold night air carries the sound well, the glittering snow in the moonlight sets the atmosphere. A bit of magic happens right then. Somehow I feel it stirring my soul in a basic and primal way that cannot be duplicated by any human interaction.

If I close my eyes, for just a moment while the echoes of the call fade, I am the wolf. I sometimes wonder what might happen if I followed my instinct at that moment.

Jeff.

All In

Wind
Whir
Click...speed
Click...SPEED
Splash
Breath deep
Rhythmic
Warmth
Sweat
Salt
Click...speed
Passing scapes
Pressure
Standing
Power
Pump
Over the top
Click...speed
Alone
All in
Speed.


Hmmm....I can visualize the whole scene and the particular stretch of road that this meandering would be on. Open field to the right, spotted with cows. Forest on the left, maple, birch, bit of oak and some cedars. Fence in sad repair...new section put up last year. Over the top of a smallish hill, gearing up and taking off again. I would glance at the speedometer...45.

I wrote this a month ago, just goofing around, but I was missing my biking today as I have not been out...for about a month now. Today is perfect, warmish for the season, sunny, hardly a breeze...and I have to go driving into the city for some stuff. Life gets in the road...yet again.

I started the email with "I know, I get a little carried away when I go "all in" with anything, this is just my way ..." and eventually I ended up writing the above jotting..."all in" was not the topic or even really part of the plan, it just fell in place and seemed to fit.

Jeff.

Un-named

Suspended in time I try to draw a breath
It doesn't come, no need, only desire
A corporeal habit only
Flash of light, hint of colour in the white
Intensity beyond bearing
Negative image as the burn remains
Was there a form? Just a blob of nothingness?
I cannot discern
Wonder, awe, adoration, imagination
Why can't I breath?
Why do I yet live?
Purpose, undiscovered.


I float above the ground
Leaf blown by the wind
In the deep of the ocean
Waves pound in the distance
Amplified by the cold
Gales howl, unheard
Currents carry me
Caressing in their madness
My madness
Why can't I breath?
Forget breath, it is not needed
Feel the power, let it feed me
Sustenance, vitality, life, death.


Tumbling toward the abyss
Darkness beyond thought
Cold beyond feeling
Why am I drawn here?
Purpose
How can there be purpose in these depths
Nothing human can survive
Crushed, frozen, senseless
I know the laws, I've broken many already
Man will not change, he does not know...
What he does not know
I catch a glimpse in this darkness
I cannot tell
It surrounds so completely
So utterly and complete as to release me of my shell
Why can I not breath?
I have no lungs
Nor blood to carry the life.


I am free and yet trapped here
I still do not resist, curiosity is my better
Deeper yet
Colder, darker
As if this was not enough already, there is more
No reference, darkness so blindingly intense
Can this be real?
This darkness is not the void once thought
Everything and nothing in concurrence
I sense the end, or the beginning
Returned in an instant
I draw a breath, sweet pain it feels now
I open my eyes, rough light grinds them raw
I feel a sadness
Cold darkness missed
Breathless wonder
Velvet arms of the deep
Struggle to recall
Forgotten before remembered
Lost as a breath exhaled
Yearning remains
Un-named.

Of all the nightmare themes I have ever had this would be amoung the worst fears, claustrophobia and suffocation. I am not fearful of those in reality though. I SCUBA dive and this reminds me, afterward, of a particular dive that I did inside a sunken overturned wooden ship. Tiny lights probing the thick blackness while exploring the unknown. Upon turning the dive and on the return trip out I turned off my light and made the journey back in the dark, feeling my way along the bottom and going by memory to find the path out. There is no darkness on land that can remotely compare to the thick blackness under water. Every breath is thunder in your ears and makes it obvious that the tenuous connection you have with life is relying on that tank and hoses on your back as well as your judgement. You feel the pressure the whole time as each breath is a conscious effort. Every exhale is distinctly marked by the sound of the regulator in your mouth and the explosion of bubbles as they race up to their own freedom above. Even your ears are filled with water so everything that you hear is strangely distorted as if listening to sounds through a sea shell.

It is exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Lose your head and you lose your life, it is that simple down there. Very sobering experience. I love SCUBA diving, it just doesn't fit my life schedule right now.

I wrote this after supper. I sat down and typed the first words then let myself go. I do not really know if my little word association earlier had any real bearing on this or not, too hard to tell but there was some darkness in the middle of it somewhere, dreams... it doesn't really matter.

I re-read it only now out loud. Someone mentioned enjambment, having to do with little or no punctuation and it allows meaning within meaning and changes the tempo. I re-read three times and used differing implied punctuation each time, first the line breaks. Then without, once more shifting commas and periods in my head. I catch different meanings and implications. Some are directly contradictory, some are complimentary, some just shift the focus to another word.

I like the free form this allows and I considered trying to punctuate but I cannot. I choose not to choose the meanings, leaving it as fluid as the water in which I am whelmed. [;^)

Jeff.

Word exercise...or whatever

Tonight I was making dinner, rather late, and my mind was half on the task as I was wanting to write something...anything. I have found that is the worst time for me to try writing so far in my sort writing career (right). Normally I need to write and it flows, wanting to write is different. So I thought I might try a little experiment.


I grabbed the nearest piece of paper, it was actually a full sheet of lined paper, a novel idea for me as most of my paper might be an envelope, the back of some cast off homework sheet, torn bottoms of grocery lists...you get the picture. So, pen in hand, think of something to write... dinner being on my mind I start with the first three words then walk away stumped and disappointed.


Food, taste, sweet


Well, I was munching on a carrot stick, stands to reason. Wasn't what I anticipated so I rolled with what I started, word association, at least words that come to mind perhaps without real association. I decided to see how many lines I could get before repeating a word.


solitude, in-attention
tension, strength
weakness, numbers
packs, herds, meat
milk, pudding, dessert
meal, breakfast, sunrise
light, shadows, dreams
nightmares, horror, monstrous
waking, noise, blaring
traffic, flow, colour
red, blood, war
poppies, fields, running
moving, stretch, weight
metal, iron, rust
age, time, father
family, dogs, food


It was over too quickly. I was interested to note that the first word was also the last word.


Once I got to traffic I forgot that I started with food as re-reading for reference between tasks only extended to the immediately previous line. Dogs, you would have to know our dogs and their rabid fixation with food...almost nasty...but they are fun little dogs when they are not eating. We have a pug and a not pug. These are not you standard pug style dogs though, they are very lean.


I am not sure this was productive but I do see some interesting themes, even if only a few words that perhaps could be the idea of a poem.

This reminds me of some of the silly things we did in highschool for creative writing...of course none of them made sense at the time, or perhaps I just wasn't interested.

For the record, I don't plan on posting all exercises I might do, I just thought this one was new to me and perhaps novel. Actually, writing exercise for the sake of writing is new to me. I have tons to learn I expect.

Final insight:

After jotting a tidbit about dogs and food I notice that I have entire paragraphs behind every word or related group of words that were there when the word was placed on the page. Now I truly see the power of words, they tickle memories and tease them out when you have no idea what the memory might be even though they may have been the reason for the word to appear in the first place.

All of a sudden I have much to say about this but no time to do so. Life gets in the road once again.

Jeff.

Stay the Course

Hold the rudder!
Stay the course!
Mind the yaw!
Storms may try to sweep us away.
Let us instead harness the wind
In sails snapping, spinnaker billowing,
Run before the gale.
Let it sweep us after all
As it may take us to uncharted waters
Where we shall break new waves
And tempt the deep with our Souls
While plying the worth of our salt together.

I happen to have a desire to buy a sailboat and do a little sailing...OK, so a lot of sailing. I just haven't managed to talk Kathy into it yet...that and I haven't come up with the money for it yet either, that will happen as it needs perhaps. I tried to insert some punctuation this time. It feels odd to do that now but I understand how it can direct the flow for a reader now that I have read a few other's poems.

This was another email trigger as I send a message to my retreat group. I almost always write the jotting at the end, a kind of wrap up as I complete the thoughts. This one I finished as follows: (oh, another group is on retreat as I type this. Kathy is in the group, she is my vested interest referred to)

"Here I sit, reliving the recent past. Tears in my eyes. Happy for those this weekend, even though I may have a vested interest I somehow feel that I would feel the same for a group of strangers... as I once did. They are mixed tears, I must admit. I think of what I went through to get where I am now. I think of new enlightenment for others. I think of our group and I miss the combined energy of the people, the place and the time. I think of the energy that we still share and realize that nothing can change our experience and nothing can change our course except us."

Jeff.

Serenity...is this plagiarism?

This I skimmed off of an email I sent yesterday. I wasn't going to post it but thought that someone may get something out of it today...perhaps.

Something just occured to me, the "order for an early spring" and the tendency to complain about the weather and anything else that shows up on our radar reminded me of something. If everyone stopped complaining about the things that they have no control or influence over, how much negative energy would be eliminated form the world? Then, after seeing the results of that little experiment, if they stopped complaining about the things that they DO have control or influence over and started making the decisions and performing the actions to correct those issues, how much positive energy would be released upon the world? The last step, rather than complaining about the first group of issues, start appreciating them for what they are, trials, tribulations, tests and hurdles...they are all learning experiences.

This puts me in mind of the little verse that I am sure everyone has heard or read.

God,
grant me the strength to change the things that I can
grant me the serenity to accept what I cannot change
grant me the wisdom to know the difference

(I do not know the author and I am not even sure that the words are correct, but that was the gist of it. I always thought of it as a little tongue in cheek.)

I think that this little request does not grant us what we wish as direct as we might wish, not that this is a news flash to any of us. I would propose a change to the verse to the following:

God,
Grant me the opportunity to experience your lessons for what they are.
Through them let me develop the strength to deal with what I can change.
Through them let me achieve the serenity to accept what I cannot yet change.
Through them let me gain the wisdom to recognize the changes that may be needed,
To find my path toward happiness

While it might appear to say the same thing, most people might say so as they look no deeper then the surface meaning. The first asks for the silver platter. The second makes it a partnership, a journey. Opportunities, lessons, development, achievement, gaining, finding. We need to take a part in this journey and use those six words to temper our desire for a quick fix. This is a small part of the big picture but it is far less cheeky than wanting it now. Funny that it ended up being six...still showing up regularly.

There are other more subtle meanings in there, but each have to come to their own conclusions about what they read.

BTW, should anyone have any off the cuff comments about what the significance of six may be, as I see it very often lately, I wouldn't mind reading them.

Oh, I should clarify, I refer to plagiarism with respect to the verse, the email and the rewrite are mine.

Jeff.

Lines in the sand

Lines are drawn in the sand
The sand shifts
The lines move
An intricate pattern emerges
Not of my making
I am bound none the less
Duty, responsibility
The sand is part of me
I let them form as they did
Not realizing the impact
Gradual as the shifting may have been
Magnified over time
Anger, resentment
Decades have pasted since the first grain fell
How many are left before the pattern is complete?
How long until the pattern cannot be undone?
Can it be cleared away as in sand on a beach?
Let the tide take it away
Washed clean until the next pattern begins
A new pattern
A new artist
A new life


These lines in the sand start as a confrontational mark, the classic line but shifted into a life pattern. Bound like a demon in a pentagram. I now reconsider the end, washed away, perhaps I should talk about nudging them where I want them as if a redo is not really what is needed. I know why it is desired though, a redo would feel like a whole new life starting.


Interesting, pentacles...I wrote this a week ago. I requested a friend pull a tarot card for me without any knowledge of any of my issues except what may have been read here, a couple of days ago. Ten of pentacles, reversed. For any who know the cards the meaning is pretty accurate as it ties business and family together in my case. The reverse is not so much a reversal of the meaning as a diminishing of the good energy implied by the card, roadblocks and delays as opposed to failure. Even if the reverse orientation meant reversal of fortune I would choose otherwise.

I don't choose to put much stock in the cards or the readings, accurate they may be they will not change the course of my life. Perhaps if taken seriously they can, at the very least, give people cause to stop and consider their life direction. While the cards may or may not give true direction they can lead the individual to come to their own conclusions with respect to that part of their life that the reading may pertain to. That is not such a bad thing.


For myself, I have found my center and therefore my direction can only be true. Where else can you go once you pause to consider which direction to take from there?


"I am the center of my circle of life and from that point I cannot err."

Jeff.

Shift of scope

I have been debating how much to blog... poetry, personal stuff, insights, outsights....where to draw the line?


Seeing as there is not a lot of reader traffic here I may expand a bit in my blog meanderings, see what it feels like. I am not trying to get more readers, ultimately I couldn't care less whether anyone reads or not as I consider just turning this into a private blog rather than leaving it public anyway. Although there area few that I would like to still have read.


I'll see what happens first. I am testing a comfort zone here, that is my primary goal of blogging anything at all. The trading blog was mostly a sort of techincal layman's writing so it hardly counts, although it did introduce me to the various aspects of blogging.

Interesting note, I tried to google to force a first page result...just to see if people might end up here on a search, it doesn't look too likely as I couldn't get one until entering the blog title. So I am safe for the time being I suppose.


I find that I am paper journaling for my deepish stuff and I have been writing more poetry (that still sounds funny. As I type "poetry" my fingers still want to type "jottings"...go figure) than I intend in some electronic format here or there. I want to get back to using ink and paper. It seems more real that way. Strangely enough I find that I can squeeze time here and there to work on something online easier than opening my journal or finding a scrap of paper and some flat surface to write on. I'm not so sure that is a good thing.


Perhaps it is not good or bad as both methods produce a slightly different writing experience. I hadn't really noticed at first that I was writing poems...oh heck, jottings...as part of emails or at the end of a journal entry. They were becoming a part of a closing statement for the thought process of the moment. I have gone back and peeled away the writing to copy here, some anyway, and found that part of the email or note leading up was almost and integral part of the jotting.


Please don't get me wrong, I don't write about writing as if I know what I am doing or as if anything I write is any good on a technical or any other level. It speaks to me and I know that at least some of it has touched a few others, to me that is all that counts.


So, this is my first blog entry that starts my change of scope for my blogging, no jotting attached. Although I almost feel like I need to write something more about this.

BTW, I see that there is a new president today. That is about as much import I assign to the event as far as it afffecting my life...I could always be wrong though. I hesitate to name him as I am not looking for a bunch of hits from people looking for B.O. results today.



Jeff.