Sunday, January 29, 2012

No Sugar Added

This soup of conscious thought
offers up a morsel now and then
to ponder and digest
and masticate thoroughly
and spit out
in obnoxious bits and pieces.
This pretense of the divine 
is a subtle attempt to simmer what's left
and reduce it and render it ripe, 
sublime in its impurity.
No additives to change the meaning
stripped down to essential ingredients
swirled around in a concoction of lies
that pass for truth.
A bitter pill made hard to swallow.

Friday, January 27, 2012

A Good Day for Suicide

I am alone again
The water is gray
But still
A good day for suicide
Killing the old me
To release someone new
To find out who I
Need to be now
Waiting has become second nature
And I wonder
What the future will bring
It’s time to choose
A new path
Time to wander down streets
I had forgotten
Looking in windows
To find out who I was
Buying a ticket
For who I’m going to be

Monday, January 23, 2012

A Cacophony of Sound

A full and empty shell
Each breath hollow
Occupied with nothing
Bursting with unseen thought
Or spoken word
An empty beach
Washed away
Eroded, then
Time and time again
In a
Cacophony of sound
She whispers
A useless word
The silence overwhelms her


“what do you want?”
“for what?’
‘whatever it is I’ve done wrong’
‘what do you think you’ve done?’
‘no idea’
‘then what makes you think you need to be forgiven?’
‘doesn’t everyone?’

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Why write?

Today I answered the question “Why is writing important to you?” on Twitter@Writer’sDigest@BrianKlems.   
Most people had responded with the ways that writing fed their soul or their creativity or their need for release.  For me the answer was different.  Writing is important to me because it is the one thing I have never given up on completely. 
It seems that most of us go through life looking for the elusive ‘it’.  The thing that makes us who we are.  The thing that makes us tick.  We assume that if we find it we will also be successful at it.  It is a recipe for disappointment.  None of us can live up to the expectations we place on ourselves in this regard.  And yet there is the small voice that won’t be squelched no matter how many times we fail or how long it takes us to start.  It is the little voice that dares us to dream. 
I read once that the three ingredients to happiness were someone to love, something to do and something to look forward to.  It is because of the latter that I became a fan of the perpetual dream.  Having a dream that doesn’t come to fruition can be just as beneficial to our psyches as the one that does.  It keeps us looking forward.  We continue to be engaged and striving instead of jaded and complacent.  It reminds me of the movie “That Thing You Do” about the band who made it big only to come undone.  It was the dreaming not the reality that sustained them. 
 I look at my writing like this.  I am a writer because I write.  If there comes a day when I am published then I will be a published writer but I no longer want to place the value of my worth as a writer on a single adjective.   The way I see it, it could be a “be careful what you wish for you just might get it” scenario.   Perhaps if I were to publish I would encounter a new set of problems,  deadlines, criticisms, poor sales.   Who’s to say?  In the meantime I will continue to write as the need arises or the inspiration or even the desperation.  And I’ll keep dreaming, who knows, maybe one day I’ll even add that adjective. 

Friday, January 20, 2012


We all saw it
The shift
Leaving life as we knew it behind us
Who are you? We asked
Each in his own way
Who will take care of us now that you have been replaced
Who will we become because of it
Someone who is misunderstood
Someone who gives up
Someone who hurts the others
But carries on as if nothing matters
And nobody knows
Someone who uses their body as
A means of escape
Someone who’s forgotten
But we are all okay
Aren’t we?

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Rain on a Tin Roof

I lived a life with strangers once
Strangers who gave birth to me
In an act of defiance
Because there was no other choice to be made
How can you love something you didn’t
Want in the first place
Is that why you hurt me
Is that why you turned away
To hide the screws you turned inside me
The words designed to hurt
The ones that say I love you
Like rain on a tin roof
Painful and false

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