Days In The Blackberries Field 52
Shout loud, Liberty!
I want to hear your voice
and melt with the heat of ecstasy,
just once.
Shout, Liberty!
Show me how your words sound
in the blueness of the soul releasing,
just once.
Shout loud, Liberty!
I want to hear your voice
and melt with the heat of ecstasy,
just once.
Shout, Liberty!
Show me how your words sound
in the blueness of the soul releasing,
just once.
A nasty case of med toxicity
has kept me far from here and from myself.
I’ve had to store some days upon the shelf
to rest and garner usual energy.
I had two seizures, unexpected foes,
and was set back. Three months and seven years
had passed since last one, and my neuro-gears
announced their need for oil. I hit the lows,
and climb back up the mountaintop is steep.
So topsy-turvy and chaotic life
has been with tangles of this angst and strife
that I have taken leave awhile. From deep
dark neurologic places I return.
A seizure teaches lessons I must learn.
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Apenas han pasado unos minutos después de la medianoche. El calor esta insoportable, me gustaría estar tumbado en mi hamaca, en el patio de la casa de mi infancia, con mi perro. A mi perro lo mataron, estaba tirado en el patio de la casa, tal y como hacen los perros cuando están dormidos y parece que van corriendo, pero mi perro ya no se movía. Yo cerré los ojos y estaba dispuesto a dormir, cuando sonó el teléfono. Abrí los ojos, salí de la casa y detrás de mí cerré la puerta. Mi perro estaba tirado en el patio de la casa de mamá, tenía espuma en la boca y me dijeron que lo habían envenenado, yo pensaba que había muerto de viejo o porque sus riñones habían dejado de funcionar, pensé que tal vez el asunto era la edad y no la maldad de las personas. Desde luego que mi teoría no tenía base alguna, así que todo era posible.
Me llamaron porque habían encontrado, los cuerpos de dos personas sin vida. Ellas estaban tirados en el suelo al igual que mi perro, desde luego que ellos no correrían para salir a la búsqueda del pan para sobrevivir en el día a día, a leguas se notaba que eran personas humildes que pasaban los días con los pocos pesos que ganaban.
Mi perro era blanco, no era uno de esos perros chiquitos, que todo el tiempo están nerviosos y no dejan de ladrar, ¡No!, mi perro era grande, cariñoso y me gustaba jugar con él. Cuando yo era aún más pequeño, juraba que era un caballo pequeño, lo montaba y él me paseaba por toda la casa.
Tome algunas fotos de los cuerpos sin vida, supongo que fueron víctimas de alguien, aunque por su aspecto, bien podría jurar que han muerto de forma natural o incluso que se han envenenado y adoptaron esa posición antes de morir. Estaban en posición fetal, uno detrás del otro, haciendo “cucharita” que es el termino más coloquial con el que lo conocemos. Pensé en que habían sufrido un paro cardiaco, no se ocurría otra cosa. No tenía indicios de haber sido envenenados, ni presentaban rasgos de violencia. Lo que llamaba la atención es que estuvieran tirados en el suelo, y desnudos. Quizá estaban haciendo el amor y algo fallo en sus órganos vitales y les causo la muerte, desde luego que después de el examen del médico forense podremos saber mucho más.
Me pregunté quién podría haberlos matado, si es que ese era el caso y desde luego por qué.
I intended to post this here to begin with, but messed up. Still getting used to being back, and there are changes to WordPress since I’ve been away that are tripping me up a bit as well. Anyway, I went to reblog it and accidentally reblogged it to my blog too. LOL…so I’m posting it here too. I WILL get used to this again. :)
Shhh
Amid the silence
Soft whispers of wind
Soothe my restless soul
they seemed to meet quite by accident
but something in their eyes told them otherwise
this wouldn’t be their first conversation
but it always felt like it could be the last
like a patient who knows their time is near
with so many faces yet to see
and confessions to make
and sunsets to end
their now daily talks lasted for hours
even after they left that little cafe
feverishly texting on the bus back home
sometimes through the hush of their night
they would talk of paintings, songs and poetry
any silly thing as long as there was a reply
the hold on each other so tenuous
an undertow the pull of fear as real
he not so accidently brushed her hand on the table
she instinctively recoiled placing it on her lap
she apologized quickly she was sorry
but regretted showing him so much
his practiced stoic reaction said little
this time his heart tried valiantly to follow
‘but isn’t that how it always goes?’
setting a few more bricks in the wall
he was a little braver than she was
or maybe his clock was just ticking faster than hers
he said the words that they both feared
and knew it was wrong the moment he spoke
two hearts waiting in the wings
for love to speak and heal their pain
all the words they shared between them
could not help them say goodbye
.
.
a great big hug to my daughter for sharing this song yesterday,
please feel free to listen to it as a soundtrack as i did writing.
Reblogged from My Life Uncut...Almost:
This was a poem I wrote last year, July 26 to be precise. I haven't written much new material for awhile...have been busy with other things and kind of have set all that writing on the shelf for a good while. But lately I've been reading through a lot of it again.
I'm posting this poem again not because there's any particular kind of drama going on at the moment in my life...just something I was talking about recently with a friend, and about taking the drama and finding comedy within it as much as possible.
I was walking out the front door and noticed the Mr. Lincoln rose was particularly beautiful. I used my cell phone to snap a pic. The water droplets didn’t come through as crisp as I would have liked…you can see the sheen of the droplets. This rose is a fragrant reminder of my mom’s love of roses. First generated in 1964, the rose was transplanted from my folk’s house after their deaths and the sale of their home.