Home » Posts tagged 'Musings'

Tag Archives: Musings

Vincent on Hosmer

Posted on by | 1 Comment

Every city has its dark places, areas once normal – likely even prosperous before Now rotted Then. Each of these zones have local warnings of; don’t go there, oh I wouldn’t, have you heard about the latest. The signs are there if your eyes dare wander..chain link fences, plywood windows, spray painted scars, litter, shopping carts loaded with discarded treasures and other modern assorted souvenirs of broken urban meets transitional decay. Streets run through all of them, connecting normal through necessity and back. Once significant names like Hosmer, Pacific and Aurora fade on tired metal signs. When the sun goes down those brave, uniformed or dumb enough are there along with those who subside in the darkness, where choices collide on edges of perspective.

Now as requested needs and wants of others drive me to and down these stained streets I am reminded of an old late night scary television series hosted by Vincent Price. His age old voice hissed with dark danger and hair raising laugh warned of dangerous tales. Vincent dared you not to while teasing you back for more.

Driving through these places the voice of my GPS changes over to Vincent’s. At least in my ear.

Kindness

Posted on by | 1 Comment

Loneliness forms silently like layers of rust on an unused surface. What if kindness is an antidote to loneliness? Some sort of unintended return on a moment. An exchange of glances, a connection of eyes trading a gesture for an expression – causing a change.

Proof can be as slight as making another smile. Anonymous as packaging food for strangers who need or preparing a meal and joining hungry people. As lasting as giving an abandoned animal a new home. Quiet as standing by a friend whose luck changed. Sudden as showing up at a door that hides abuse. Strong as being a wall for momentary blocking and pushing off into a new direction.

The gift of kindness may not tip a permanent scale to be measured on some karmic score card but it might simply remove a layer.

Summer’d

Posted on by | Leave a comment

Tired eyes awaken anyway to stare

through coffee steam  Blended lines

turned by the sun overlap as if stickers on an edgy club wall

 

Torn stubs fall

from an overbooked calendar pausing

to be glanced at like posters once stapled to a pole

 

Sore feet crush grass burnt brown and bleached

in time

 

Fresh wrinkles appear like scars

on a machine built for speed— traded for a moment

 

Photos pile

waiting to be reflected on and laced into history

 

Energy spent, bartered and consumed

in the season of the sun  Leave one Summer’d

THOUGH I WASN’T ALWAYS

Posted on by | 2 Comments

Why do I keep trying to understand

the list of many things that I do

 

not? I carry around a fifty-

one-year-old weathered scroll

 

inked with a variety of unknowns.

Some, once understood—now

 

not. Many new, others ever-

changing. The list

 

grows. If “life is what happens when you are making

other plans,” why plan?

 

Why do traits that attract

turn into reasons to leave?

 

Is life alone settling,

fate, or just giving up

 

on the game? Why use the word

forever when nothing is?

 

How can a lifestyle choice threaten

others? How is walking in rain

 

therapy to some, yet loathed by many?

How do crows know I am

 

a friend, though I wasn’t always?

How does a special animal change

 

a person’s life? What do you do

when they go? Why do tough

 

people sometimes betray the code

and cry? Why do some become monsters

 

instead of protecting

their children? Can the kindness

 

of an outsider make enough

difference? Why does the pain remain

 

when the damage is long

gone? How do butterflies

 

know to show up when you need

them? If writing can be an antidote

 

for depression, can it lead

to understanding? Is philosophy

 

a gift, or an over-thought

burden? Destiny, obligation

 

calling (words that are larger

than life) can you really

 

see them coming?

Herman Hesse wrote:

 

I have been and still am a seeker,

but I have ceased to question

stars and books; I have begun

to listen to the teaching my blood

whispers to me.

 

Was there an event that opened

his eyes to this

 

realization or is it the wisdom

of a tired traveler?

 

When is it okay to let go

of questions and simply embrace?

 

The surprises never

end. Perhaps it’d be healthier to lean

 

back: let the bad be curses

and the good, magic.

 

This poem started with my piece Why from the “Write to Understand” writing workshop taught by friend Matt Love  on December 10th 2016 in Astoria, Oregon and evolved over time thanks to the help from another writer friend of mine Tara Hardy .

 

Why

Posted on by | 2 Comments

Why do I keep trying to understand the list of many things that I do not.  I carry around a fifty-one year old scroll of weathered paper inked with a variety of unknowns.  Some once understood – now not.  Many new, others ever-changing.  The list grows…

If “Life is what happens when you are making other plans” – why plan

Why do traits that attract – become reasons to leave

How is walking in rain therapy to some – yet loathed by many

How does a special animal change a person’s life – what do you do when they go

Why does pain remain when the damage is long gone

How do butterflies know to show up when you need them

If writing can be an antidote for Depression – can it help with Understanding

Destiny, Obligation, Calling (words that are larger than life) – can you really see them coming

Herman Hesse wrote, “I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teaching my blood whispers to me.”

Was there an event that opened his eyes to this realization or is it the wisdom of a tired traveler?  When is it okay to let go of questions and simply embrace?

The surprises never end.  Perhaps it’d be healthier to lean back: let the bad be curses and the good magic.

img_5416

As always I learned while enjoying my day at the “Write to Understand” writing workshop on December 10th 2016.

Matt Love lives and teaches in Astoria, Oregon.

Why Memoir

Posted on by | 1 Comment

Why Memoir?

This may be a strange compound question from me, as I have been capturing a story of my own for a few years.  I think I’ve figured out a little more about why they are written, they seem to be therapeutic for the writer.  In my case it just happened.  Loss cracked me open and the words came out.  I started smearing these memories on paper and while watching them dry I found that preservation made me feel little better.  Discovery became compulsion and grew.  The spirit of my dog led me down this new path and I just kept going…

Why do people want to read Memoir?

Often I wonder why do strangers read other people’s life stories.  Many are tragic and share deeply painful moments.  Are readers looking for a similar experience while hoping to gain some insight?  Find hope?  Learn something?  Follow someone back from an edge?  Does a common thread need to pull them together?

For me these questions will hang on lines – like yesterday’s laundry in today’s rain, waiting for tomorrow.

In Three’s

Posted on by | 1 Comment

My Grandma used to say something along the lines of “It happens in Three’s” – she believed it.

It is a phrase repeated by some when loss strikes…  Why do we say things like this, is it a superstition carried-over from some ancient grasp for acceptance?  Is there a power of three that some people cling to?  Is it real?

I never really gave it much thought.

I wonder what Grandma would say now that one of her son’s has passed-away, the third branch of my family tree to die in the last sixty days.

“They go in Three’s?”