Archive for ‘prose’

January 23, 2012

Trip Tomorrow…

Ever not want to go to bed, because you don’t want to  deal with tomorrow, and would rather just stay with today?   Yeah.  That’s where I’m at….  but, look –  there, I can see tomorrow  grinning at me, slyly, by the light of tonight’s moon…  while it slowly, threateningly, creeps closer and closer…
It never cares what I want… especially when it’s carrying in Monday on its back.

I guess, I better make a break for my poor pillow… the one that gave up calling me hours ago…

Wish me luck…

and, trip tomorrow if you see it coming, would ya?

Thanks.

December 14, 2011

“Without Farewell” and “What Men Call Life”

I didn’t write these next two poems: “Without Farewell” and “What Men Call Life”, but, wanted to share…  They were actually written by my grandfather.  The first poem, “Without Farewell”,  he wrote early on, in 1932…  perhaps, about one of  his own parents or ?

PAWithout Farewell

Some part who part without farewell,
not knowing tis the hour.
Without the tale they longed to tell.
Without one fading flow’r.

And some will grieve, who parted so,
some secret in the breast,
they never told – and never know,
how greatly they are blessed.

They never met for some last time –
the last hour was so sweet –
as all the hours hope makes sublime
when mortals part to meet.

There is no memory of tears,
no shadow on the past.

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August 2, 2011

Learning to Fly…

“Can’t keep my mind from the circling skies
Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I.”
– from “Learning to Fly”, by Pink Floyd…

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I’ve been procrastinating again.  Putting off writing in this blog… or writing anywhere for that matter.  Why?  Why do I do this to myself, when I know that writing is something I not only enjoy doing, but feel compelled to do?  I know that writing things out helps me think things through.  It helps me vent and it helps me feel more clarity and grounded.  I know it may be difficult to believe that, when I tend to write in random babbling circles…  but, somehow it’s true.  I’m happier when I write regularly.

Not writing is almost like punishment. 

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April 3, 2011

Tuesdays Past and Present….

(Written last Tuesday, for a “writing exercise”… where we were to think about where, exactly, we were one year ago… difference, similarities… just write, without thinking, no stopping til done.  This is what I came up with: )

On a Tuesday morning in March, one year ago from today, I would have been working.  Instead of sitting in this poetry class, writing this, I would have been sitting at my desk in my office.  The same office where I still work, just not on Tuesday mornings.    Instead of gathering my homework, and book of poems by Cavafy, as I did this morning, I would rather have been gathering up whatever work I had brought home  and rushing off to the office.  I would have driven the same expressway, and parked in the same parking lot as I did this morning.  However, once parked, I would have began walking in a different direction and going towards the office where I work, rather than making my way to the nearby Campus where I walked to today.

I still would have, most likely, been looking up.  Noticing the sky, blue or gray.  I can’t recall today what exact color it was last year, but,

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January 12, 2011

I still see him

“Where is my little boy?”
“Where has he gone?”
I spoke loudly to no-one, 
looking past the stranger standing before me
who was wearing nothing
but a hooded towel
with dog ears.

“I’m right here, Mommy!”
he blurts out excitedly
unable to maintain stealth mode
or contain laughter
as he excitedly threw back his hood
and dog ears.

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