New Year

You are you, even with the new year coming...came.
I am me despite one year.
Spots on the pavement and pot holes on the highway
tell me one thing.
Everything that is permanent is inside.
Forget the indoor parlors or living areas,
couches and throw rugs.
Take your mind to those interiors that
soak up every experience, that drip personality,
and belch opportunity.
Inside, covered by flesh and scars,
where destruction can dwell but has to be invited,
and can as easily be chased off;
like the 15 year old
who made fun of you and all your friends
at your 12th birthday party;
making a point to point out your costumes
and matching party hats.
White with red and green stripes.
But oh well.
What good is a 12 year old mocking
if taken too seriously.
Especially from a 15 year old,
who was not invited to your party
but desperately wanted to be.

Some things change. Others are changing.

religion

My church is in the trees,
where the wind can preach.
My sermons in the sound
of the leaves on the ground.
And my God, He is in my heart
and everywhere else I failed to mention.

fall always lifts me, moreso than other seasons

10/10/10 - To December and Past

These changes, this weather,
feels my veins with fire.
There is nothing in nature as delightfully foreshadowing
of the wonder and the warmth to come.

Spring launches my spirits.
Summer calms my aching palms.
But Fall, fall screams.
It lifts me when it parachutes down.
Holds me when it bombards me.

A fire pit is what everything becomes,
not on fire but drenched in timber and smoke;
yelling, demanding a flannel fortress
to protect the thoughts that only escape
on the smoking breath of outsiders.
Outsiders not because they are apart,
but because they are not indoors.

Wonder is only on the horizon.
It’s just peeking but it again, feels me with purpose.
There are dreadful things coming
but so is Christmas and old friends,
new memories and a lot of paper,
pages and pages of paper.

When I dream I will remember the blizzards
and remind myself that the cold is your poison.
Good thing we have a fireplace now.
I can build a fire while you are still stretching under sheets.
One that will dance skyward until you have arisen.
One that will be complimented with a sweet embrace from behind
and a solid promise to keep you warm;
something you already know.
A promise you’ll expect to be carried out
so you can make it past December.

I love the fall.

stargirl and two books of poetry in a leather bag

It has been a goal of mine this year to always be reading a book. Of course I stop to work and eat food and shower but I always have a book in my possession that is in the process of being read. When I finish one I pick up another. It is one of the few planned goals that I have successfully kept.

In addition to reading a novel of sorts I have also made it a point to carry two books of poetry in my bag. You might say a man's step is a little lighter that way.

I have Billy Collins and Pablo Neruda in my bag right now.

I have read:

-A Thousand Splendid Suns
Few books address human struggle and relationship in a finer way.
-Shoeless Joe
The movie Field of Dreams is based off of this book. If you have seen and even kind of liked the movie you have to read the book. There are themes, added dimensions, and characters that left me thinking for days. The wife, the old man, the twin brother, J.D. Salinger. A compelling story of dreams, hope, and family.
-Green Shadows, White Whale
A book from the wonderful Ray Bradbury about his life and adventures in Ireland as he wrote the screenplay Moby Dick for the great and very strange film director John Huston. Fictionalized truth, off course; effective, always. Such great short stories within.
-The Road
Father. Son. Perhaps the most beautiful relationship in literature. That's all I will say about this horrifying and beautiful book.

I re-read:

-The Outsiders
I read to study Pony Boy for my screenplay. His character and contrasting atmosphere.
-Catcher in the Rye
I read to study Holden for my screenplay. So negative but such a sweet and unforeseen desire deep down. To be a catcher, one who saves in the rye.
-Dandelion Wine
I always re-read this in Spring. It's my favorite book. It opens my eyes like none other again and again.
-Harry Potter 7
I have to be ready for the new film. This series is one of the best of all time. Read Harry Potter to better understand friendship and the necessity of the good becoming one to overcome evil.
-The indispensable Calvin and Hobbes
One of the most sincere, hilarious, and heart warming creations of all time. I
have cried more than once experiencing life with Calvin; not just from laughing.

*I found myself reading several young adult books and for that I am very grateful. I have discovered that books for the young are books for everyone.

-Percy Jackson, The Lightning Thief
Such great themes of identity and coming of age. A lot of fun. Don't see the movie!
-How to Eat Fried Worms
Not as good as when I was young but still funny.
-Holes
Awesome. A great read. Mystical, funny, great comments on relationship and purpose. A lot of talk about a no good pig stealing great grandfather.
-Star Girl
I just finished this and I am still thinking about it. Such an interesting character. Truly the book to read on non-conformity. I hate Leo while relating with him. Perhaps that is why I hate him. I am still mad he did not go and find Stargirl. She was love.

I am currently reading Red Pony by John Steinbeck

it was fall, and still will be, but you missed it, temporarily

He ran. Oh, he ran. Timothy, only twelve years old, was known in the town for his running.

No bicycle; his family definitely had no car; but Timothy's shoes were always thick. If they ripped, his mother sewed them. If holes formed in the bottom, his father would re-sole them with an old tire or anything he could find.

His shoes were always thick.

Some days Timothy ran for bread, milk, or the local news. Now he ran to catch a boat. A boat he had already missed. A boat he only thought about boarding.


In my town I never run and today it no longer smells like fall, as it did three days past. It is September 15th. The scent will return; but the elation, the inspiration that came with inhaling fall's sweet nectar disappeared when I, too busy, did not write it down.

illumination's struggle

Summer has hidden its brilliant face.
The trees argue. Back and forth;
trying to decide what message to deliver, whether to tell me
t-shirt or jacket
Inside or out.

This morning, the fighting has stopped.
Most of the trees are silent.
Others, roll over lazily to peak open an eye and ignore my presence.
Regardless of their final conclusion,
I'm already wearing a sweater.

The day looks promising
and the morning is perfectly new.
By the time I drink my raspberry leaf tea, I may be in short sleeves
but for now I push the future out of my mind.

In the present, sunshine has creeped onto this page;
like a starved man in the desert, it drives fingernails into line,
trying to reach the the mirage that is book's end, ahead.
Suddenly the light stops, rests. Exhausted.

The page--halfway illuminated, half in shadow.

It's difficult to see such brilliance struggle.
I could move two feet over
and leave the page engulfed in light.
Yet I do not.

Illumination's struggle sounds like a good name for a religious text.
But these words are recreational, a different type of worship.
A striving.
A hope.

At times, a desperate clawing to day's end--
blessed because my eyes remain open.
damned because sometimes, with no apparent reason, no lack of sleep,
no sign of illness, I shut them.

Refuse to allow vision. Thought. Feeling.

And so I just float.
Away.
Fearing what I've already heard.
Dreading what I've never seen.