Scars

Some wounds are just skin deep.
They scab and flake away,
a scar left behind.
An interesting story.

Some things pull upon your heartstrings;
so that you feel your heart should break.
Thick calloused scars,
buried deep in your soul

Craft

Rough and calloused hands smooth water across the surface of the leather.
The gentle scent of released tannins permeate the room.
Sure and steady fingers guide the knife as it cuts furrows into the surface;
delicate curves and sharp angles.
Gentle tapping echoes through the house, hour after hour.

Tap. Shift. Tap. Shift.

An image slowly surfaces as the mallet and tools move across the leather.
First an outline, then details are painstakingly added.
The artist breathing life into a piece of hide.



(This isn't the official one for today, I just had to get it out of my head so I could move on.)

Coming Home

Memory is never as sweet as
A first time.
The second bite
Doesn’t tingle with the same newness
As the first trepidation
Of closing lips over spoon
Or tentatively picking
At the first line of a novel,
Word by word
Like marbles from a dish.

Age dims youthful enthusiasm.
Dull shadows linger in
Corners of chapters where
Starlight and moonshine beamed.
Metaphors that tasted of gold
Tarnish to copper on the tongue.
Plot, a winding snake, is
Inexplicably a predictable pattern
Of endless scales, row on row.

But finishing a beloved book
Is stepping across a threshold
From winter’s chill
Into fire-lit warmth
And coming
Home.

Clocking Out

The forgetful delights
of a Friday night
stretch their lazy
and wild
possibilities before me.

As we near another
full moon
I breathe deep the scent of
summertime blues
and burning fires.

Loud music and
loud talk amidst
empty shot glasses
and cigarette ashes
call me.

This night will not
be one of vice
but of sly smiles
piano notes
and that beautiful disease

I call nostalgia.

(67 words)

Pace

I close my eyes,
and I can see your face.
My heart and mind vies;
which will dictate pace?

Heart begs to race,
mind pleads to wait.
Love will find a place;
by a twist of fate.

Have I asked to late?
I want to hear your call.
Hovering in an anxious state;
please. I'm ready to fall.

Let's take the chance.
Teach me to dance.

Short-Changing

The clock never says what I want it to,
And at ten p.m. in my mind
The giant, parchment-colored face
Points its hands solemnly at half past one
In the morning.

The alarm clock by the bed
Blinks malicious red numbers,
Six twenty-five instead of a glorious
Half past eight.

Sunlight through the window facing east
Is a traitor with its warm fingertips
Tracing lines across my skin,
Inches from slapping me into
Wide awake.

Sometime this season
Before the shadows lengthen and
The leaves begin to change I’ll stop
Short-changing myself of sleep.

(98 words)

A Vicious REM Cycle

An alternate universe
lies behind my eyes.

You are not with her,
I am not with him,
it is only us.
And it feels right.
Why, I could not say.
Our lips meet awkwardly.

Perhaps on another
plane of reality.
A strange affection
exists here and now,
from drinking buddies
to best friends

in one summer alone.
I wish I could stop

dreaming.

(63 words)

Maps

A map, a wonderful reminder hung on the wall;
a remembrance of good times and friendships.
Remember the bend in the river right here?
That's where I got my black eye.

That flight of locks, brutal,
but one of the best times I have ever had.
Plays, and long nights of laughter.
Ribbena and bangers and mash have become one of my favorite meals.

Two to Go

It’s the seventh inning stretch,
The victory lap after one thousand
Two hundred and
Sixty-one
Pages read.

It’s the slide of the rib cage,
The twist of the shoulders,
Circling the ribs and shimmying the hips.

It’s drums and zills
And imaginary coins,
An eight-eight masterpiece
To a woman wailing in Arabic.

It’s the best way to work out the
Kinks
After six hours of work.

Two to go.

(71 words)

Kairi

It was not long ago that
we waited together
in the hallway of a hospital,

getting a glimpse,
familiar to one,
unfamiliar to the rest.

He smiled, looked like
he had not slept for
days.

And then we saw her.
Someone so small,
and yet mattered so much.

I realized that life
had taken over, and that
soon this would be

just another memory.
And I will agree with Mister Folds
when he says,

"Everybody knows,
it sucks to grow up."
Well played, sir.

(84 words)

Keep Moving

If I keep moving, I might forget how much I cared.
It seems you already have; you've moved on yet again.
This is the third wedding you have planned on having me cater.
I'll do it because, despite the past, you are my friend.
Just don't expect me to be happy about it.

Do you know how much it hurt, having to smile when I wanted to cry?
I became really good at lying; I know you couldn't see it.
I smile though I am dying inside.

Day-breaking Addictions

Blue eyes, warm with romance or
Cold with malice.
A pair of drummer-dexterous hands and
A crooked, boy-sweet smile.
The lightning-speed of an IQ, 187,
And an indignant kitten glower.
Thrum-humming guitar notes in crystalline acoustic and
Soul-heavy distortion.
Color-bright images, inked onto a page -
Samurai-swift strikes, claw-and-fist fights -
And leaping off a screen,
Highlighted and subtitled.

All of these can break
A solid day’s
Work.

(75 words)

(cookies to those who can name my obssessions)

My Cup Runneth Over

Beads of salt water,
dripping off my face,
on to my pillow.

I believed once that I
could not cry.
That I had trained myself to
hold
back
the sadness.

Now the tears come,
and they will not stop.
I have years to make up for.

(46 words)

Concentration Check: Failed

A marching band on the brain stem
Winds its way across medulla oblongata
Step-stepping along the occipital lobe.
Stray colour guards spin their jewel-bright flags
Along nerve-endings and
Tap, tap, tap behind a pair of eyes.

A memo seethes, unwritten beneath fingertips
While a poem crawls itself to life.
Hands reach for - banana chips and a sip of water.
Every footstep, jangling of keys is an excuse to
Not write.
Not work.
Not concentrate.

The sergeants played a marching tune...

(83 words)

The Call

Seek here again O sons of earth
pipe and branch to lead the way.
At mothers call we all shall come
to guide our brothers and show our worth.

Misty mountains lay ahead
guarded by the winds.
The road stretches on behind
showing where we've been.

Walk the way of those before
guided by the call.
Find at last O sons of earth
the place where men stand tall.

The Kindness of Strangers

Thunk.
I heard it,
refused to stop.
I was almost home,
but my hands were
shaking and I
knew I had no choice.

The tire was worn down,
falling apart,
just like my life.
Another problem to add
to the list.

But that nice man,
he stopped.
He helped.
And I wonder how long
it will be until I
can be that stranger.
Until I can help.

(67 words)

Twisted Perceptions

Earth above and sky below;
Moonshine and the sunlight's glow.
Winters growth and Summers snow;
Rivers stop and Deserts flow.









(There will be more to this eventually, I just have to work it out first.)

Space of Human Minds

Between the voices of one or two women -
Director, secretary - arguing policy, procedure
Lingers golden light particles
Broken between smoke-black clouds.

Attention is the ticking of a watch
And the tap, tap of a benchmate’s pen.
Stardust is human thought
Hurtling through the space of imagination.

Staff meetings are
The best places for stories to be born.

(58 words)

Project Assignment #29 - Poetic Moments

That's right kids, in honor of me joining M&M, you get to write poetry ALL WEEK LONG!

Tee hee.

What do I mean by poetic moments? Oh, I don't know. I'm the kind of person that believes that there is a poem lurking in the corner of every day, whether it be simple or complex, an epic or a haiku. Just take something, anything from your day that made you stop and think, and try to explain or describe it in poetry.

Yeah, I couldn't think of anything else for an assignment. Let's keep them pretty short too... these are moments after all. How about a 200 word limit? It can be shorter than that though, if you want.

Good luck!

Overview #28 - Description

I really failed too. I realized the first day of the challenge, that even though I had issued the challenge, it was going to be no good for me this week. I am good at descriptions of places, but not necessarily objects. And more often than not I found myself in a blank, trying to think of anything; but nothing would really come, or to me it would sound pretty lame. I did sorta like a few that I posted, but on the whole, it was a bad week for me. Next week should be better.


Again, a hearty welcome to Jaded Chaos.

Mod Post and Rules 2.1

Let's give a big master and madness welcome to Jaded Chaos, the newest player in the game! She will join the challenge rotation between Madness and Nagi, so this week it's her turn to issue a challenge.

Rules 2.1 - New players must be apply/be invited by a current member and be screened by the admin (in this case: Nagi) before being allowed to join the game. Even though this is a free country, this corner of cyberspace is being guarded closely and the mods have discretion as to who is allowed to join the game.

Rules 2.0

First, check the project posted at the beginning of the week. Post questions in the comments of the weekly project post if any portion of the topic confuses you at all. A week begins on Sunday (with the posting of overviews from the previous week and the new assignment for the next week) and ends on Saturday. Challenges may only be reused once every six months and not more frequently, and the same challenge may not be used thrice in one year, so check back to see what previous challenges have been issued.

Second, try to write every day. Leave lots of constructive criticism in the feedback and do the best you can to help each other.

Third, your word limit is set forth in the weekly challenge. Look at the challenge and keep an eye on the word count. At the end of the post, add your word count so we know what gives. Never go under 100 words unless there's poetry invovled.

Fourth, label your posts. Can be anything from "random" to "Dagaz" (but really, only use that one if you must). Try to use a consistent system of labels, so check the existing list of labels before randomly slapping one on your post.

Fifth, there will be overviews. At the end of the week, we make our confessions - strengths, weaknesses. Posts of our own we liked most and liked least. Types of writing we found typical, we thought were experimental, we enjoyed doing or were like pulling teeth. Places we improved. Places we screwed up.

Sixth, if you discover midweek that you're going a challenge alone, finish it out by yourself and then do your best to nudge the person whose turn it is to issue the next week's challenge.

Seventh, if for any reason life hits all the writers at once and a challenge is dead for an entire week, it is automatically renewed at the end of the week to run for another week so that no challenge is wasted.

Eighth, these rules ares subject to alteration and change as the game progresses.

In the meantime, game on.

Overview #28 - Description

I think I totally failed at this game. I did totally let loose as far as waxing a little purple on the lurid descriptions of whatever, but I don't know that my writing improved any. In fact, near the end of the week it seemed to devolve into fragments, lists, and run-on sentences. When I was trying to make a puzzle of what I was describing (save the entry inspired by Millay) my writing fell apart, but if I was pretty open about what was what, my writing was better. Of course, in a novel or short story one rarely plays hide the ball to quite this degree or one risks losing readers altogether. Still, it was fun to attempt to pick apart the details in daily objects.

Back Row All To Himself

Heartbeat. Military march. Machine guns. Swing dancing beneath candle light. Whiskey jazz in a smoky club. Punk and metal, pop and country, rockabilly and ska. All it took was solid rounded wood, smooth, sleek metal rounded into discs, plastic pulled taut over open mouths, hinges and screws galore, pedals and petals, a pair of nylon-head sticks and a pair of even better hands. He could play it all, was the backbone of a song, was the little row of pearls beneath blazing riffs and thumping bass, jumping from crash to ride to splash, from verse to chorus to bridge, and at the end of the day he could still hear himself play, the steady double thump-thump of a heart beating strong.

(123 words)