we put ourselves out there for the sake of love. doesn't matter what kind of love, platonic, filial, etc. and sometimes it leaves us hurt, and sometimes it doesn't. the fairytales in our minds never really translate into reality, and that, boys and girls, is the realization which is the bridge into adulthood. That is when our childhood ends.
we love. and sometimes we win, and sometimes we lose. we dig into ourselves and uncover things, but in the process we dangle our most fragile hearts in front of the shark tanks of society. and through our losses and failures we learn. and through our victories and triumphs we learn. wars may stop, the world may cease to turn, but loving, learning, and yes, even losing, never end.
we all want that fairy tale, we all want the ideal picture of happiness, but can it ever really happen? All we can do is hope for the best. All we can do is live for the best, for a little bit of happiness.
and yet, though it all, we grieve for our losses.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
A gift for you
I wish I could capture your smile,
but I am no good with paints.
I wish I could capture your eyes,
but I am no good with cameras.
I wish I could capture your soul,
but I am no good with treasures.
I wish I could capture your heart,
but I am no good with love.
All I can hope to give to you
is my smile
every time I think of you.
All I have for you
are my eyes
every time you walk into a room.
All I have for you
is my soul
every time I am with you.
All I have for you
is my heart.
A gift for you,
for only you.
-SJR, 25.9.2006
but I am no good with paints.
I wish I could capture your eyes,
but I am no good with cameras.
I wish I could capture your soul,
but I am no good with treasures.
I wish I could capture your heart,
but I am no good with love.
All I can hope to give to you
is my smile
every time I think of you.
All I have for you
are my eyes
every time you walk into a room.
All I have for you
is my soul
every time I am with you.
All I have for you
is my heart.
A gift for you,
for only you.
-SJR, 25.9.2006
Excuse Me, Mr. President
She said,
"I don't like your rules, Mr. President.
Ninny ninny nonsense
In a dirty back alley of life."
She said,
"Give me something I can dance to, Mr. President.
No sense, no rhyme, no end,
Just let me dance and be my own thing."
She said,
"Happy Birthday, Mr. President.
I hope this one
Is better than your last.
Is better than the last."
She said,
"Lookie here, Mr. President.
Parades, Charades, Masquerades
And all of them on a Sunday."
She said,
"And don't forget there, Mr. President.
Watch the corners, watch the bottom line
And make sure you don't miss a spot."
She said,
"Oh my, Mr. President,
I think I've lost my soul.
Might we find another one
Right around the corner?"
She said,
"My dear, dear, Mr. President,
do you think we can win?
For Death comes for all of us,
And asks a pretty price."
She said,
"Just this once, Mr. President,
can you cheat the fabric of time?
Can you give a live worth living for
And keep the beggars off my door?"
He said,
"my love, our time has come and past,
we weep, we sleep, we eat, we die.
Our lives are much smaller than we think them to be.
In the end, it's in the grave we lie."
-SJR, 2006
"I don't like your rules, Mr. President.
Ninny ninny nonsense
In a dirty back alley of life."
She said,
"Give me something I can dance to, Mr. President.
No sense, no rhyme, no end,
Just let me dance and be my own thing."
She said,
"Happy Birthday, Mr. President.
I hope this one
Is better than your last.
Is better than the last."
She said,
"Lookie here, Mr. President.
Parades, Charades, Masquerades
And all of them on a Sunday."
She said,
"And don't forget there, Mr. President.
Watch the corners, watch the bottom line
And make sure you don't miss a spot."
She said,
"Oh my, Mr. President,
I think I've lost my soul.
Might we find another one
Right around the corner?"
She said,
"My dear, dear, Mr. President,
do you think we can win?
For Death comes for all of us,
And asks a pretty price."
She said,
"Just this once, Mr. President,
can you cheat the fabric of time?
Can you give a live worth living for
And keep the beggars off my door?"
He said,
"my love, our time has come and past,
we weep, we sleep, we eat, we die.
Our lives are much smaller than we think them to be.
In the end, it's in the grave we lie."
-SJR, 2006
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Meditations
meditations
love is not always enough.
a pretty thought, but not realistic.
it is not about you or the way i feel about you.
my heart is my own, so is my soul.
my mind is independant of both.
my mind constantly works on my truth.
you don't want to hear my truth.
it takes two for a relationship to fail.
it's not all my fault.
i want to be mad, but i can't.
people change, and i am not who you want me to be.
you don't even know you want me to be something else.
i can't help those who won't help themselves.
you aren't the only one that is hurting.
moving on doesn't mean forgetting. it means growth.
life is chaos. chaos is change. change is growth. growth is life.
Monday, June 12, 2006
plants and maters
All there remains is the warm fresh smell of greenhouses, the birth of new leaves and life, the grains of perlite clinging to your fingers, and the hope of life-changing blossoms. All wrapped up in a secure container, a tray to catch the spills, echoed in the straining reaches towards the light.
Airbrushed Tomatoes.
I should eat my tomatoes. They are swimming in the bottom of my bowl, covered in a slick layer of salad dressing--Newman's Own, Olive Oil and Vinegar--and they taunt me. Their plump, organic selves flinging insults in my face, as red as the flesh that covers them. I should eat them, in their smooth sheen of olive oil, airbrushing the impurities, the imperfections of organic birth, away. I should eat them. Cut up, mangled, exoskeletons of their magnificent selves, stolen from their caged green beds, to serve in the bottom of a bowl. I should eat them.
Airbrushed Tomatoes.
I should eat my tomatoes. They are swimming in the bottom of my bowl, covered in a slick layer of salad dressing--Newman's Own, Olive Oil and Vinegar--and they taunt me. Their plump, organic selves flinging insults in my face, as red as the flesh that covers them. I should eat them, in their smooth sheen of olive oil, airbrushing the impurities, the imperfections of organic birth, away. I should eat them. Cut up, mangled, exoskeletons of their magnificent selves, stolen from their caged green beds, to serve in the bottom of a bowl. I should eat them.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
constant state of motion
things moving, grooving, uncontrollably kinetic. the world spins and i sit still, yet constantly turning, rolling with the punches that gravity throws in my face and the tug at my feet, ever constant, ever ready.
all these words, jumbling, bumbling, meaning nothing except the arrangement of random letters in a strange and unfamiliar way, in a different cadence, on a different day. we all get caught up in the rambling tide, the strain of the waves, so uninviting yet beckoning us onward and homeward. i wanted to say it with style, with flair, with the emotional army at my back and the sword of truth in my hand. again, with feeling. and yet all i know is that i am ever marching, ever going, never staying, ever moving.
all these words, jumbling, bumbling, meaning nothing except the arrangement of random letters in a strange and unfamiliar way, in a different cadence, on a different day. we all get caught up in the rambling tide, the strain of the waves, so uninviting yet beckoning us onward and homeward. i wanted to say it with style, with flair, with the emotional army at my back and the sword of truth in my hand. again, with feeling. and yet all i know is that i am ever marching, ever going, never staying, ever moving.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
old school too
friday night
The road was covered in empty footprints. Oil stains lay where once were great adventures, now all lost to the bustle of progress. Funny how easy it is to forget in the fave of invention, of novelty. My hand fit perfectly inside one of the oil stains and its gritty slickness clung to my flesh like the feel of your skin. It's scary to be so alone amongst so much, so many. It's scary to be alone at all.
Do I become swept away? Do I let myself be carried away by the tides? Or do I too become forgotten like the long-ago expeditions that brought about their own demise with their motivations? Am I forgotten amidst all the others? All the rest? Do I rest? Do I sleep? If I sleep, I will dream. I lost myself to my dreams once. I lost myself to the tides, to the ever encroaching tidal wave of progress. Of convention. Of what I thought my dreams were.
I still feel the scratching caress of the oil slick. Will I feel anything else underneath it, the pale whispers of the pale passing souls who shriek and wail for remembrance but cannot cling to the life they once, if ever, had? These souls, these were once people, once vibrant, now shadows, paltry imitations of what it is to be human. They walk all around me, arching in circles and squares, glimmering in and out like heat mirages, and they function. But are they happy? Will they find joy? Their ultimate purpose? They claim life, but they cannot show for it. Nothing but the insignificance of meager replacements for their weary, perforated hearts. That is emptiness in a sea full of material wealth. That is substitution for love.
The road was covered in empty footprints. Oil stains lay where once were great adventures, now all lost to the bustle of progress. Funny how easy it is to forget in the fave of invention, of novelty. My hand fit perfectly inside one of the oil stains and its gritty slickness clung to my flesh like the feel of your skin. It's scary to be so alone amongst so much, so many. It's scary to be alone at all.
Do I become swept away? Do I let myself be carried away by the tides? Or do I too become forgotten like the long-ago expeditions that brought about their own demise with their motivations? Am I forgotten amidst all the others? All the rest? Do I rest? Do I sleep? If I sleep, I will dream. I lost myself to my dreams once. I lost myself to the tides, to the ever encroaching tidal wave of progress. Of convention. Of what I thought my dreams were.
I still feel the scratching caress of the oil slick. Will I feel anything else underneath it, the pale whispers of the pale passing souls who shriek and wail for remembrance but cannot cling to the life they once, if ever, had? These souls, these were once people, once vibrant, now shadows, paltry imitations of what it is to be human. They walk all around me, arching in circles and squares, glimmering in and out like heat mirages, and they function. But are they happy? Will they find joy? Their ultimate purpose? They claim life, but they cannot show for it. Nothing but the insignificance of meager replacements for their weary, perforated hearts. That is emptiness in a sea full of material wealth. That is substitution for love.
old school
meditation on souls and yarn
life is a big mess. and sometimes souls are trapped in bodies that don't fit- or that do fit but are totally unexpected.
and sometimes you run into friends you have never met, but known your entire life.
i like to think that life is a big ball of yarn- some people are rayon, some mohair, some wool, some cheap acrylic. in the end, we can all be made into something beautiful, all it takes i love, time, attention, and forgiveness.
and sometimes it's disappointing when you finish the sweater and have to unravel the whole thing so it will fit right. there are always second chances.
life is a big mess. and sometimes souls are trapped in bodies that don't fit- or that do fit but are totally unexpected.
and sometimes you run into friends you have never met, but known your entire life.
i like to think that life is a big ball of yarn- some people are rayon, some mohair, some wool, some cheap acrylic. in the end, we can all be made into something beautiful, all it takes i love, time, attention, and forgiveness.
and sometimes it's disappointing when you finish the sweater and have to unravel the whole thing so it will fit right. there are always second chances.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Redemption
Redemption
She stood on the edge of the bridge, looking down at the water. The city lights glistened in the distant, eyes staring back at her, watching this final scene of this final act. Everything was so cold. She saw all of the world flash before her yes. Images she had seen and events she had experienced, people she had met. It was odd, that at this moment, right now, all she could think of was the elderly couple that had sat on the bus in front of her. And the mailman in their neighborhood. The elementary school crossing-guard. Random images, random thoughts flew through her brain in an instant, and she understood. Not all of it, not even half, but enough. She knew why she was there. Why she was standing there. And her foot, motionless, stood poised between now and forever. She took a deep breath, looked to the perfectly clear sky and.
And.
And.
She turned around.
Her life had just begun.
She stood on the edge of the bridge, looking down at the water. The city lights glistened in the distant, eyes staring back at her, watching this final scene of this final act. Everything was so cold. She saw all of the world flash before her yes. Images she had seen and events she had experienced, people she had met. It was odd, that at this moment, right now, all she could think of was the elderly couple that had sat on the bus in front of her. And the mailman in their neighborhood. The elementary school crossing-guard. Random images, random thoughts flew through her brain in an instant, and she understood. Not all of it, not even half, but enough. She knew why she was there. Why she was standing there. And her foot, motionless, stood poised between now and forever. She took a deep breath, looked to the perfectly clear sky and.
And.
And.
She turned around.
Her life had just begun.
anger set
ok, even more angst---i wrote this my senior year of high school i think....
I Can't Say
we can play
you can hide
i'm dead inside
keep the angels at bay
the sun has gone away
the cold december plain is bleak
i don't listen when you speak
don't repeat what i say
i can't feel the sun's warm ray
i can't say what's wrong
you've been wrong all along
and now i wait for the day
The Rabbit Hole.
you and your god
are dead to me.
everyone is dead to me.
i'm dead to me.
i'm dead inside.
i'm withdrawn.
i'm falling down
the rabbit hole.
the rabbit hole.
the rabbit hole.
oh the sweet
fucking rabbit hole.
Take Care
take care sweetheart
watch how you step
on the cold hard stairs
to the top.
i left you at the bottom.
Nightmare
i am what you fear most
i am what you shut the closet door on
you sleep, i wait
i creep, you scream in silence
and no one put humpty together again
I Can't Say
we can play
you can hide
i'm dead inside
keep the angels at bay
the sun has gone away
the cold december plain is bleak
i don't listen when you speak
don't repeat what i say
i can't feel the sun's warm ray
i can't say what's wrong
you've been wrong all along
and now i wait for the day
The Rabbit Hole.
you and your god
are dead to me.
everyone is dead to me.
i'm dead to me.
i'm dead inside.
i'm withdrawn.
i'm falling down
the rabbit hole.
the rabbit hole.
the rabbit hole.
oh the sweet
fucking rabbit hole.
Take Care
take care sweetheart
watch how you step
on the cold hard stairs
to the top.
i left you at the bottom.
Nightmare
i am what you fear most
i am what you shut the closet door on
you sleep, i wait
i creep, you scream in silence
and no one put humpty together again
Together
oh, of happier times.....
Together
Stepping out into the world.
Keeping time with the wind.
Being a part of the great big life we lead.
Holding hands, a glass of wine,
being who we are and
what we are meant to be.
We could always count the leaves on the trees.
Or ask why the ants march one by one down the concrete river.
We could play with the sky.
We could become the sky.
And yet why.
Why are we the ones to be here,
in this place,
in this bed.
How come we know so well
that we know nothing at all?
We could catch the rain.
Or paint the ceiling to match the ground.
We could sing the feeling,
We could feel the sounds.
Who knows what will be?
Who really cares?
All I know right now is
the sound of the silence
in this room, in this bed,
and the feel of you next to me.
Together
Stepping out into the world.
Keeping time with the wind.
Being a part of the great big life we lead.
Holding hands, a glass of wine,
being who we are and
what we are meant to be.
We could always count the leaves on the trees.
Or ask why the ants march one by one down the concrete river.
We could play with the sky.
We could become the sky.
And yet why.
Why are we the ones to be here,
in this place,
in this bed.
How come we know so well
that we know nothing at all?
We could catch the rain.
Or paint the ceiling to match the ground.
We could sing the feeling,
We could feel the sounds.
Who knows what will be?
Who really cares?
All I know right now is
the sound of the silence
in this room, in this bed,
and the feel of you next to me.
OLD SCHOOL!!!
I totally didn't know I still had this---this is teenage ANGST at its best:
Kiss Me Softly
Kiss me softly,
Caress my cheek,
Kill me slowly,
I'm already weak.
Running a mile,
Screaming through the wire,
Cutting into my sanity,
My soul set on fire.
I'm so tired now,
Why am I still here?
Haven't I been through enough,
What else is there to fear?
Break me into pieces,
I am already weak.
Throw me into oblivion,
I am already too far gone.
Kiss Me Softly
Kiss me softly,
Caress my cheek,
Kill me slowly,
I'm already weak.
Running a mile,
Screaming through the wire,
Cutting into my sanity,
My soul set on fire.
I'm so tired now,
Why am I still here?
Haven't I been through enough,
What else is there to fear?
Break me into pieces,
I am already weak.
Throw me into oblivion,
I am already too far gone.
Reflection on a Photo
You stare back at me
Those dimples and the twinkle
In your blue, blue eyes.
Eyes to drown in,
Eyes of mischief,
Eyes to stare up into,
How I miss the twinkle.
It’s cold when you aren’t here
It’s quiet and empty.
You went away
I went away
And we went back to the real world.
Du bist mein König,
Und ich liebe dich,
Ich vermisse dich,
Komm zu mir zurück.
It’s cold.
It’s quiet and empty.
We live in our separate worlds,
And we are alone.
Those brief moments,
That short time,
That was heaven,
And I was happy.
And now it’s cold.
Quiet, empty,
Desolate, alone.
Ich vermisse dich, mein König.
Those dimples and the twinkle
In your blue, blue eyes.
Eyes to drown in,
Eyes of mischief,
Eyes to stare up into,
How I miss the twinkle.
It’s cold when you aren’t here
It’s quiet and empty.
You went away
I went away
And we went back to the real world.
Du bist mein König,
Und ich liebe dich,
Ich vermisse dich,
Komm zu mir zurück.
It’s cold.
It’s quiet and empty.
We live in our separate worlds,
And we are alone.
Those brief moments,
That short time,
That was heaven,
And I was happy.
And now it’s cold.
Quiet, empty,
Desolate, alone.
Ich vermisse dich, mein König.
our boy
He left on a journey of self-discovery. We told him to find himself by looking in a mirror, we knew where was. He didn't find it amusing.
So he left that day. Left and didn't tell us why. Didn't ask us, his friends, his family, what we thought. Just got up, walked away, and never looked back.
Thinking about it now, he needed help. We obviously couldn't give it to him. And if I were back there, right now, in this very instance, knowing what I do now, I still don't think I could've helped him.
None of us could. But who knew? Who knew that, six months later, he'd be into coke and heroine. That he'd be boozing and gambling and banging every bird he'd met. That he would say yea, rad, right on, when they told him it was a good idea. When they told him to jump.
None of us knew. None of us knew how to save him, bring him back from the edge, and now, at his funeral, with his mom crying and his dad zoning out into space, no one knew how to save ourselves. He was our boy. We failed him.
So he left that day. Left and didn't tell us why. Didn't ask us, his friends, his family, what we thought. Just got up, walked away, and never looked back.
Thinking about it now, he needed help. We obviously couldn't give it to him. And if I were back there, right now, in this very instance, knowing what I do now, I still don't think I could've helped him.
None of us could. But who knew? Who knew that, six months later, he'd be into coke and heroine. That he'd be boozing and gambling and banging every bird he'd met. That he would say yea, rad, right on, when they told him it was a good idea. When they told him to jump.
None of us knew. None of us knew how to save him, bring him back from the edge, and now, at his funeral, with his mom crying and his dad zoning out into space, no one knew how to save ourselves. He was our boy. We failed him.
grocery store voyeur
Watching other people, strangers, grocery shop is strangely voyeuristic. Oddly intriguing, as well, I guess. A huge warehouse space, crammed with every sort of potato chip, vegetable and frozen pizza, and complete strangers co-habitating in the name of food. Going about their business. But they are in their own little worlds. The business man in the suit on the cell phone in front of the milk cooler, calling his wife to see what kind the kids will drink. The little old lady, traveling down aisles almost monotonously, getting the same things she gets every week, only stopping to see what is on sale. The worn-out mother with three shrieking menaces following her, one in a tutu, the other two in karate uniforms, trying to get enough groceries to make it through the weekend and then leave. The two college roommates, stocking up on ramen, beer and chips, arguing about which football game to watch. Obviously today is pay day.
They won’t notice the other patrons wandering around the store, except to say a hurried ‘excuse me’ as they reach around a person to grab a bottle of Vanilla Coke, or to show a slim glimmer of recognition at the PTA mom they saw last week, or a member of their church. Most of the time, though, they handle their shopping carts, some of them half-broken with a wobbly wheel, with a certain amount of absent-minded aplomb, weaving in and out of people, around corners, and going about their routine, mentally planning out their meals for the week. They read labels, heads bent in concentration, they compare prices, they look forlorn when the store is out of their usual brand of maple syrup. Many have their cell phones attached to their ears, while others cross things off of their shopping lists, usually written on a post-it note or a scrap piece of paper.
Grocery shopping is routine. Every week, every other week, it happens. Day in and day out. People retreat back to another plane of consciousness, another state of mind, and sometimes the masks they wear in public slide off a little. The wear of the day shows through, they show the face they only give to the mirror in the morning. Maybe if we were all aware of each other, and were voyeurs to everyone’s grocery shopping adventures, we could see other people for who and what they were. Maybe we would have more friends. Maybe not. But we would see people, in an unadulterated state, and that is important. Grocery shopping returns people to pure. Pure humans, pure people, pure individuals. Pure hard lives, pure easy ones. It doesn’t matter anywhere else in the world, but we can see each other clearly over the tomatoes, identify with each other in the cream cheese section, and even connect in the toothpaste aisle.
They won’t notice the other patrons wandering around the store, except to say a hurried ‘excuse me’ as they reach around a person to grab a bottle of Vanilla Coke, or to show a slim glimmer of recognition at the PTA mom they saw last week, or a member of their church. Most of the time, though, they handle their shopping carts, some of them half-broken with a wobbly wheel, with a certain amount of absent-minded aplomb, weaving in and out of people, around corners, and going about their routine, mentally planning out their meals for the week. They read labels, heads bent in concentration, they compare prices, they look forlorn when the store is out of their usual brand of maple syrup. Many have their cell phones attached to their ears, while others cross things off of their shopping lists, usually written on a post-it note or a scrap piece of paper.
Grocery shopping is routine. Every week, every other week, it happens. Day in and day out. People retreat back to another plane of consciousness, another state of mind, and sometimes the masks they wear in public slide off a little. The wear of the day shows through, they show the face they only give to the mirror in the morning. Maybe if we were all aware of each other, and were voyeurs to everyone’s grocery shopping adventures, we could see other people for who and what they were. Maybe we would have more friends. Maybe not. But we would see people, in an unadulterated state, and that is important. Grocery shopping returns people to pure. Pure humans, pure people, pure individuals. Pure hard lives, pure easy ones. It doesn’t matter anywhere else in the world, but we can see each other clearly over the tomatoes, identify with each other in the cream cheese section, and even connect in the toothpaste aisle.
Three Poems
These three poems were written at the same time. three totally different styles.
She.
She wanted to talk to me about God today.
It’s like that a lot
God
Loyalty
Goodwill
Morality
She wanted to talk to me about God.
It happens a lot
How tall
How great
How sweet
How grand
She wanted to talk to me.
It starts out happy
Moving
Approval
Acceptance
Disapproval
She wanted to talk.
It isn’t about anything
Narcissicism
Grandeur
Ego
Misery
She wanted.
It isn’t about her anymore.
It isn’t about us anymore.
It never was.
Vampires
Have you ever met a vampire?
Walking down the street
There is more than blood to be shared.
There is more than blood to be taken.
Have you ever met a vampire?
We live vicariously through the lives of others,
We live so others may live,
We die so others may live.
Have you ever met a vampire?
They disappear in mirrors,
With no souls, no reflection
Shallow and vapid creatures of death.
Have you ever met a vampire?
Through more than just skin and heat?
Our images are made in others’ images,
Which may not be images at all.
Have you ever met a vampire?
You are the depth and breadth of the humankind,
But are you what you seem?
Have you ever met a vampire?
Scarves in a Mirror
Cast
On 13
With
Size
19,
Knit.
Knit.
Knit.
Bind
Off loosely.
---------------------
Off loosely.
Bind
Knit.
Knit.
Knit.
19,
Size
With
On 13
Cast
She.
She wanted to talk to me about God today.
It’s like that a lot
God
Loyalty
Goodwill
Morality
She wanted to talk to me about God.
It happens a lot
How tall
How great
How sweet
How grand
She wanted to talk to me.
It starts out happy
Moving
Approval
Acceptance
Disapproval
She wanted to talk.
It isn’t about anything
Narcissicism
Grandeur
Ego
Misery
She wanted.
It isn’t about her anymore.
It isn’t about us anymore.
It never was.
Vampires
Have you ever met a vampire?
Walking down the street
There is more than blood to be shared.
There is more than blood to be taken.
Have you ever met a vampire?
We live vicariously through the lives of others,
We live so others may live,
We die so others may live.
Have you ever met a vampire?
They disappear in mirrors,
With no souls, no reflection
Shallow and vapid creatures of death.
Have you ever met a vampire?
Through more than just skin and heat?
Our images are made in others’ images,
Which may not be images at all.
Have you ever met a vampire?
You are the depth and breadth of the humankind,
But are you what you seem?
Have you ever met a vampire?
Scarves in a Mirror
Cast
On 13
With
Size
19,
Knit.
Knit.
Knit.
Bind
Off loosely.
---------------------
Off loosely.
Bind
Knit.
Knit.
Knit.
19,
Size
With
On 13
Cast
new
this is where i post what i write, and you read it. and give me feedback. not on the technical aspect, not on the mechanics. just how it makes you feel. what you think about it.
react.
react.
react.
react.
react.
react.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)