Just Me

"Give me something, give me some
      give me something to remember you
          before you fade away
              I'll be calling out your name, hey."
                                                -Give Me Something
                                                  O.A.R. (of a revolution)

I turn the music up
allowing it to wash over me;
the vibrating tendrils
wrap themselves around me,
but it's not enough
to dull the hum.
I'm stuck searching through memories --
calling out for something more,
anything to lessen the numb;
give me something, give me some.

Time seems to blaze by
scorching the edges of my mind,
burning pictures
I long to cling to;
all I'm left with are embers
of what I once knew.
now I'm stuck combing through memories --
calling out for something more,
anything to keep me from coming unglued;
give me something to remember you.

Once I could conjure up
your soothing embrace,
the only one that could ever
wash away the pain.
But now, even your phantom arms
are beginning to fray
and I'm stuck scanning through memories --
calling out for something more,
anything I can replay - replay -
before you fade away.

The candles flicker still;
though yours are only seen
reflected in my eyes.
Deep breath, I hold it in;
but I'm running out of air
for a wish I can't betray.
So I'm stuck here, all alone
just living out your name.
With every breath I give away,
I'll be calling out (y)our name, hey.

---

I will always share two things with my mom, a name and a birthday.  I never thought much of this day, at least not where I was concerned...it's just another day.  But this is number four where I'm still waiting for it feel again like it is just another day...

The first year, I was no less lost than I am today.  But all I could do then was gather the words to me and let them pour alongside my tears in an attempt to feel (or not feel).

With year two came Treading Tears; written in blank verse which employs both meter and rhyme (two things I don't much care for), but in adhering to form I could diverge the emotional onslaught this day now brings.

When year three rolled around, I found myself Unarmed; this piece too was written in a form that typically is not so daunting, but I chose to add meter to the rondeau form.  The frustration of fitting form did as before, allowing me to make it through.  

Interestingly enough, all three (make that four) have one thing in common.  Something I still long for even today, yet will never again feel.  

Treading Tears
written in blank verse

Unarmed
written in rondeau form

---

Behind the images:  Sometimes I wonder how I ever created so many poems directly on the computer - no prewriting involved.  These two are prime examples of the craziness that comes with the creative process, especially when form is involved.  My lovely scribbles, side-ways writing and stress-notation seen here are why I wonder how I spent a good number of years composing digitally.  It also seems sad to me that when typing (and deleting) you loose the footprints of the verse; yes, it is true that occasionally I erase instead of crossing out, but still there are hints of what once was hidden there on the page. 

A note on form:  This is my second attempt at a glosa.  Oddly enough, I selected the same artist for inspiration.  Though I suppose it is not so surprising; since first discovering them I have found their music soothes when I feel out of sync with everything around me--they give me something I can sync to.

Echos of Silence

Silver Pearls
(photo by rmp, that's me)
[check out original unedited version @ rmpInFocus]

one day
             my silence
                             will echo

it will start as a whisper
of something forgotten
as you walk into a room
and look about
for what?
you can't remember
it will nag at you
until you shake off the whisper
figuring
it will eventually come back to you

it will grow to a soft hum
of a once heard song
that lingers at the edge
of your mind
you can feel the notes clash
refusing to take form
it will tickle your senses
until you push away the hum
back
into the recesses of your mind

one day

             my silence 

                             will echo

it will build within you to a shout

that whisper

that hum

will finally take shape

into words long ago read

and you'll be drawn

to rediscover them

as you begin to search for me

the nagging whisper will return

as you find my lost words

the tickling hum will resurface

it is then

that my silence will be so profound

it will echo deep within your mind

one day

             my silence 

                             will echo

of this i have no doubt

for there is no room 

for doubt

it is not something i can afford

my words have power

meaning

passion

these are things i cannot afford to loose

they are at my very core

without them i am nothing

and so i cling to the idea 

one day

             my silence 

                             will echo

---

A bit of rambling:  I dug up this poem from just shy of two years ago (July 4, 2011).  While I don't my silence has been long enough to echo for most, these still fingers and dormant words are quite profoundly echoing in my head.  At first life just too crazy, but now that things have settled down I find myself completely unmotivated.  Sure I could blame the elusive muse that most artistic types speak of, but I'm not the artistic type--I suffer from a left-brain logical dominance (at least most of the time).  So really it is lack of motivation, hopefully my right-brain will decide to come out and play soon.  In the meantime, I'm going to catch up on my reading (my reading list currently sits waiting for me with 63 unread posts all full of what I'm sure is amazing poetry).  Hopefully a little light (or not so light in some cases) reading will help jump start me.

On a side note:  When I dug up this poem, I had to smile at the original note on the bottom, "a One Stop Poetry--One Shot Wednesday offering."  This was my second to last contribution to OSP's One Shot Wednesday and my fourth to last offering to OSP before they closed their doors.  While the link to onestoppoetry.com no longer works, I got another brief smile today by adding in "blogspot," which brings up the original blog with its last post (though not the final post for OSP) dated Friday, January 28 2011 -- Friday Poetically with Brian Miller; unfortunately it last for only about 11 second (yes, I did actually time it) before the automatic redirect tries to link to the non-blogstop blog and I get "Oops! Google Chrome could not find onestoppoetry.com."  Sad, but I know I can always console myself with a tasty pint of poetry now served by Brian Miller and Claudia Schoenfeld or any number of talented pub tenders at dVerse Poets Pub. I'm getting a tad thirsty just thinking about it...

The Recording:  Creating this had me missing Aviary's editor--it was much more user-friendly to someone who knows nothing about editing sound tracks; I found it much easier to toy with the sound compared to Audacity, but unfortunately they felt the need to close down all of their free products to focus on their photo editing...which I also use so I can't complain too much.

Behind the image (title):  I realize I probably could have come up with a better title for my image, but there is just something about those silver pearls (which were not originally silver) that just draws me in.

US – Love (love less than us)

I need you to know  

if I could,  

             I would,  

                        but I can’t  

and you won’t.  

  

Still I need you to understand  

that I understand  

while I can’t  

                you won’t;  

even if I could,  

                   you wouldn't.  

  

So really, it doesn't matter;  

    I don’t matter;  

    we don’t matter,  

beyond the concoction in my head  

where we live  

                  in nonexistence while  

you’re there and  

I’m here  —  Sep  

                      a  

                         rate  

because I can’t  

                    though I would  

                                         if I could,  

but you won’t  

                   although  

   

maybe if given the chance  

        if I took the chance  

           you  

                 might  

    

and we’d stand a chance.  

Our Dance (is Finally Over)

"Then the rain came knocked me sideways
   Hope the wind will catch my fall
      I know we all deserve a couple scars
         It's just getting old."
                                     –Almost Easy
                                       O.A.R. (of a revolution)

It's too easy – far too easy
to walk down this path again.
Then, drinking you in had me disappearing;
fading into me, into you, into us,
way more than I could handle.
But you were like a beautiful song that plays
entrancing me out of myself
your fingers strummed the very core of me
consuming my nights – stealing my days.
Then the rain came knocked me sideways.

You couldn't see the storm rage inside me
though you felt it I'm sure.
Now here we stand again and it seems so easy
to fall back in – let it take control – 
spin us around like an old record
whose perfectly worn grooves touch and enthrall
familiar waves (intoxicating) strive to take hold
and it's oh so easy to get lost in the music of us,
but when the storm returns, throws me against the wall,
(I) hope the wind will catch my fall.

Every time I think it won't happen
your hand stretches out before me
inviting me to dance.  I should know better
than getting caught in this whirlwind
where the only thing I'm left with is a bruised heart.
How many times will you play its strings like a guitar,
breaking them one by one – though really
it's my own damn fault thinking I was stronger
the past serving as a lesson – a guiding star;
I know we all deserve a couple of scars.

I said it before, I'll say it again
hurt is all I have to offer you, me, us
I'll always be undecided – torn up inside;
longing to feel our harmonies sync
knowing I'm to scarred to match your tune.
Still it's way too easy letting this feeling take hold,
finding everything I need in you, but not
what I need of me.  I have to let go;
this song of ours has been oversold.
(and) it's just getting old.

---

A note on form:  Yesterday, over at dVerse, they introduced the glosa.  It's an interesting form meant to pay tribute to a poet by incorporating/quoting four lines from a piece of their work.  It then is followed by four stanza of 10 lines where the tenth sequentially comes from the original quote.  For more detail, check out the Pub's FormForAll:  Paying Tribute, Page and the Glosa.

A side note on the form:  So I didn't technically (depending on how you look at it) choose a poet.  I chose a musical group that has a way of calming the storm that tends to rear it's ugly head.  Still, song is a poetic form; it just typically incorporates some musical instruments.

Volcanic Eruption

Evil spawns new life in light'ning's wake,
rising up from molten death — earth quakes.
Writhing forth, as slumbers hold abates,
demon wings unfurl and stretch.
                                          (the fates
deem the time has come  prepare to snip
threads of helpless lives as red tears drip;
spreading fear sets in.)
                               Each crack of bone
rolls like thunder — dormant joints now moan,
stolen from their sleep.  The creature throws
off its ashen blanket; darkness grows
drawing clouds around its giant form.
Raised arms, clenched fists, puffed chest, call the storm.
Brazen fractals light the pluming cloud
looming 'round the monster like a shroud.
Few can see his head tilt back and laugh
(evilly) he carves out epitaphs.

---

A note on form:  The above construction is a twist on a form; I had this inkling to toy with Framed Couplets.  The form was introduced to me by Gay Reiser Cannon (aka beachanny) during one of her lovely post for dVerse Poets Pub's FormforAll.  While I am not really one for writing in strict meter or rhyme (of which this form has both), something about this form speaks to me.  As I mentioned this is a twist on the form; it may be more aptly named "Chained Couplets."  While I maintained the meter of the form, I altered the rhyme pattern slightly.  The original form uses pairs of line where the first words and last syllables of the pair rhyme--thus the idea of "framed" couplets.  I maintained the end rhyme (first with second, third with fourth, and so on), but I shifted the initial rhyme (second with third, fourth with fifth, and so on).  In addition, I used the same initial sound as the the start of the first and last line to act as sort of a clasp in the chain.

Thoughts on writing in form:  I once tweeted, "it's amazing how one can loose sight of somethings true purpose when trying to conform."  This piece is an example of how I felt as the form took over the writing.  I'm not sure how "the fates" made their way into this piece.  I was also quite stuck on how they would lead me back to the original image that lay behind this poem.  Even now, after suffering their appearance, I'm not 100% sold on them.  Yet, they do make an excellent link to the last line...so maybe their unexpected arrival was not so bad.  Sometimes I do wonder what a poem might have actually turned out to be if I had neglected to adhere to a specific form.

Inspiration for this piece:  I was Flip(board)ing through some photos looking for something that might spark a bit of inspiration.  In doing so, I came across some amazing photos of lightening over the Sakurajima in Japan.  There, in the ashen clouds adorning this monster, I could see shapes take form--in a fashion similar to looking at the clouds to discover rabbits, flowers, or dragons.  What I saw in the billowing masses was a figure rising from the volcano.  Below I have included the original image, along with one I tweaked slightly (altering its brightness, contrast and tint) to allow for the form to shine through a bit more clearly for others who do not have my crazy vision.

photo taken by Martin Rietze
(http://www.mrietze.com/)