the tempest

passion,
it is the storm on the horizon.
you think you are out of harm's way on the shore,
but you are in its line of fire.
first felt as it drizzles down,
desire will slowly soak its way into your soul.
then thunder crashes in the forms of dreams
and the electricity jolts you awake.
finding yourself drenched
you try to run for cover,
but the deluge is on.
the fervor weighs you down.
slows your step.
the earth beneath you swallows you whole.
engulfed by the tempest of the sweetest emotions
all you can do is weather the storm
and pray for dear life that the floods cease
and that clear skies are on their way
because this storm doesn't invigorate,
it inundates.

hunter

this attraction,
i know it's not the smile on your face.
it's nothing more than the thrill of the chase,
and it fools me every time.

i sit here and think i might love you.
and you will creep into my dreams.
and this will last until my heart breaks a little more
or explodes along these freshly sown seams.

someone who learns from mistakes,
my god i must be insane.
because i keep doing things differently
and yet always end up the same.

i can't put my finger on it
i can't see where i go wrong
and everyday i fight this fight
reminding myself all along,
that despite this feeling of desire
and despite these relentless dreams
no matter how much i want to believe,
nothing, nothing is ever what it seems.

it's only the thrill of the chase.
it's only the thrill of the chase.
and i promise you that it has nothing to do
with that smile on your beautiful face.

to eden and back

the pastures can only be so green
and the sky only so blue
like your eyes
so blue
and so lost i get when i look into them.
looking away is like a return from eden
where the grass isn't so soft under my toes
and the sky is chocking with clouds
and everything i saw in your eyes is gone.

damn you, you wonderfully magnificent dreams!

my dreams as of late have been amazing.

the emotions of my slumber far surpass those when awake.

so wonderful.

and so cruel.

imagine sleeping thru the happiest moment of your day.

rather, sleeping to have that happiest moment.

so cruel.

and yet, so wonderful.

damn you,

you wonderfully magnificent,

emotionally charged,

and evermore exciting than the last

dreams.

if i didn't know any better,

i'd think my days were dreary for dreams to have such impact.

and yet, i couldn't be farther from the truth.

my days rock, but f*ck, my dreams rock harder.

habits and cycles, one in the same

a tendency that is hard to give up,

a repetition of an action,

these habits and cycles are one in the same.

and although they get me through each day,

they may well also be my undoing.

time is slipping away

they say time is created by man.

but man doesn't command the rising of the sun nor its descent.

man doesn't push these days along.

he only breaks down this passing into ascertainable moments,

moments to be recorded for later referral.

time stamps for our memories.

like the drips from a leaky faucet,

time passes.

whether we count the fallen droplets or not,

the time and the water are gone.

alone in the dark

when i close my eyes

i am alone

in the dark.

my dark.

my alone.

my eyes.

my thoughts,

they play tricks on me.

try to make me think i'm there,

when i'm pretty sure i'm here.

my dreams,

they are cruel to me.

they show me things that are not there,

but seem so real,

and just out of reach.

all the time.

just out of reach.

when i close my eyes

i pass from dark to dream

and all the while

i do it alone.

even in the company of friends,

it is done alone.

my alone.

my dark.

my haunting dreams.

alone.

the lady in silver and gray - a true story

i stood in front of the wooden door and tapped on it, unsure of how else to alert the landlord that i had arrived. in tow were two potential renters and i was the liason for the day. they chatted between themselves while i waited apprehensively, wanting the day to end; i had more important things to do.

a lull in their conversation provided just enough silence to hear the footsteps approaching the other side of the door. i quickly brushed my rain-soaked hair from my forehead and straightened my jacket in the hopes of looking somewhat presentable; i quietly cursed myself for forgetting my umbrella.

when the door opened, a woman greeted us and quickly we were ushered in from the chilly hallway. she welcomed us to remove our rain-speckled jackets and it was in that moment that i took a better look at our host.

she was an older woman, in her late 60s maybe 70s, dressed head to tow in a two-piece grey knit ensemble. her skirt flowed long and her top draped itself over her womanly curves, still intact after all these years. she had a grace about her, a grace that spoke of class, manner, and worldliness; she needn't say much to know that she was a woman worth meeting.

she lived by herself in an apartment built for a family. once upon a time her family did live under its roof but now they were all grown and moved out, save for her husband who had passed a few years before. she remained in the apartment alone because of the memories it held, but she was now ready to move on.

she invited us into her kitchen for a drink and altho i could see that the renters were ready to leave, something compelled me to stay; i wanted to talk to this woman and hear what she had to share.

she poured us each a glass of cider and she began to tell us the story of why she was leaving such a big and beautiful apartment in the heart of paris.

she began her story with a time long before her move to paris. it was a time in her youth, a time before war, a time that only serves as memories these days. she was seventeen years old and she had met the love of her life.

in their time together, said time was limited. they had a few days, a couple of meals, barely one night including one memorable dance. the two attended a community dance together and she wore a dress she never again wore, owing to the swatch she cut from it to give him; he was due to leave the following morning to report for his service duty in their country's army. she remembered their kiss goodbye, knowing it would be a long time before they'd be together again.

a week later, her family moved to paris. she would never see her love again.

as the years went by, she grew older, attended college, met a man, married and had a family. she lived an affluent life, living in the largest of parisian apartments, wearing the nicest of clothes, traveling across the world day in and day out. she led a happy and fulfilling life and altho this kind of lifestyle could lead a person astray, she was always that girl from the countryside within.

as her children grew and matured, her husband became frail and ill. over the course of many years she watched him slip away, and despite her love for him she could not save him. from one day to the next she went from a happily married woman to a saddened and heartbroken widow.

in the years that followed she kept to herself, spending her days and nights locked up in her apartment, floating from room to room and reminiscing about all of the wonderful things that had happened in her home. the more she revisited her memories though, the more distant they began to feel. what was once an immediate remembrance soon became clouded as other memories took their place in each room. memories of her tears, of her pain, of her loneliness.

one morning she awoke, knowing that it was time to carry on with life. her children were grown and long gone to their own homes and families and she knew she was doing no service to herself locked up in her apartment, the same apartment where i was sitting and listening to her story. so she contacted her travel agent, and the following day she was sitting on a bench on a platform waiting for her train.

the train was running late so she sat patiently, wondering if this late train was a sign that she wasn't meant to be taking this trip. as she waited she watched people come and go, depart and arrive, say hello and goodbye. her thoughts were interrupted by a woman sitting next to her, asking if she had missed the train that was due to leave from that platform. she informed her that she too was waiting for the same train, so they settled in together for the wait and began to chat.

at first they chatted about the simple everyday things: their families, the weather, the lack of comfort that the benches had to offer. not really knowing how the conversation led to what they talked about, before long the widow told a story from her youth, about meeting a young man whom she deeply loved, and then losing track of him after her family's move. in keeping with the conversation, the woman asked the widow where she grew up. when the widow told her, the woman remarked "that's funny. that's where my ex husband was from." the widow inquired what his name was, thinking that perhaps he might have been an old schoolmate of hers. the woman's reply was beyond the unthinkable; she spoke the name that the widow had only whispered in her thoughts since all those decades ago. the woman's ex-husband was the widow's first true love.

both women sat in silence for a moment. one woman in awe that they could have this man in common, the widow in shock. before the widow could ask any questions, the train pulled up and the woman gathered her bags. before walking away, she turned to the widow and handed her a business card. she told her that the man they had in common lived there in paris and that perhaps the widow should get in touch with him. after handing the card over, the woman ran off to the train and boarded her car. the widow sat there, bewildered, unsure, and in wonder, staring at the card and reading the name over and over again, sure that this was a dream.

she took a moment to compose herself, gathered her belongings, and walked away from the train. once outside she hailed a taxi and headed straight back to her home.

she sat at her telephone for what seemed like hours, staring at the dial, card in her hand. would he remember her? would he want to hear from her? was her memories of him just simply glorified after all these years? who was he now? would seeing him destroy her beautiful memories of them?

she picked up the receiver and dialed...

she managed to reach him and they spoke but for only a few minutes. he was heading out of town the following day for a business trip and would be back shortly, but he wanted to see her that night.

as she dressed herself that night she was torn. she felt the memories of her life looking down at her with scorn for dishonoring the memory of her late husband. and yet her spirit felt more alive than it had felt in years, telling her that the only way she could dishonor her husband would be to wallow in her sadness and tears.

she shook as she held her hand out for a taxi.

she arrived to the restaurant where they were due to meet and she wondered if she'd even recognize him. and then there he was. as if a day hadn't passed.

he approached her, and before even saying hello, he opened his wallet and pulled out a worn piece of fabic; it was the swatch from her dress after their last night together, almost 50 years ago.

they threw their arms around each other.

and then the widow, sitting across from me at her kitchen table, smiled. she poured me another glass of cider and told me that that summer, she and her love were due to wed.

i looked at her as she uttered these words through her glowing smile. her hair was grey and silver, loosely pulled up into a bun at the top of her head. many, if not most, of the many strands of hair had become loose and fell to her shoulders and down her back. her elegance floored me. her experience awed me. and her story, well, her story, it gave me hope. i tucked my short hair behind my ear, the only thing i could do to stop the tears from falling.

the renters, unmoved by what they had heard, began to fidgit and made it clear that it was time to leave. the woman politely showed us to the closet and handed us our jackets which had by now dried themselves of all raindrops.

as we said our goodbyes and shook hands, i knew i would never see this woman again. i wanted to grab her and hug her and tell her that her story changed me. but i didn't. i shook her hand and thanked her kindly for the cider, her time, and for sharing her story. and then i walked out her door, and she closed it gently behind me.

i can still remember the raindrops when i stepped outside. i can still remember the color of the leaves and grey of the clouds. i can still see her face and i have for ten years never forgotten her words.

you never know what each day holds. you never know what life has in store. all you can know is yourself, and so trust in that. believe in that. follow that through to its end, because our lives afford us the stories that can change people's lives. and when they do, it's miraculous.

May, tell me where you went...

Thirty one days. Gone.

I think I had dreams along the way.

I know I had a nightmare.

Woke me from my sleep, and made my stomach turn.

Fearful, I know I laid in bed all night, staring at the ceiling.

Shadows played with my eyes.

Thoughts played with my mind.

Sleeplessness played with my body.

Thirty one days. Gone.

Except for that one night.

That one night I dreamt bad dreams.

I feel like such a little girl sometimes...

raining spring

the smell of the flowers is thick in the air.

the weeds are being weeds.

the leaves decorate the trees something green

and the clouds rain down a shower.

soon it will be time to plant the seeds.

new lives are waiting to live.

first mother nature must wash winter away

and with it yesterday's sorrows.

this one's for you

if i close my eyes
the memories push and shove to get to the front of the line.
each memory begins the same:
your smiling eyes,
your funny hair,
your long arm outstretched towards me
passing me the joint.

like the time i came over and you greeted me at the door,
smiling eyes,
funny hair,
your long arm outstretched towards me
passing me the joint,
saying "go inside and watch the movie in the dvd player.
and then you can come hang out with us in the other room."
i saw my favorite movie to date that night.

or the countless times i sat across from you
on the couches in your living room,
smiling eyes,
funny hair,
your long arm outstretched towards me
passing me the joint,
telling me that everything's going to be ok,
the countless times i came to you with my worries.

how about that time i built you a room made of garbage bags,
in an effort to create the room in which you'd display your masterpieces,
smiling eyes,
funny hair,
your long arm outstretched towards me
passing me the joint,
happy with the masterpiece i had made for you.

there was that time when we first met,
and we decided to ditch that art class together,
smiling eyes,
funny hair,
your long arm outstretched towards me
passing me the joint,
telling me it was nice to meet me,
while we strolled along the seine.

and i shall never forget that time you lost your pet
somewhere in your massive apartment,
smiling eyes,
funny hair,
your long arm outstretched towards me
passing me the joint,
warning me not to put my feet bare feet to the ground,
because let's not forget that the pet in question was in fact
a massive scorpion.

i will never forget your effect on people,
whether you made them smile or squirm,
smiling eyes,
funny hair,
your long arm outstretched towards me
passing me the joint,
smiling in delight or return.

you are timeless in my thoughts.
you will forever be
smiling eyes,
funny hair,
your long arm outstretched towards me
passing me the joint.
and i will forever reach out,
take that joint,
and say thank you my friend.

and by friend i mean,
that person who will always stay with me in spirit,
no matter where in the world,
heavens or below,
with those smiling eyes,
and funny hair,
that long arm forever outstretched towards me
passing me the joint.

tonight though,
this one's for you my friend.
and this second one as well.
what i'd give to look into your smiling eyes,
give you props on your funny hair
and outstretch to you this joint i've got here...
what i'd give for you to be here to take it...
aw sam, this one's for you.

Coming and going

People sweep in and out of lives
like the tides of the ocean on the shore.
Ebb and flow.
Ebb and flow.

Perspective determines whether this this cycle is erosive, corrosive, damaging,
or perhaps imperative to shaping the shoreline as we know it today.

Ebb and flow.

There are some tides that arrive in waves,
and some waves whose beautiful memory lasts a lifetime.
And then there are some waves that destroy everything in its path.
And you wish you could forget it, but can't.

Ebb and flow.

The moon is to blame for all that happens below.
Held hostage by our beliefs that it's more powerful than all of the ocean.
Proving the message from the story of the sun and the wind.
Sometimes it is the gentle hand that can affect the most change.

Ebb and flow.
Ebb and flow.
Ebb and flow.

the future's going to hate us

it shocks me that there's still a debate about the environment; whether or not the environment is beyond it's breaking point is simply a moot point. how can people not agree that our earth is one worth taking care of?

i recently started watching battlestar gallactica. as much as i thought i'd be embarrassed to admit it, my point here trumps my shame.

when it comes to the future, and people are floating through space on their spaceships, there are three undeniable truths:

1) in order to survive, the people need water.

2) in order to survive, the people need food.

3) in order to survive, the people need air.

looking at today, these are three resources being destroyed by the minute.

our water is polluted beyond comprehension.

most food is now processed and nutrient-lacking.

and the air is browned with chemicals.

it makes me realize that capitalism is a far worse system than any communist or socialist system that ever befell this world. capitalism lets the few put their personal interests before the good of the many; it puts the bottom line before the last breath; and it lets money talk louder than mother earth.

when all is said and done, all the money in the world will not bring back the air, food and water once it is gone.

and this is such a great shame that we'll forever be branded with after we all pass away; and it is a surety that future generations will look back at us, scratching their heads, and wonder: 'what the hell were they thinking...'

Falling home

I am suspended
high up in the air.

I have no fear.
Because I see the net below.

And so I walk the line.

I take these risks
that are really not risks.

Because I see the net below.

Truth is, I want to fail.
I want to fall.
I want that rush.

I want to feel like I'm flying,
falling,
tumbling towards my fate,
my destiny.

I want to lose sight of where I came from
and where I'm going.
I want to spin.

I want to be nothing but feeling.
Falling.

And then I want to be caught by the net below.
It will feel like home.
Safe.

The net lets me jump
-yes, I jump-
and do things I'd never do
if it was never there.

From one quiet soul to another

We are loud.
We are fast.
We are thoughtless.
And we move.
But our souls are quiet in unison.

You're there and I'm here.
More than worlds apart.
We don't even see the same stars.
But our souls are in lockstep and dancing.

It was but a moment,
not even a clock could record the time.
A blink you were there,
and then a blink you were gone.
But our souls are still holding hands.

Why meet now?
Why meet at all,
if this is all that's left?
Because lonely souls have a way of finding one another,
and then never letting go.

happy 'new' year

this is the thirty-first time i've celebrated a new year. thirty-one fresh beginnings. thirty-one years worth of resolutions. thirty-one years to understand that it's not about january 1st. it's about march 18th, june 26th, and october 4th. it's about taking advantage of each day, starting anew when necessary, and keeping the momentum going for those things that are going good. it's about the fact that there are 365 january 1sts if you needed them.

it's not a happy new year. it's just another happy new day.

:)

2010 - The Year of the Bee

This is the year that amazing things will happen.

Not because it's 2010, a new decade or just simply the new year.

Amazing things will happen because I want them to. Call it manifest destiny.

And you? What do you want to happen this year?

Never forget that where there is a will there is a way, and that life never gives us obstacles that we cannot overcome.

Wishing you all a happy productive year :)