Closer to Home

Pushing back from the gate
Already feeling a little
Closer to home.
A quarter of the globe
Left to travel,
Yet those few lengths
Bring me comfort.
My return's begun.

Through my journey
I've held the line.
Photos, messages and calls.
Loosely connecting me
Back to the familiar
Comforts of home.
Reminders of where
My heart rests.

In the stillness
I feel my love
Calling me gently,
"Come on home."
Wandering wearily
Cutting a chill dawn
One after the next
My feet tread.

With each step,
Each moment
I grow more
Closer to home.
Mind calmed
Envisioning where
This journey will end
My spirit sings.

Train Whistle

It has lived in me for years
Wielding unparalleled force
This simple sound

A sound so prominent, unmistakable
Carried on the wind, or piercing
Through the still of night

It dutifully serves as a reminder
A reminder of days long past
The way things used to be

An enduring, lonely yearning, hunkering low
There in that wail
We know love

The Chase

I chase you.
You chase her.
She giggles and runs, and
Always a length away,
Absorbs all thrill of being sought.

She speeds, chides, burns.
You hesitate, discouraged.
I catch up, and
For a moment,
Am relieved and contented.

You are again roused.
She grants an illusive gap.
Heavy-hearted,
Yet unshaken,
I chase.

On Poetry

I started wondering recently, "Why poetry?"  This poetry writing thing is pretty new for me.  Before starting this blog I don't think I'd written any poetry since grade school...and then I was put up to it.

Not too long ago, during a dinner party, a friend shared some published poems and I really enjoyed them.  It made me think more about poetry.  Also I had written some personal things and felt the need to share them to some degree, but not quite "bare all", as they say.  So I choose to write in the form of poetry rather than prose in an effort to be intentionally vague and avoid being too long-winded.

By being vague, not only do I feel I'm protecting myself from overexposure, but I find that it provides opportunity for interpretation from those who read my writing.  So far the number of works I've shared is quite small, and as expected, I haven't received much feedback.

Though I have had one friend share an interesting interpretation of one of my blog posts.  The interpretation was interesting because it wasn't spot on, and hearing it gave me a new perspective on the piece.  This is not to say that I want, or try, to be misunderstood.  I definitely don't mind being misunderstood though, and I find ways to enjoy and make the most of it.

Really, why should anyone mind being misunderstood?  I understand why many do, but it's so easy to learn something from it that it's really not worth saving the little bit of effort it takes to get something positive out of it.

As far as the long-winded part of my reasoning behind my choice of poetry over prose is concerned, I suppose that if I've been too long-winded here, then my reasoning is sound!

Hazy Day of Dash (Warrior Dash Weekend I, No. 5)

Organized chaos
in the parking area
sets the vibe.

Muddy people,
excited people;
some both.

Buses carry
the wildly clad
back and forth.

Crowds
organized, corralled, served
with little stringency.

New citizens of this transient town
trade cash and credit
for the current currency.

Commerce booms,
beer flows,
legs are roasted and devoured.

Dashers and gawkers,
sharing a common bond,
relate unexpectedly in familiar ways.

Crowds are the norm;
loners draw
questions and dismay.

Hazy daylight fades inhibitions;
a Dasher frolics
freely and joyfully.

Men of men
pose for posterity
in all manners of dress.

Warriors
are we
who take up the challenge.

Night Before Dash (Warrior Dash Weekend I, No. 1)

In camp at dusk,
set up tent,
no flashlight, no lantern.

Another 30-plus miles to go
before the day is done
- gonna want a drink.

No smoked salmon,
a swing and a miss,
roughing it again.

Heading back,
happy to be finished,
wishing it wasn't so late.

Margarita cooler,
light beer,
cold pasta dinner.

Taking time out,
with rain pouring down,
Dead Man.

Too tired to dig
into the toy bag,
snuggle in, pass out.

Sleep interrupted,
rain still falls,
lights out.

For The Love Of A Daughter

Soothing and calming his little girl
after a startling, painful bee sting

Fighting back tears, searching for the strength
to set her back on the straight and narrow

Driving straight from work to a meet
just to see her eyes light up

Dropping everything in the dead of night
to rescue her from trouble

Twirling her 'round the floor
on the day she'd always dreamt of

Always hoping with all his heart
she finds happiness and knows her Daddy's love

The Bitch Is Crazy

I've told myself many times before
but this time I'm telling you...
this thing isn't good.

The changes I asked for
won't make things any different.
So please forget that I asked,
and just be yourself.

I saw things in you I longed for
and at times
knew better than to enjoy them.

I should have seen you as a prototype,
resisting the urge
to succomb to the laziness and concession,
pretending that you were enough.

The mocking regret
of letting you hurt me
tears me down.

I'll depend on the bruise you left
to remind me,
and keep me out of
the path of your destruction.

This is probably confusing,
so chalk it up to, "The bitch is crazy."
I would if I were you.

Devastation of Foolish Optimism

I wanted to believe that it would work out;
that it would be different this time.
My head didn't seem to be in the clouds;
the signs I saw were encouraging.

Too many times I've cycled through,
vacillating between euphoria and destruction.
I trust too much, get burned,
and end up kicking myself.

I could stick to what's safe;
go with the merely satisfactory.
Every time I try,
I find it's not enough.

Like an addict,
I gamble,
winning only the thrill and hope
inherent in taking the chance.

No Substance

This morning I'm sure I'm looking like someone just ran over my new puppy.
Last night's self-destructive behavior left me kicking myself as soon as I opened my eyes.
(But are they open even now?)
No substance caused this.
No substance.

Hesitance And Fear Be Damned

Though I've been making idle internal threats to start a blog for many years, I'm finally doing it now...hesitance and fear be damned!  I have published things in manners similar to that of a blog, long ago and infrequently, but have never really jumped right in.  Now it seems to be time to do it.

I imagine that this blog will focus largely on me, and I'd like to be apologetic about that, but I just can't.  If you grow tired of that sort of thing, stop reading my blog - I won't mind at all.

I'm starting to collect a body of works that I think I ought to share.  This poem (beware, I am no poet) is one of them.  It's about me, but was inspired by my interactions with someone close to me - I'm glad they helped me see this.

Across The Reach

Letting go

holding back

retreating to the warmth

solace of the freely afforded

I bathe in memories

of smouldering encounters

transparent exchanges

between two open hearts

two trusting minds

Through such appreciably brief

yet moving connections

desire

curiosity

they linger and swell

But this thing is not whole

though connected

a void lies

between affinity and passion

Do the two form a vessel

fit for collecting

drops of enchantment

that may coalesce

and fall like morning dew

preserving the catch

until full enough

to be drunk?

Or is their form

more akin to a sieve

never holding more

than cold emptiness

even in a deluge

of romantic fervor?

Will residual love

complete and solidify

the bond between

camaraderie and carnality?

Will the flow

erode and destroy

the connection

until all is washed away?

Across the reach

there's a chasm

hollow, deep, dry and brittle

longing to be

filled

quenched

I yearn to sip

the sweet elixir

and never fear

its depletion