Writing by the Dying Light of the Afternoon

The stillness of the afternoon

Is broken only by the music

Emanating from next door

Music that seems as much a part of nature

As the birdsong in the trees

A dog barks across the way

Our windchimes speak to each other

A car beeps

And all seems profoundly quiet

Barbeques and campfires

Travel past my nose

A morning dove coos

I am here

The soundscape that surrounds me

Makes up my life this afternoon

Alone, in the silence,

I sit with peace of mind

The dying light

As the sun begins to set

Casts long shadows on the table

In front of me

Still the gentle wind blows

Carrying me through my life

Wherever I may go

Never roots too deep

That prevent me from moving on

For moving on is what I do

Day after day after lifetime

Traveling wherever I feel led

Wherever I feel needed

Not even this canvas hammock

Hanging between two beams of the house

Could keep me here

For I am destined to wander

Destined to leave

The road not traveled by me

Will take me far away

For I know not where I’m going

Tossed by the waves of the sea

My little lifeboat reels in fear

At the ever-crashing crests

Yet life is just a journey

Led wherever I will go

The birdsong fades down quieter

A single chirrup sung

This notebook, the pen

Me and You

All here together and waiting

Moving On

The rain falls

Car beeps

Nighttime again

The only sound is the ticking of the clocks

Counting down less than a million seconds

Until the parting of ways

And eternity

Whenever the wind blows

I think of Starry Night

And artists in the rain

How the streetlamps reflect in the water

Covering the roads

Like a million tiny stars fallen to earth

And a symphony

Written for two sets of windchimes

And a barking dog

Set to the metronome of ticking clocks

The night is silent and alone, like many people

Yet wrapped in a cocoon of stillness

I hardly feel the pounding future

Words like rivers march before me

Poems and prayers that are my guides

Into this vast unknown

What goes before me to test the waters

Those who have come before

To see the world from a new set of eyes

And ears to hear

The seconds slipping away

And silence arriving to take their place

I stand on the edge, looking behind

At the misty light of morning

Still hearing the wind rush by

And I wait

In one hand, the cue ball

Awaiting the perfect shot

Portrait of My Father

I see him from the kitchen window

As I pour myself a cup of coffee

He walks back and forth across the yard

Picking something up here,

Laying down an old foam mat there

The jump rope’s rhythm as it hits the ground--

Whack whack whack--

Each rotation measured out precisely

The sound echoes through our open doors and windows

After an afternoon spent playing Tetris

He forgoes his non-alcoholic beverage

To begin a new exercise routine

But as I watch him twirling a rope,

Caught in a window of concentration,

I know just as well as he does

That this will not last

Transported back to his youth

By the 80’s music on the speakers

My father takes advantage of the warm night

To try and get a handle on his past

I know he often thinks of years ago

When different decisions could have changed

Today

Of the time he spent in high school

As a bully

Of the things he’s been given by God

I also know he dreams of the future

All of the untapped potential in tomorrow

Of the possibilities residing within an idea

But there are times, like tonight,

Where I see him in the present

In stasis between then and not yet

He is suspended in the now

Trying to connect what’s behind

With what’s ahead

The two ends of the rope he holds,

Where he’s been and where he’s going,

Travel on to the center of the arc

And touch in the middle

Where the sound of their meeting

Marks the moment in which we stand

Irrevocably thrust together

In the briefest space of eternity

‘Twas the Night Before Nano (A Tribute to Another Failed Novel)

‘Twas the night before NaNo

And all through the town

All the writers were waiting

To start the word count

The outlines were done

And the Pansters prepared;

All the keyboards were set

And the pen-tips all bared

The authors were hoping

For the Muse to arrive

While visions of Best Sellers

Were not hard to derive

And I with my coffee

(With more in reserve)

Settled down at my notebook

And heard my cat purr

When on the minute before

November the First

I felt the excitement inside

‘Til my heart was fit to burst

Then the clock struck the hour

And just as planned

The race was on;

NaNoWriMo began

Through the ups of Week One

I cruised through my plot

As characters took shape,

A story was begot

All was going great

And heading down the right track

When came an unforeseen

And unfortunate setback

Its name was Week Two

And down in the mire

My mind was thrust

Without an idea to inspire

I battled the infamous

Writer’s Block

But of my injuries

I had yet to take stock

10K behind!

What a tragedy to behold

So by the end of Week Two

I was not feeling so bold

Week Three hit me

Like a blow to the heart

For the time I had lost

And the words left to start

(The musical came at a most

Inopportune time

For writing a novel was hard

With not much downtime)

In a flash Week Four arrived

Like a thief in the night

And with a glimmer of hope

I saw the end was in sight

But alas! My failure

Was imminent, I fear

For I was so far behind

And December so near

In despair I clutched

At my novel’s beginning

And knew there was no hope

Of this year’s winning

So with a grand heavy sigh

I put my book on a shelf

And tried to find a way

To be pleased with myself

Another year done

And November gone by

Without a finished manuscript

Just another failed try

But I told myself

Not to shed a tear

For this NaNo was crazy

Besides, there’s always next year...

Noise

The dog's barking grates on my nerves
I hear her echoing through the house
And wonder how no one else has woken up
In the midst of all the noise
I realize how much silence is lost in a day
We spend so long and expend so much effort
Trying to find the right things to say
We waste time
Filling awkward pauses with intellectual silence
And not appreciating the resounding quiet
The moment after the last note rings out
And no one is sure whether the song is over
Is beautiful
Or accidentally walking into
A stunning sunrise
Is breathtaking
Yet we try to find time to ignore the wordless
Always needing something to distract our minds
Large amounts of white noise that fill a space
But what is it all worth?
I try to find the time for silence
But this world just won't stop talking
And it's blinding out my search for solitude
With the deafening roar of indifference
I can't hear You above the noise
That calls out to me every waking moment
Although sometimes, when I least expect it,
I find a moment of peace
Listen, the dog has stopped barking

Portrait of My Mother

She sits, working on her laptop

Her hair pulled back on her head,

And she looks like a Greek goddess

Even though I can see the lines around her mouth

And smile lines on her eyes,

She doesn’t look anywhere near her age

As she tries to decide what to do on the upcoming family vacation

She listens to country music

Because it’s happy and upbeat

She gets frustrated with little technological things

But she tries to learn and understand

In the past two years, she’s turned into quite the scholar

The stay-at-home-mom I used to know

Has disappeared forever, I fear

School and work have taken the place

Of all the time she used to spend cleaning

And organizing play dates

We used to go to the library at least once a week

And the park

But now we fend for ourselves in terms of free time

And I can tell the difference in my brothers

Because they don’t appreciate the small things like I do

My mother taught me to see beauty

In everything

And I do

Because although things have changed

And will continue to do so

I will never forget what I was told as a kid

That making the most of what you have

Is better than having it all

Happy birthday, Mom. I love you.

Stopping the Rain

Standing outside and listening to the sound of the rain, I acutely noticed how cruel it was to place potted plants beneath the ramada just far enough that they were unable to take part in the life-giving shower.  Against the gray backdrop of the sky, the bird of paradise blossoms stood out vividly.

The drizzle picked up, and the gutter flowed more rapidly.  I found it amusing how the left side of the wall was dry because the rain had blown in at an angle.  For as much as it was coming, even the water was unable to touch what science said it could not.

I found myself wishing I could go back in time, or at least to another place where time seemed to stand still and life paused.  The silence I felt was complete, even amongst the noise of the world around me awakening to the sky's calling.

I leaned my body against the wooden post supporting the awning.  The coolness felt good next to the humidity of the air.  A breath of wind, and the smell of new earth met my nose.  The dog, too, was deep in investigation of something she had found.  For her, rain was a new adventure, something more to discover.

The impossibility of existence hit me in a wave.  First came the feeling of awe as I gazed at the hazy mountains in the distance.  Even they were helpless against the mist.  Then, the realization that my life is only a minor character in other's stories.  They do not care about the intricate workings of me because they are not me, and they are not God.  With that idea sparked another, that I am impossibly insignificant.  I will walk this earth once but no matter what I do, the world will continue on without stopping.  It will absorb my absence when the time comes, and at that time I will not be missed.  I am not an essential part of the planet because man is so helplessly small and man is not God.  Who I am and what I do is nothing when lined up next to eternity.

The rain continued to pound against my consciousness, beating into me that I could do nothing to prevent it from doing so.  I breathed a sigh of relief as the notion came to me.

Trying to control life is just as pointless as trying to stop the rain.