Writing is like Poison Oak

These musings.. these words.. they annoy me. I didn’t say anything. . did not ask for it. My skin is on fire for standing too closely to an idea of something.. scratching an itch that does not go away. Persists it does from deep in the marrow, leaving a trail of itch that festers just below the surface of my skin. I may die tomorrow and will have not done a damn thing! My accomplishments would fit on the flap of a book of matches – in small print.

But who cares? The man on the corner sifting treasures to swap for a smidgeon of scrap does not. There in his eyes you will see that he is his own measure struggling to be alive.

A housewife longs to be understood. She longs to participate, but can’t remember how. She toils with her own understanding to know purpose. As her kids grow, so too does her longing to regress to earlier days; to have a second chance.

A large wave crashed on top of us. The impact forced us under to fight against a current that was relentless. I was told to suit up. Flashing lights echoed through a tight steel hallway that pitched from starboard to aft, rolling violently.

The harness was buckled into the life suit that tethered me to the railing just down below the wheel house where shadows were cast from instrument lights as they chartered and scrambled to deal with keeping us afloat.

Dichotomy of Desire

walking down a path alone

birds faint in the distance

me with broken wings lagging behind

I wonder

who could relate

who could want this

there are other times

lost to memory alone

reminds me of that movie

power surge invades my soul

something is amiss

the energy is wrong

heavy in thoughts

there is no hand to hold

no argument to spar

it is only the stillness

and quiet in between

possession takes hold

space swells with anxiety

like a room filling with water

pushing air

into smaller cubes I crawl

still wondering how

a desperate plea

dying in the visualization

of what should be

the house creaks

eerily waiting

what if circuits don’t return

everything is cast in doubt

waiting in condemnation

legs are heavy and tired

pushing circulation

I can feel it

what is insurance

how can anything be quantified

or qualified to aspire

a value of something more

superficial wealth designed

to carry our ideals

who are you

where have you gotten to

are your eyes still blind to beauty

am I cursed with blissful wonder

how can so much of the world

reside with lists of regret

I want to hold you

in arms of passion

and light that clears

the shadows of my heart

but the world has gone

like Romeo and Juliet