Two new poems
~The Sleeping Mind~
How do you know
where my brilliance lies?
How can that paper
talk to you, tell you
all about me?
How do you know
I am a genious.
Not in math
or physics, chemistry,
art, music, dance,
or even spelling.
I am not a genious
becuase I know
a great deal
I am a genious
because I understand
a great deal
I am a genious because I don't
anything at all.
My hands are
smarter than I am.
My eyes, my mouth,
my legs and lungs.
All smarter than the mind.
I am a genious
In her pocket
is a mirror.
A little peice of glass
in which she sees herself.
But she does not use it
She keeps it in her pocket.
Always holding it.
Always stroking it.
Turning it over in her hand,
feeling the smooth glass
and the design around the rim.
But she does not use it.
She is always thinking
about that mirror.
She's forgotten what it looks like.
She never takes it out
of her pocket.
Never sees her reflection.
Haikus and Poems
We both have ashtrays
His is full of cigarrettes
Mine is full of gum
Oh, what's in a name
If only I could tell them
What it means to me
What am I, you ask
I am everything at once
And nothing at all
You ask me: why?
I say to you: who? How? Where?
My answer: why not?
~A new Face for Marlie~
The girl in the mask that screams wide
wears a tribal symbol of the tide
of the human heart with its highs and lows,
wide spread eyes and flat nose.
A strong soul within the shell of a girl,
young and beautiful with black pearl
eyes that look out through the mask,
pleading, begging, they silently ask
to take away her pain today.
Give her the chance to run and play.
Pray to the Savior and his son
that a miricle can be done.
Ask the Holy one to bend
the mask and face to mend.
She hides her face behind this mask
of skull and bone and skin.
Why must she hide her face you ask?
Because her soul is trapped within.
Narry a sound she would make
Free Thoughts III
Opening prayer: "To whom it may concern..."
The heart of the mind
Sometimes it is difficult to pinpoint the location of ones heart. It is easy to say "My heart beats strongly in my breast. There is has been, there it shall remain." But has anyone ever seen their heart? How can we be sure it is there in our breast when we cannot see it. We feel it yes, or do we? Is that pulse truely our hearts, or a great echo? Perhaps our hearts left us long ago, left our ribs vibrating with their pulsing intensity. Perhaps we are all just echos. Echos of passion, of grace. What will be left when those echos fade? Vulgarity? Lust, greed, torment? Who can say.
Me, I think that if we can love without our hearts, then we will be alright. Our hearts have long since fled our breast, leaving only a hollow cavity behind to send out the sensation that we have hearts. Maybe we miss our hearts, and like an amputee our bodies convince us that they are still there, still beating within us. Sending the hot, ric
Dragon Makers part III
"You're leaving tomorrow?!" Kandra leaned heavily against Qual as she gazed at her teacher with dumbfounded surprise. She needed to be leaning against something, having just gotten on the ground again from her flying lesson with the new dragon. Goiyah ad finished packing by then and had just come out to tell Kandra his traveling plans as she led Qual back to the dragons' barn.
"With the dawn, yes." Goiya nodded with a smile, unable to hide the glee in his eye that Kandra seemed so obviously sick from her flight.
"Why so early?" she asked.
"More daylight to travel by." Goiya shrugged, "I wont be staying at any inn, and stopping for the night wherever the night finds me. Best to travel as far as I can then before sun sets." he explained reasonably enough. However, a frown creased Kandra's face.
"I'd rather you stayed in the inns along the route." she said worriedly, earning nothing more than another little laugh from Goiya.
"You'd rather me, yes. But I'd rather I stay away from people wh
Uncle Danny's Camp Out
My Uncle Danny is not actually my uncle. Not by marriage or by blood. He
is merely one of my Father's good friends, the kind we always wished we had
and would keep all our lives. He's that kind of uncle, and my sister and I have
called him that all our lives.
In the same way that you can't remember how you met a friend that
you've had since you were little, Uncle Danny was always just. . .there. Well,
he wasn't always there, in fact his visits were often sparatic. We would never
know when he would come, not even our Father, or how long he would be
staying, where he came from, or where he would be going next. I'm sure he
discussed such thing with my dad, but Ami and I never knew, we were just
happy to have him for the time of his visit.
We knew enough about him to know that he was divorced and had two
kids of his own. It's strange, we always thought of Danny as our Uncle, yet never
really considered his kids our cousins. It just never occured to Ami or I. But they
were our friends, at t
Dragon Makers Continued
"When will you respond to the letter?" Cross asked into the stillness of the room. She had fallen asleep in her bed, and was still there when she awoke, but Goiya had moved back to his desk to read other letters. She didn't open her eyes, and still remained in the position she had fallen asleep in.
"Good afternoon to you too." Goiya said offhandedly, breaking the seal on another letter and unfolding it, "All these orders for beads, does no one want a dragon any more?" he asked her with a businesslike exasperation.
"Master." Cross said indignantly, sitting up and staring at the man pointedly. He was never able to dodge her questions.
"Once our fire dragon is done, I will tell her that I am traveling to visit an old friend." Goiya said more seriously, setting the newly opened letter aside.
"Not completely a lie." Cross shrugged reasonably. She jumped though when Goiya brought his cane down against the floor a little too loudly. Cross stared silently at him for a moment, eyes s
I close my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I think I made you up inside my head.
Like a marionette on a string,
You pull my heart like a plaything.
The spoiled prince has many toys,
That he doesn't share with girls and boys.
He locks them in the tower high,
All else who venture near will die.
He likes to fling them off the roof
To see if they are shatter proof.
They're often not, and it is then
The children come to town again.
To pick the remnents of his disgard,
Sneaking over the wall into the yard.
This whole thing is a game to him,
He follows random thoughts at whim.
He is high prince, and quite insane,
The king wonders who's to blame.
He locks his son in the tower cell,
With toys to play and thoughts to dwell.
The prince goes mad thrice around
And smashes his toys upon the ground,
Then leaps to the window to sit on the sill
And watches the courtyard as it sits still.
He lets go of his pain, the window's too,
And springs into the sky so blue.
He closes his eyes as he drops dead.
More Free Thoughts~~Vanity's Glass Pond
The longer I stre
into the mirror,
the stiller I become.
As I lay in wait
for my reflection
to move without me.
I catch her blinking,
I hardly see her breathe,
and yet I am short of breath.
She is more beautiful that I,
more patiant as well.
She could sit here forever.
I cannot. I must move.
My life extends beyond
the shores of the Glass Pond.~~
It is not only nesissary to meditate, but to practice our meditation. I find the best time to practice meditation is in the middle of some great caos. That way, when we sit in stillness, we know that we can truly calm ourselves and focus more easily on the silence, for it is all around us rather than dodging between the cracks of some great caos. Silence is easier to catch if one is a practiced hunter.
Begin anything of worth with a clear and open mind. To focus only on that one activity you must be relaxed, and have nothing else to think about. I know it is silly, but when I meditate, I start out by imagining