Liberation Of The Imagination

One who hesitates to write,

Fearful of inability or judgement,

Possesses a naked notebook page,

Barren of courageous creativity

And lush inscribed splendor.   

Take heed;

A passive, sedated spirit is merely destined

To be shattered by deriding winds.

To those who doubt themselves,

I say to you...

Soar beyond the constraints of

Hesitation’s wary piloting

And let your confidence take the wheel.

Pry open the rusted seals that

Guard your creative vaults

And let words escape ebulliently

From within.

See them smack the air,

Splinter into polychrome droplets,

And descend daintily to the Earth,

Quenching the thirst of the arid, gray,

Soil,

Rendering the colorful bloom

Of the imagination.

And if you are to be so fortunate,

A few stray droplets may fall off course,

And land delicately onto your naked notebook page,  

Dressing it in vibrant, lavish

Poetry.

The Shadow Of The Starlight (The Waiting)

I’ve been cursed to watch the days wash away,

One by one,

Waiting for you.

The pain of relentless time turned my heart

Black.

Though encrusted in peppery ashes it still

Beats,

Never forgetting

What I am waiting for.

One autumn evening,

You and I will sit together,

Embracing the quiescence of the outdoors,

Reclining on a plush blanket,

Feeling the wind gently brush against our backs,

Content to languor peacefully,

As the sun dips under the horizon.

Runaway rays of light will illuminate your face,

And as you turn to look at me

The sparkle of your alluring eyes will

Spark effervescence in my heart,

And suddenly,

I will remember what I waited so long

To see.

Perhaps the waiting is just a punishment,

An atonement for sins

Of a past life.

Or perhaps my dream

Is just too beautiful

To share with just anyone,

Anyone but you.

Perhaps the lost hours

Will redeem themselves

And blossom into bliss.

Perhaps one must venture through

Hell

Before they can reach

Heaven.

Perhaps I’ll find you soon.

Until then,

I’ll soak myself in sweet reverie,

Watching the sun set,

And the night drape itself over the sky,

Like a curtain covering a stage,

Signaling the end of this act

Of my life,

And the start of something new;

Together with you.

It will be during moments like these,

In the shadow of the starlight,

When you’ll look me at endearingly

As I tenderly touch your cheek,

And pull you close to me,

When I will realize

The wait was worth it.

How Fitting

Isn’t it only fitting that

Four years of defeats and disappointments,

Should conclude with one final catastrophe?

Excitement mutated into disappointment; 

Feelings fell like the waves

Crashing,

                Crashing,

                                On a bellicose beach,

Thrusting sand into my mouth,

Gawkily reuniting me with

A familiar taste of

Failure.

How nice it would be to taste

A different flavor for once.

The succulence of

                             success

Rather than the smack of foul

                                               failure.

How nice it would be to ride the wave,

Make myself its

Master,

Drive it toward

New horizons,

And free myself from this

Lonely

Island of exile.

God knows I’ve tried.

Four years have passed,

Yet I remain imprisoned here,

Beleaguered by the truculent waves.

Nothing has changed.

Nothing at all.

And so I sarcastically marvel at how fitting it is,

I’ll be the only one

Alone at home.

Again.  

How fitting indeed. 

Shadows Of Yesterday

Every so often,

When I find myself in peaceful solitude,

I face my looking glass in reverie,

Reflecting on my past,

Contemplating my future.

All is tranquil.

Then the clock strikes midnight,

Rendering apparitions from their slumber.

They effuse benignly from the darkness,

Only to pounce on my limpid mind,

Stupefying me with shadows of yesterday.

They transport me back into lonely squalor,

Encapsulating me in an arid existence.

Here I battle neglect,

From both myself and others.

Torment bubbles within me,

And like Hamlet,

I cry for the agony to melt me,

Eradicate my soul,

And reduce me to air.

But before I slide to the point of no return,

Hope pries its way within despair’s rigid gasp,

Releasing me from my trance.

The clock strikes again,

And I’m relieved to find morning

Peeking through my window.

The shadows recoil in sight of the light,

And all is calm once again.

I forget where I’ve been,

And remember where I’m going.  

The sheen of tomorrow beckons me onward.

And all the while,

I hold my looking glass close to me;

A constant reminder that I’m a survivor.

I Wish I Were In Colorado

God, I wish I were in Colorado

Driving down a dusty rural highway,

Beholding colossal mountains

Emerging from the horizon,

And feeling the sunlight around me

Gradually turn into snow.

There the air befuddles the mind,

Diverting thoughts,

Altering time.

The mountains form a fortress,

Serving as a refuge to lonely travelers;

A sanctuary of serenity.  

Here spirits soar with the eagles,

Dance in the crisp, motherly breeze,

And meditate in the dense forest.

Tension dissipates,

Gratification is gained,

And convalescence commences.  

God, I wish I were in Colorado.

Dream On

Dreams

Optimistic, benevolent,

Inspiring, believing, succeeding

Igniting luminous fervor, extinguishing perturbed hope.    

Idling, desponding, flattening

Placid, callous,

Reality

Tail of The Trail

The winding trail,

A dusty viper slithering left and right through the dense foliage,

Led us north.

With nowhere else to go

And ample time to squander,

My brother and I kept pedaling.

Exhausted.

Our bikes,

Unorthodox beasts to the wilderness,

Roared as their wheels bumped over loose bits of gravel.

The noise provoked a squeal from within the bushes.

A dark, hairy creature emerged onto the trail.

Angry and afraid.

Its amber eyes accosted me,

Slicing deep into my mind.

Firing a hostile hiss,

It frightened me.

“Rick, look at that! A black cat!!”

“What are you talking about? I don’t see anything.”

“Oh.”

The black cat scurried back into the underbrush,

Fading like a shadow.

But the eyes floated from within the darkness,

Staring into mine.

Melancholy and dim.

No longer fearing me,

But fearing for me.

Warning.

But as I rode further down the trail,

Battling the incessant wind in my face,

I couldn’t help but wish that…

The black cat could have told me something I did not already know.

Humdrum Afternoons

I face the wall solemnly, 
Hoping to hinder the 
Perpetual stream of humdrum afternoons. 
Sunlight sidles through curtain cracks, 
Only to be shredded by the dark, 
Gloom-encrusted walls. 

I am confined to my dreary room, 
Deprived of liveliness, 
Bound to insipid repetition. 
Time moves ever so quickly, 
Yet my life is standing still. 
Deadlocked in stalemate. 

Though my senses function adequately, 
My heart beats factitiously. 
How ironic it is to be alive, 
But to not be living. 

I yearn to possess merriment, 
Yet I sit idly alone 
As a component of a drab, 
Recurring cycle. 

To Grapple With The Current

If every moment,

Like a seashell tossed on a rocky beach,

is made to shatter,

And feelings are not meant to last forever,

Does anything truly matter?

If our fates have been fixed,  

And our actions are dictated

By manuscripts,

Is free-will just a romanticized

fantasy?

Must I live a life of acquiesce,

Allowing myself to be prodded by the waves?

Must my time merely consist of

Futile attempts to squeeze into

A procrustean bed?

Are there no dreams,

So inciting and mellifluous,

Worth fighting for?

Is there any sense in

Pretending to be free?

I am not content to sit back and watch

My future drift away like a ship at sea.

I can be passive no longer.

Though my efforts may be unavailing,

I will grapple with the current,

Claiming sovereignty.

And if I am to fail,

Let me plummet like an anchor,

Into the dark, liquid,

Abyss.

Head In The Sand (Forever Flightless)

In the midst of a waning Thursday afternoon, 

I observed the outdoors from my cozy nook. 

Birds serenaded each other from the treetops, 

Flapping theirs wings, 

Playing in the cordial breeze. 

A handsome red robin took center stage, 

Usurping the cynosure of the garden. 

He sauntered to the edge of an evergreen limb, 

Released an emphatic chirp, and slid into the sky, 

Becoming airborne. 

Free. 

Meanwhile, I gazed at the clouds lethargically. 

I was anchored to the land, 

Indentured to books and worksheets. 

I wished that I too could flap my wings,

Be hoisted into the sky by the breeze, 

And venture into the clouds. 

But this I did not endeavor. 

Unknowingly, I contracted my horizons, 

Preoccupied by my useless facts and figures, 

I was oblivious to the world outside of my abode. 

While others lived their lives and spread their wings,

I fell behind. 

They found joy in clouds, while I, 

A flightless emu, 

Buried my head in the sand.