Aug25
Category Archives: fear
Aug19
Singing Songs of Joy and Peace
Singing Songs of Joy and Peace*
We know what strict is
In the counts of the missing
The missing found
Splatters of their former selves
Shatters of what memories we had
Pushing away the viewpoints of before
It has to be forgotten
Or drag us into the mud
Meaningful deaths, but not now
They graphically get pushed away.
The clarity of the season was here
Wintery chills drifting along open skin
Particles inappreciable in white shells
Ingesting the soot of the days and nights
The wet becomes us
Slogging through the cold
We’re nothing but walking icicles
Degradation in our feet
Mornings must start with songs of Joy
From barracks to fields
To lift any spirit that could be raised
Through enforced blockage of what’s to come
Songs of Peace enforced taking Joys place
Blaring out, amplified unjust
Home is dancing in the street
Yet no dance here; our patterns are strict,
As long as this weather held.
Mercurial temperaments of nature
Have no sense of staying put
Wished away, ignoring petty whines
Pleading prayers always unheard
Chilled or sweltering
We melted or froze
In the fullness of time,
The weather changed.
Of the frozen deaths
We revoked our hearts
Set to extra toils
Making up for the dead
Of our sweat drenched backs
We camouflaged our hearts
What was left of them, numb or dead.
As long as this weather holds
“This” becomes mythical
While we wait; We wait
Continuing to give up lives
Joining the unremembered in their weather passage.
The egregious screws are welded holdfast
As we sing songs of Joy and Peace
Nevertheless the vagaries of weather;
Nonetheless what clasps us to those songs.
March on.
Opposite actions enforced.
Strictly.
March on.
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
Author’s Note:
“Songs of joy and peace” come from Joni Mitchel’s beautiful song, River. I had listened to it only minutes before when I shut off my music app and tuned into that night’s writing group, River River Writer’s Circle. The prompt was “When the weather changes.” The above happened, was shared, and got the suggestion: “Think about expanding this out” (well, “stretching it out”). So, I let it sit, came back to it, and the above is the result.
Thank you, Ms. Mitchel. A sad, but integral song for many. What I wrote is no reflection on her song. The fourth line of the first stanza stayed with me.
The opening stanza from Joni Mitchel’s River is:
It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on
Songwriters: Mitchell Joni
River lyrics © Sony Atv Music Publishing France, Joni Mitchell Publishing Corp, Sony/atv Tunes Llc Obo Joni Mitchell Publishing Corp., Wb Music Corp Obo Jam N Bread Music
EDIT: Boy, am I dense!
RiverRiver Writer’s Circle.
I just realized it. Not planned at all. Doh! Oy! :::palmface:::
Aug16
Take Love: Sonnet & Tanka
TAKE LOVE: Sonnet
Unfilled to the deepest depths, ardor fails
Pushing love away, Pulls love back again
Games you play, yet I come, no magic, stale
Enchant me with ardor not constant pain.
See a Bee searching for pollen to thrive
Deterred of flower's unopened petals
Across barren fields, darting to survive
Sharp blade edged, pierced deeply among nettles.
Yet, still, betrayed by the memories shared
Raptured embraces, hands entwined, we run
Kisses, smiles, our bed, enticed feelings bared
Blind to the vanishing you, soon undone.
Stagnant, I, bereft of your caring grace
The Bee wanders, black void drops into place.
TAKE LOVE: Tanka
Disdain withers love,
No give, only take; heart speared
Putrefaction
Trampled flowers, compost tossed
Paths of dirt leading nowhere.
Aug10
RUN!
RUN!
SHE SAID RUN!
Shaking her head
Still,
SHE SAID RUN!
Her masking smile appeared
Magnitudinal weight dragging
As she
Felt her threads snarl and unravel
SHE THOUGHT RUN!
Tasting it.
Nibbling her way through
Dancing circles around
What
Gripped her and held.
SHE RUMINATED RUN!
Expanded
Drew in
Attempts
Withdrew
She
Escaped
SHE YELLED RUN!
Keeping the pressure
Stoked inside
Flowing past self-built walls
Ripping away constraints
SHE YELLED RUN!
Running
Forward
Running
Freely
Running
Powerfully
Running
Until
She no longer had to.
She sings RUN!
As she
Passes the baton along.
⊇⊆ ⊇⊆ ⊇⊆ ⊇ ⊆ ⊇⊇⊆
Author’s Note:
I organized a new Writers Group: DAYDREAMERS WRITE!: Prompts & Challenges.
It runs every Saturday morning from 10:00 am to Noon, EST.
No matter the level a writer you think you are, all are welcome.
The two hours are split:
-
10 to 11 is the first prompt.
-
At Noon: Another prompt WITH a challenge. It changes every week.
-
Both Sessions: 25 mins to write; 30-35 mins for Sharing & feedback
The above poem was the first prompt on Saturday, August 8, 2020
Most likely this group will remain in the Virtual World Community.
Click on the above link if you would like to join in. Everyone is welcome.
Stu
Aug5
Lemmings to Slaughter
Lemmings to Slaughter
©Stuart Nager 8/5/20
I watched a woman dive off of a cliff.
The four others who had ascended with her ran to the edge of the outcropping. At first, I thought they would all follow her as a group, a splice of Lemmings following the herd. They did run helter-skelter after, yet they all stopped abruptly at the edge. Parts of The Trolls Tongue ledge were disturbed by their mad dash forward. Broken off pieces of rock following in her stead as they laughed and high fived each other.
Two went prone, cellphones at hand, in what I assumed was to record the woman’s rapid descent. The other two had packs already on their backs, each checking the other.
I noticed all of their movements for a brief moment: a fraction, really. I took them in more out of the corner of my eye. I lost total interest as I watched the jumper descend.
She was swimming through the air. The flips were followed by a turn to the west. Then east. A series of air pocket climbs allowed her to somersault, pushing her up on the currents. The spirals she performed were breathtaking. Her control was magnificent. The whining pitch of her aerials signaled her falling speed increase.
Spreading her body out, she pulled something. I could see the movement, but she was too far away, even for me, to see clearly.
The pack upon her back burst open. A snarl of colors leaped out and up. As it unfurled, I muttered an involuntary “ah” as I understood. A parachute. Multi-colored as it snapped into shape, drawing her once more upwards. The four yelled, laughed, and hooted at this point. I didn’t turn to look. It was enough to hear them squawk akin to Snowy Owls.
I imagined her laughing along as she heavily floated to the Fjord below. Her heart beating fiercely, blood coursing through her body at high speed. I envied her, that joy, that freedom, that overtaking of fear. Sensations that I have been divorced from for far too long.
A new shout from the four sought my attention and grabbed it. Only the two lying prone were still there. The others were off, doing their “death-defying” acrobats. I watched it for only a moment. Individually, they were nowhere near as graceful as their friend was. They made up for it a bit, and they maneuvered around and with each other. It wasn’t enough. I lost interest in the last hooting I heard from them.
I’d been alone on The Tongue for an eternity. Initially, I climbed this peak after the deaths of my family, trying to escape their death howls. They were silenced in turn as I fled. Ashamed, I traveled on. Climbing, ever climbing. When I first beheld this outcropping, my turmoil of thoughts leveled out. The gods were with me. An excellent place to die, I thought and felt. I had been alone for so long. It was good at that point to die alone.
Yet, when I reached the edge of the outcropping, ready to cross that flimsy border of safety, I found I was unable to move any closer. The dizzying height, the frigid air, the snow that had followed me as I trod on. Frozen in heart and mind, I was buffeted in indecision that lasted through the freezing night.
Just as the morning sun began its rise, my knees and lower legs wobbled. I grew unsteady, leaning precariously in the direction I needed to go. Wanted so desperately to go. A strong upwind slapped me in the face, sending me back instead of forwards.
I sprawled on the outcrop through the light of the day. Movement was beyond me. I tried, failing every attempt. As the day dwindled away, I let the darkness envelop me in whole. All the pride I still had fled, my resolve punctured. Emotions were stripped away in one swoop. I was unmade.
The night sky was brilliant when I finally opened my eyes anew.
“I am not worthy of joining you. I see that now. I can wait. I can still remember.”
Hunger growls drew me out of the remembrance. Loud, but not loud enough to rouse the two left behind. My steps towards them were but feathers.
Upon The Trolls Tongue, I feasted well.
May those who come searching for them travel with speed.
Aug4
Another Destiny: Tanka
©Spencer Platt/Getty Images
ANOTHER DESTINY
Winds break rooted trees
Rains like bullets pounding
Isolate imposed
Virus, Tornado, as one
Which brings more devastation?
⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕
Tanka Poetry
” The tanka is a thirty-one-syllable poem, traditionally written in a single unbroken line. A form of waka, Japanese song or verse, tanka translates as “short song,” and is better known in its five-line, 5/7/5/7/7 syllable count form.” ©poets.org
Syllable Structure:
- 1st Sentence: 5 Syllables
- 2nd Sentence: 7 Syllables
- 3rd Sentence: 5 Syllables
- 4th Sentence: 7 Syllables
- 5th Sentence: 7 Syllables
Aug3
Demise On Old Blackwash Road
Julie and Steve In teenage lust angst Lantern lit, hidden nook Atrocities attacked ere consummation Sending them heedlessly running along On Old Blackwash Road Julie was screaming Until her voice decayed Steve pulled ahead No thought of her pumping away Julie tried to catch up Down Old Blackwash Road If words could take aim Steve would have heard her pleas Curses tossed through him Voiceless, running still Left alone under moonlight Fever pitch dashing on Old Blackwash Road Steve's mind was blanker Except for grinding terror Pushing himself faster on It was primal, fierce As his lungs began to seize Slowing on Old Blackwash Road Julie haven found above Crawling up an ancient oak She saw Steve plunge to the ground Closed her eyes ridigidly shut Prayed, then dug her nails into the wood Surrounding Old Blackwash Road Steve's wails turned raw Before they abruptly terminated Julie clung for more than her worth Tree sap glued her to her spot Unaware of it till morning light Dawn awakening Old Blackwash Road Time moved through Julie Frozen to the spot Heat of the day came fiercely Freeing her from tree secretion Setting her down upon Empty Old Blackwash Road She fled the scene half naked The ground was bare of Steve Her throat hurt as she sobbed aloud No tears were left inside her As she stumbled upon Route 40 Connected to Old Blackwash Road Julie withdrew and hid inside While the Sheriff did his best Steve was never found, even a tiny bit "It's happened before," they all knew for true Julie shrugged. What could she say or do About Old Blackwash Road?
Jul2
Holding On
HOLDING ON
by Stuart Nager©
“Wendy. Close the window. It is freezing in here.”
John was flat on his back, under his sheets and quilt. He had his right arm draped over his eyes. Truth be told, it was his nightshirt that did the draping. John’s arm was across his brow. He had to remind himself to relax, for he was leaving an indent in the lower forehead.
Wendy sat on the padded window bench; knees tucked up tight against her chest. Her arms encircled her legs. The window was ajar, allowing the night winds free entry into the bedroom. Wendy searched the clouds, looking. Praying. Hoping.
The wind whipped up, bursting past the lead paned glass. It sends Wendy’s nightshirt fluttering. Her shoulders lifted, her immaculate posture in place. Wendy tilted her head just so. She knew what he liked.
As did she.
“Arrrrrr, matey!” John used his pirate voice, doing his best to make her laugh. Wendy did not laugh nor smile. Jumping out of bed, John had to untangle himself from the bedsheets. All of the bed coverings wound up on the floor.
“Wendy, it is freezing in here. Shut the window, please.” He looked over at Michael, deep in slumber. His consistent snoring was the proof he was asleep. He could never duplicate that sound when he was faking to stay in bed. Mother saw right through him.
Wendy shushed him.
“You know he won’t wake up. He’s dead to the world right now.”
She shushed him again. John grabbed his quilt from the floor, whipping it over his head and onto his shoulders. So encased, John approached his sister. Wendy was still eyeing the night sky.
John plopped down on the other side of the bench, pulling the blanket even tighter around him. Just as his teeth started to chatter, he realized Wendy was only in her night clothing. Reversing the quilt, he laid one end over his sister.
“Thank you, John,” she whispered, far away from the room. John followed where she was looking. She’d change an angle; he would mirror it. “Darling bookends,” Liza would say if the housemaid was in the room. He smiled at that thought. Wendy noticed him as his smile slowly crept back inside him.
“Wendy. He’s not coming back. He isn’t. Shh. Please hear me out. We’ve had this…this…talk far too often. Fourteen months have passed. No pirates. No Indians. No Tink. No Pe…”
Reaching over, Wendy placed the four fingers of her left hand gently over his mouth.
“Enough, John. Please. I know. I still hope. I still have hope. Every blessed night I have hope. It just,” Wendy stopped, turning her head back to gazing the now unclouded sparkling heavens. “It just hurts, John.”
He nodded his head. What was left to say? They had had this conversation far too many times. It always ended in tears. There were many nights where John tried his best to distract her. The successful evenings were spent making up stories of what battle or mischief he would be embroiled in, smack in the center of it all. She’d laugh at many of his tales. The more outlandish he made them, the more Wendy relaxed. And she’d stop looking out the window.
The less beneficial nights would come, ones where John felt powerless. Wendy, questioning, always the same. “Why doesn’t he return?” John knew there were two unspoken words to that query: “For her.”
Wendy did turn her head back to John. “No stories tonight, please. My insides are so knotted, so heavy. Not tonight, dear John. Not tonight.”
He nodded his head, and the two sat quietly by the window. No one spoke. Michael snored. They both yawned, Wendy insisting John started it. John, naturally, accused Wendy.
“We better get to bed. I don’t wish Mother to be cross with us in the morning.” She stood up, patting her nightwear down into a proper shape. John noticed Wendy’s hesitation before she reached over and closed the window. The sound of the latch fitting in place brought a feathery gasp from her lips. Her arms, as always, crossed over her heart.
John returned to bed. He tossed all the linen quilt back on the bed, diving under it all for warmth. John’s face was warm. He felt an unpleasant tightening in his chest. He should have hugged her, said he’ll always be there for her, that she was the best sister anyone ever had. John only said: “Good night, Wendy,” as she closed the door, tiptoeing down the hallway to her room.
As Wendy made it to her bed, her thoughts swallowed her whole. She thought of the unfairness of growing up. How much Wendy wanted to share the same bedroom with her brothers again. How much she wished she had stayed and not returned home. All swept away by the burning question she held tight: “Why hasn’t Peter returned for me?”
It was just over a month that Wendy overheard “The” conversation. Wendy, supposedly in bed, was walking by Mother’s bedroom. The door was partially open. Peeking in, Mother was sitting at her vanity, Liza behind her, counting out the number of times she ran the brush through Mother’s hair.
Wendy was not pleased that Mother was now calling her “a proper young lady.” She had experienced her first flow, a most embarrassing event. Her bones were achy almost all the time. She started maturing. Wendy’s new clothing, the changes in her body, all of it left her feeling embarrassed and humiliated. Wendy’s deep sadness permeated throughout her.
She knew why Peter did not come for her.
Why he would not come for her, ever again.
Wendy wished she had never eavesdropped.
“100,” Lisa stated, putting the hairbrush down on the table. “Miss Wendy is starting to fill out, mum. She’ll be as beautiful as you. Not that she isn’t a pretty young thing now.”
Mother was silent, staring into the mirror. Wendy was sure Mother would not answer Liza. Just as she began to walk away, Wendy heard Mother say, “I know it is the right thing to do, Liza. It is time that Wendy a room to herself. She is blossoming. It is time for her to grow into being a proper young lady. But.” Mother left that word dangling on its own.
“Yes, but,” Liza agreed. “It will be for the best.”
Mother nodded. “I do pray that this will ease the burden she carries. Wendy needs to let this fantastical story of flying, pirates, faeries…” Mother sighed. “She needs to let it go.”
Wendy moved away from the door.
The next day Wendy was given her room. She sulked alone for the next two days, only leaving her confines for meals that she picked at. The third night, though, she had had enough.
Wendy immediately ran to the bedroom she had shared with her brothers. She threw the door wide open. Her feet glided across the nursery floor until she got up on the window. Kneeling, Wendy opened the windows. She crept to the window frame, her eyes fixated on the dark, laden clouds above. No stars were visible. Rain, though: rain fell ferociously. Wendy became a soaking wet sponge instantly. She kneeled on the pane for a long while.
A noise coming from the doorway startled Wendy out of her fugue. Wendy slightly turned and saw Liza standing in the hallway.
“Wendy Darling,” Liza trumpeted. She stamped her feet as she approached the window seat, not thinking of the boys at all. Upon arrival, Liza shooed Wendy to move away. “Young lady, what has gotten into you? You were not in your room. I knew you would be here. You, young lady, are heading straight to your room: a hot bath and fresh nightshirt. Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”
Wendy, shivering, glanced at her brothers, warmly tucked in. She smiled although her heart was shattering.
When she heard the latch fall into place, she sat on the floor and cried.
Jun26
City Song, My
Fuck the city Overblown, hyperactive concrete and stone Greasy street food; greasier people Racing around, step on or over Searching for the bright lights Eclipsed by the shadows To hell with the city Nearly everyone’s oppressed In some misguided way Bend your neck, never knees, As the fight to make it Truth ends in buckets of the kill. Screw the city As it screws with you Power, status, held in slimy claws There’s heartache in the streets Trod upon with running shoes. You deserve what you get Obliterate the city Turn off the lights You can’t see the stars shine Blinded eyes obfuscate Nothing to see here; move along Dwindle yourself; something is wrong. Fuck the city Obsessiveness and greed Hatred and fear Isolated in ignorance Shriek your outrage Bellow your unscripted song.
Jun24
Promises of People
Do I think living is a waste of time?
Depending on the day, I usually do
What stays with me in a world of No’s
Doesn’t make the future really glow.
There’s sadness on a constant basis
There is no day that I don’t hurt
Even isolated from the isolated
The noises outside breaks into the room
Look at all you’ve got to live for
Imagine all the people who’d hurt
It is easy to get so distracted
By promises of people who say
Each day there’s awakening
Going through routines
Then you fall into that circle
Of repeating the same old things
What makes joy bleed away?
Why does nothing stick
Push away the best you can
But the pain is always there
The pain is always here
Look at all you’ve got to live for
Imagine all the people who’d hurt
It is easy to get so distracted
By promises of people who say
By the emotions they express
Or hide away in their own ways
When reaching out is near impossible
When no one wants to cope with you
So, scream your essence to pieces
Locked in your muddy head
Stop playing that you want to go on
I’m fine, I’m fine, fine.
Look at all you’ve got to live for
Imagine all the people who’d hurt
It is easy to get so distracted
By promises of people who say
I’m tired
I’m so tired
I wish I wasn’t here
Why am I wasting time?
