Here (New Song)

how long does it take to wash away
the memory of your face
your hands in mine
as we slipped through the night

how long does it take
to wash away age
the minds little way of reminding
the thoughts of you that run me through
and for no reason I am still buying
time

and I see you here
fine except the beer
that lingers in your beard
and its good to know
time hasn't changed you
though
and that is what I fear

how long does it take to wash away
the memory of your face
when I still
see you here
here here

fine except the fear
that traps your very legs
wrapped up in past mistakes
your fatherless face
that in the night seems so at rest
except inside your chest
you wonder

How long it takes
to wash away
the memory of her face
as she laid on your pillow
your hands together tight
as you lay side by side
as you slipped through the night

......................

Don't think it will be ready by October 3rd but It's the first slow one in awhile...Fingerpicking style.

Vivir con la incertidumbre

"To live with uncertainty"
.................................................


Thats the theme I am going with for this writing exercise I am about to participate in.

It says :

read the Haiku "Touch" by Jim Moore...

easily done.

Do not feel Lonely.
The Disappearing world longs
for you to touch it.

Now I am suppose to take a few minutes and use "all of my five senses" and write a poem called "the Disappearing world" using at least one concrete image in every line. I am suppose to make it vivid even as it disappears.

Here goes.

..........................................

"The Disappearing World" (more aptly named... "The Disappearing Man")

once a stout and sturdy man
with thick nubby whiskers said to me,
"the world is disappearing"
My cloudy mind did not believe him.
I watched this man walk on egg shells,
white and fine beneath his feet;
the slightest crack
and he was toppling.
To try to see his view more clearly,
I pressed hard the cloth into my glasses
hoping to make crisp the edges of our sing song distant melody,
the drone of a chords sweet passing.
All I saw was a bright young man, weak in the knees and wobbling,
with the intent
of the very first steps
of a colt.
The gray blonde strands in his beard, however, made it clear
he has many times attempted this walk.
To try and see his view more clearly
I joined in the muddy brown haze of sweet toasted lager
and hopped up we went skipping down the coal black lane.
I rubbed my eyes and unfastened them from the rim of the milky moon.
I was beginning to believe we would both dissolve
caught between two black lagoons.
His voice began again, sharp and withdrawn.
"The disappearing world is just a song on the breeze
and I'm trying to keep up, with tortured objectives
and a mind to collect it,
the end result is a mouth full of bitter apples
and a sour ripe cut. "
The closer I became dear the clearer it got,
the man was fading from the world; the world disappear? It did not.
his red stamped tail lights in the pitch
grew smaller and smaller
with the span of earth beneath the trucks hitch
In the faint splash of sweet sweet dawn
I laid flat on the pavement
a head full and heavy with new reservations.



................................

well then. I can't seem to get out of one fudging writing pattern... but at least stuff is coming out.

Not my favorite poem but ah... I'm not good with all the "concrete images."

........................

Second Part of the assignment.... Describe something... an object... a person, something in your dresser a stranger standing still... in as much detail as possible. Where is that damn poem I wrote about the guitar when I was "hanging out" with joe dejesu. Damn It I am not looking for it that was years ago. I am so tempted to pretend I have a vibrator in my dresser... and describe that. Nope can't do it.



ukulele uku uku

four little strings
a smooth mahogony smell
17 frets
five opalescent white dots
six blacks dots along the neck
cold silver tuners
two little yellow circles around the sound hole
sing: "my dog has fleas" to tune it
a few less fingers to hold down the strings
about two feet long
no strap necessary
strum it with your thumb
pick it with your fingers
sounds slightly out of tune almost always
dark brown bridge



.......
Ok I admit I can do better.

So tired I cant think. Soft bed needed now.

New Song

2 people...same history... repeated.

this one came out.


new song.
.............................

The Locket


look in your mirror
don't like what i see
its a faded
memory
and I don't like the static
in your voice
i've known you to long now
to make the choice

to keep you
in my pocket
just like a little locket
no I can;t really stop it
you burn a hole in my pocket

take a few more steps
further away
don't you worry
they'll be no more rainy days
cause I don't like the static
I hear in your voice
I've known you too long now
I've made the choice

to take you off the docket
made sure to lock it
no i can't really stop it
you burnt a hole in my little pocket
I'll find someone for my locket
for my lovin locket

A song for the ladies.

It's about time we get rid of all the extra baggage in our lives.
I wrote this one for my two dearest friends and myself because we deserve a hell of a lot more than we have been getting. It's a pretty sweet song If I do say so myself... can't wait till you folks hear it.
.........................................................

(still workin on a title)

got a friend whose mind has slipped to half gone
but thats how we all seem lately
with these men who toss us around
like broken little toys they have found

keep it together ladies
these men are just the pennies in the pond
hand em there things tell em to get packin
we are all movin on


so lift us up
over the washline
were coming up on the skyline
lord you have to keep the faith
were coming to a brand new day
and not even the sky is in our way

well they say love is blind
and ladies its true
just look at the list of lovers
we've all gone through

keep it together ladies
we all know the truth
we've been drowning in the bottom of the barrel
it's time we push on through

don't let em give ya the wink and the smile
don't fall for the sheepish grin
do not for a moment hesitate
to pick up your shit and leave him

so lift us up over the washline
we're coming up on the skyline
lord you have to keep the faith
were coming to a brand new day
and not even the sky is in our way

...................................

I apologize in advance to the good men I do know in my life. This year has been CRAZY, all my good girl friends... and some guy friends too have either gone through a terrible breakup/ assholery girl/guy OR gotten married. There really has been no middle ground. So I wrote this for my ladies... my good friends, we have all had our fair share this year... which can only mean good things for the next year :-)

Possibility

I tend to have a hard time with perspective. The other's perspective. I tend to rewind and live in the past when I think about the perspective and I tend to look through old eyes and old sores. It's hard for me to get outside of my own head and outside of my own mind. I have never let the past dictate my heart despite all of the self sabotaging motives of my head. I have always been self aware enough to constantly revise, edit and print out the better version of myself just in time for the deadline. It is that perspective that I take with me constantly that keeps my head on straight even when I get blinded by life, if only for a little while... or blinded by the beauty that is in every person. I have slipped and been caught by this beauty before regardless of if the person with whom I am caught has been self aware enough to practice the same way of thinking, to practice the same way of perceiving them self and life. I'm not saying it is an easy way to be but it is something we all must practice daily to make sure that how we perceive life isn't through the lens of the past but through the lens of possibility.

It's taken me many a thump of my head against the wall to be rejuvenated. I often wonder how I even let someone in so close to me only 10 months after my mother died. A time when the past meant nothing but heartache and disappointment in love. Not in romantic love but in the kind of love a child is suppose to receive and the ideals I had seen around me... from classmates, and friends. It could be possible that my numb feeling I am trying to account for now is because heartache seems so natural to me. It's something I have lived and relived since the day I was born. Loss happened repeatedly. The idea that at any moment life could change in just a second and everything that I knew could be gone was ingrained from a young age. Life gave no guarantees, it didn't even seem certain that I was who they said I was. As the years unfolded small lost artifacts and information came tumbling out at my feet. It wasn't surprising most of the hard truth was kept from me, so they thought... when really it was already a pot that had been simmering on the stove for years.

A poem struck me not too long ago...
a few years ago while in class or reading a book it may have been the preface
I'm not sure but it still sits with me.

The Poem is by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.


--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

..................................

I love the almost playful tone. It is true though the art of losing, it is an art really. I don't mean losing like I lost the race... no losing... losing something. We lose time every day. Our life is always slipping away. Yet it truly is hard for some to live for the present and hope for tomorrow... knowing still that their are no guarantees. I have finally come to terms with the fact that I can only create my life so much... the rest is left for living and the excitement and wonder in how the story will unfold. It could be that my eye for beauty can see the charm in any destination, be it lonely or full of love and vigor. If I had to write a letter to myself though I before the past was even created I am not sure what I would say. I rather like who I have become and it has taken me these strained and stressful years to put the past where it belongs, in the past. It's only now that I can accept what happened to me, what I did or did not do, who I was and who I know myself to be. So for that I can understand the hesitation in the journey... the need to reflect in ones own mind, but do we busy ourselves with past times and torrid love affairs to avoid the emotional healing process? I am not sure. I can say I have been personally guilty of that at times, but I am a hands in and hands on type of healer. I work out the kinks as I go along. If I did have to write a letter to myself, the self before my mother became ill and I had so many unresolved issues of how it should have been of how it could have been, of what I should have done differently... I would say this.


Dear Larrin,

Next year you will be Ten, you will have reached the double digits and you will put both hands up to moms and say ..."mom I have finally reached the double digits" Your front tooth will be missing but it wont hurt. In June you will sit down at the kitchen table with your journal, the one with the googely eye stickers on it and mom and dad will tell you something that you have to be really strong for. You can cry its ok. Know that now is the best time you have to spend with mom before things get more grown up. She still will make you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that have a heart carved into the peanut butter and she will still cut the sandwich into butterfly shapes. Remember when things get hard how she use to hug you from behind when you would get too silly and kiss you on the cheeks. Remember how to laugh with her and remember all the nights she let you stay up late to watch Leno and Letterman. Don't stop singing even though you don't want to wake her, hum softly. Remember how she sang, soft and low and remember how you love to watch dolly parton together. Remember the mornings sitting on the porch with a piece of straw grass in your mouth how you would blow so hard on it with her to try and make a whistle. Remember watching the cows graze. Most importantly remember that she loved you. When things get more grown up remember how she loved you.
Remember that she use to tell you "anything is possible." Believe it so.

........................

memories are still coming back to me. The good ones are over taking the bad again. I just remembered things in that short piece that I had blocked out and had almost forgot about.

I feel better today than ever before, like more things are possible than I ever thought and that somewhere out there waiting on the next breeze or the gust of wind after that is the next shift and change... the next up or down and regardless of what it is, the possibility for something else
still sits in my mind and makes me smile, every day.