Tag Archives: Love

Choose Your Own Path and a Time Machine

Today was cold. Brutally cold, though it has been colder this year. I just have a horribly low tolerance for freezing my ass off. Also, tonight, as I was driving home, it began to freeze-rain, or sleet. (I also noted that I need new windshield wipers and have a tire with a slow leak, but that’s another story for another day). Oh and prior to driving home, I had supper with friends from Writing group—newest and latest adventure? I tried Goat Meat for the first time tonight. I am in fact a fan.

I made it a point to no longer waste time concerning my reading. For the sake of School, I’ve put off numerous books I wanted to read, sliding them into a “to read” file—which has grown to take up more than a few shelves of space. This simply can not be anymore. So, I’ve decided to start working on my to read file. No matter what assigned readings my degree may call for, I must feed my soul. What does it profit a degree holder (and a writer!) to gain their goals but at the starving of their soul? (OK I stole this from Jesus, but you get my point. (and I hope JC is cool with that, nervous laugh)).

A writer must read!

It was in my Poetry class that we discussed this topic to great length. What books did we love, did we hate, did we passionately (or hatefully) respond to, with zest? What books did we fling forth, and what books did we clutch to our chests?

It worked on me, that discussion. I began to think, what were my book loves? What book took my breath away, how far back was my first breathless moment? And so on, and so on.

I was raised around books. Mom and Dad both always had books nearby. Sometimes the TV went forgotten as the three of us sat close to one another and read. When I was a child it was dinosaurs, science fiction (H.G. Wells and his Time Machine completely captured my heart and soul!), then came the “Choose-your-own-path books (I remember fondly the yellowing pages of those books, some bent and flipped as others had charted their own path through the wild woods of those great pre smart phone era imagination based games of adventure), and then Goosebumps, and upwards and onwards. I read them all. I was lost to my books and happier for it.

There were books of every kind, always around. Mom studied crafts and cooking and home projects, and dad read Westerns, adventures, how-to’s, and home repair, and other “useful” topics.

I remember fondly those forbidden books, though the age escapes me, the ones with the grotesque covers, painted in inky blacks and whites, lurid stories and wicked to the punch titles. They were called “Scary Stories” and it was the bigger kids on the bus that had those books, passing them around, sometimes giving me a sneak peek of what was inside. I can’t remember when I finally got to read one of those books for myself, I know only that I own them all now, and read them over and over.

I remember the great book hunts my mother, my aunt, my grandmother, and myself all would go on to Goodwills, and yardsales. I remember clearly, as I sit here, the back corner of the Goodwill of my youth. There was a jungle of odd smelling clothes between the front of that store and the back. It was there, in the far off corner, isolated from all the proper world beyond, that there was a long section of shelves which held a disorganized and wonderfully cluttered collection of books. I remember it was here I first found those great 1970’s original Choose your own path books. I remember clearly getting one of those books that was about a great fantasy adventure through mountains, and caves, and fighting off great spiders, trolls, monsters, dragons, and how I’d hold one finger at the decision page just to make sure I’d made the right choice. If not, I’d go back and choose differently. I’d gobble these books up, feeding my imagination, loving the richness not so much of the story but the worlds found in between those covers and having some say in their construction.

Funny the things we forget, when we never take time to sit down and remember, isn’t it?


Tonight, by my bedside table, in my stack of current reads:

Bradbury collections of Short Stories (October Country, Illustrated Man) also his nonfiction piece (The Art and Zen in the Craft of Writing) which I keep there even though I’ve read it.

Also in that little wire basket is Neil Gaiman’s collection of short stories (Smoke and Mirrors).

Just beside me on the bed is the long piece I’m reading, Poppy Z. Brite’s, Drawing Blood (I was left breathless on page twenty, so soon in, and so deeply moved by emotion, shock, terror, repulsion and necessity).


What sits beside you tonight? Which author’s voice will whisper softly to your hungry soul, feeding you what stories, what words, what magic, what poetry, what wonderful things?



Question to myself:

Why do you fear sitting down to write plainly the happenings of your nonfiction and very real life?




I Want Love

I want love like a foreign country

Where I wonder the streets in happy lost abandon

And pass not through in a hurry but soak up the culture

Where I sample the many delights

And taste the greatness of what otherwise might be common

I want love like a summer night

Filled with shooting stars to wish upon

And the soft private songs of isolation

Where being on our own road is a good thing

And the promise of laughter is always nearby

I want love like a snowy day in winter

Where the only option is to cuddle up

And has the peaceful feeling of sitting by a fireplace

Where sharing a blanket too small pulls us closer

And like the presents under the tree always a happy surprise

I want love like home

Where I can drive the roads blindfolded

And summon the sounds most comforting at a moment’s notice

Where I know I can be held in good times and bad

And can carry with me no matter where life may take me

A Thousand Pains (Rough Draft of new Poem)

I could describe for you in a thousand ways, a thousand pains

But what a waste of such a day

To spend it sharing sorrow and pain

And trying to find some flowery way to say, from my eyes

A bitter rain

Oh fucking pain, leave me!

To happiness, once more, let me be again

I’m tired of missing her

Who deserves nothing of kindness or such compliments as this

If there be such a hell, it is nothing compared

To the abysmal fire of the lonely one’s personal pit

Always smoldering, rising high a damning smoke

To an always eternal black sky


I sit upon a throne of broken memories

And set sail my ship upon a sea built of tears

I am my own worst enemy

To feel such bitter pain so open and honest time and time and time again

This is the sound of sorrow come to steal from one who might be happy

All chance of rising higher

Let me loose you fucking nightmare!

Let me be once again, with someone worthy, a happy pair

Curse you memory for all the smiles you bring forward to my mind

All the road trips and laughter and in both symbol and literal the travelled miles

Curse you


Tired of sitting here, being here, pacing here

Tired so damned tired of perpetually feeling such a feeling as this

Is there no such thing as happiness for one such as I, who though she deserve it not, damn it if I don’t miss

Looking, hoping, searching for that one new smile

To turn it all back around, and give me something, some higher promised beautiful ground

To go and look upon the world new, and feel that feeling of love once again whole and true

What is Love?

What is love?
I know not, I know not
I know only the pain it has brought
And the joy
In the moments between the pain
The joy

The smiling face and angel eyes
The happy laughter
And in love making
The sweetest song of bedroom sighs
I have tasted deep this thing called love
And have felt its hellish flame
Whether it be a heaven thing
Or a nightmare wasteland
I know not, I…I simply know not
I have loved
I have
But it has been taken from me
In her parting my company
And now my cracked heart
The bleeding is starting
And some gentle hand I long for
Soothe me
Heal me
With some kinder Love’s healing salve
Won’t you?
Where are you?
Come my dear and love me
Back to life
Take from me
This jagged pain, this loveless knife
Ran deep in between my ribs, piercing my heart
Oh dear heavens ever watchful
And blistering hell, always hungry
Now, the blood, the bleeding out,
My life was only at the start
And from me, she as cold as cold can be, has taken
And from one love to another love, and onward still, I must depart
I am not my pain
I am more
I am love waiting
On some distant shore
Waiting for new love
Waiting for love and more

Flesh of my Flesh and Bone of my Bone

Sunday whispers

Calling to me

All I want


To be

I want that relationship feeling

To stand by someone

To be left reeling

To tingle from head to toe

And look in their eyes

And simply know

That there can be love again

That Love no longer need be

My mortal sin

That I can look upon another

And in their eyes see

Something more than pain

And misery

To know I will not be alone

To know

I am flesh of their flesh

And bone of their bone

I want this union so potently

I want few things else more than this

To love another

To taste the romance of one love laced Kiss

To fall into the fiery passion of romance

And in such wonder

To let loose, to dance

To know the secret joy of life

To share it with another

And in so sharing, perhaps to build that one great legacy


All my own

This I want

Flesh of my flesh

And Bone of my bone.

My Sad Song

She is gone
And this is my sad song
To have loved and lost
Such a sad and high cost
To have loved
And lost
And in the world I felt I belonged
But now she is gone
And all the sacrifices made
The foundation of love for which I laid
Are as Babel, toppeled and left in rubble
I am saddened and dismayed
And by love’s calling tune
I am truly troubled
She is gone
And all I have left
Is this, my sad sad song

What I’d Give

What I’d give
To have that one special woman who in every way
Dazzled me
And stole my breath away
To have that helping hand
Pull me along through the midnight black
Of this wide and lonely land
To feel that love
I know won’t go
To temper every storm
And brave every shore
To hold on tight, and know
I won’t be let go
Not now
Not ever more
To love freer still
And know it’s alright
Because by my side she will stand
With a love fierce and furious
And gentle
And perfectly right
Holding my hand
Where is she
My lady love
The one to whom I wish the most
To find
To give
To love
To live
To offer my highest
And offer my most
Where is she
My lover
My haunting
My ghost
Love me
And let me love you
Show me Love
And finally true

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