At All

I go through the motions, put a smile on my face
Oh I’m just fine to those who call
Only one could pull me from this dark space
But you’re gone,
So I don’t care at all

Every time I think I’m doing better
The pain holds me in tighter thrall
And I know you’d hate that I’m like this
But you’re gone,
And I don’t care at all

I know I should be better off than I am
But I also know I just don’t give a damn

When it’s all about “Tis the season”
I still hang garland from doors and walls
I once loved the holidays without reason
But you’re gone,
So I don’t care at all

El Sol churns out yet another day,
The flowers bloom, then leaves fall
Luna glows oh so marvelous they say
But you’re gone,
And I don’t care at all
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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 76 – Holiday Edition

Start Somewhere

 I run my days in such haste
No one thought has time to land
Barely having time to care
I must start somewhere

A still pool of water calls
With a dare to simply glance
A tired me shimmers there
I must start somewhere

Natural needs pushed aside
My all to all but me
For the sake of my welfare
I must start somewhere

I free my mind of clutter
Donate a moment to peace
In awe find a moment spare
I will start with prayer

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Today’s Form:  The Kouta

Kouta – KOH-OU-TA (Japanese: little song) A broad classification for several varieties of short songs from traditional to popular which is most often associated with the songs made popular in the pleasure quarters of Edo (old Tokyo) where they were often composed and sung by geisha to the accompaniment of the shamisen.

Kouta has two forms, both four lines. The first has a syllable count of 7-5-7-5, and the other has a count of 7-7-7-5.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week: 71

Query…

So, a friend posed an interesting query in one of my Facebook groups:

“So here’s the question. If you there was a button that you could push that would give you superpowers but would also permanently change you to the opposite gender – would you push it? Would it be a hard decision, whether your answer was yes or no? Or is it an obvious choice?”

My initial response was heartfelt No!  I enjoy being female in this modern-day and age.  For all the roads we have yet to travel equality wise etcetera, so many more have opened up for women just in the past hundred plus years alone it is a great time to be female.

But then I stopped thinking about me, and me being me, went and did what I always do and over thought the hell out of it in a generic sense.

In a transgender scenario, the flip to the opposite sex is obvious, having a superpower to boot is a bonus. This sex switch mostly becomes of interest for the cisgendered.

What of the woman who now has all the physical characteristics of a male, but her heart and soul would remain feminine?  If the new body build is proportionate to the original (a tall, fat male becomes a tall, fat female etc.), I’d say that is going to make the desire to wear a dainty dress interesting.  Is she in drag now?

Let’s go down to another level, sexuality.  A hetero male is now in a woman’s body. His sexual preference is still for females – you just know someone is going to ask if this now makes him a lesbian.  Yes, he can now teleport, but can he handle the perception of being gay?

And speaking of perceptions….

This is looking at it from the view of the person who chooses to push the button.  What of the married hetero female, who did not choose to switch and power up, who now has to deal with having a wife? What if they live somewhere that does not recognize gay marriage? Hell, what if the husband, in his new bodacious female body, is even prettier than she?  Trust me – some women are going to go there.

Oh, that rabbit hole is getting pretty damn deep there isn’t it, Alice?

Now let us swing that spot light from the generic back to specific -aka me- again.

Would I be willing to trade being a female to have the ability of flight, telepathy or telekinesis, shape-shifting or a myriad of other self-serving powers? Absolutely not.

However, what if with a push of that magical button I have the ability to heal?

  • With just a simple touch – the mangled body from a car crash – restored.
  • The baby born with a deformed heart – now whole.
  • Make that virulent cancer not just go into remission, but disappear as though it never existed.

I’m not a girly-girl. Never having to wear a dress (or bra), again would not hurt me in the least. I think I have strong masculine features in my face anyway, so other than a change of hair and not bothering with make-up would also be a bonus. My friends who know me well already say I think like a male in so many ways, personality-wise I do not think it be much different. And to top it all off, I do love my men and my women, so even sexually I’m still in a good place.  At this stage in my life, I may very well be one of the best candidates for that particular button pushing.

Were I still married and raising my children, I know I would likely turn it down without a second’s thought or regret. However, I am not married and my children are very much adults.

So if I can heal others, would the adjustments to my new body, both physiologically and psychologically, outweigh the greater good of all I can eventually help?

In all honesty, once again, I have to answer Absolutely not.

As the TV show would ask – What Would You Do?

30/30 – 30 | BOO!

My sons rolled their eyes at me as they always did when Halloween comes around.  Luckily, by their viewing at least, I do not go all out transforming the house into a holiday appropriate wonderland as I do for Christmas.  Still, every now and then I get into the I want to carve a pumpkin mood. This was one of those Halloweens were I was in a pumpkin carving, tons of chocolate and other goodies to give away, witches hat wearing mood. Now well into their teens, and knowing they are going to be dragged into it anyway shake their heads as they begrudgingly get into the spirit with me.

Thanks to such cinema sweethearts as Freddy Cruger (Nightmare on Elm Street) and Michael Myers (Halloween) faux bloody masks were de rigueur.  My youngest gets an idea and asks to borrow his father’s full length leather trench coat. Both of us being well aware of his imagination, my eldest and I look at each other part warily, partly with anticipation to see where this is going to go.

My youngest dons the coat and mask, pulls up the hood to the hoodie, grabs the big bowl of candy and when the coast is clear steps outside to stand perfectly still in a corner of the front porch closest to the front door.  He was already six feet tall by this point, thus he cut an imposing figure in the leather and bloody mask.  If any trick-or-treaters want candy, they are going to have to come to the statue to get it.

“Oh this is going to be good!” My eldest grins as we stand by the living room window to watch the scene unfold.  It takes a few minutes, but soon enough there are five or six children standing by the front gate trying to determine whether it is safe to come get the candy just sitting there in the bowl for the taking.  As always with such a group, some poor soul is goaded into being the brave one to investigate.

The little boy opens the gate takes a step in and stops. My youngest does not move a muscle. I cannot see him breathe; nor blink. He is a perfect Halloween statue. The little boy takes a few tentative steps more up the path, but still no movement from the statue. He looks back at his friends who goad him on. He makes his way up the short path to the first step and stops again, trying to gauge the situation. It is taking everything my eldest and I have not to laugh aloud as we watch this unfold.

“Hey, it’s just a statue holding a bowl of candy come up and get some!” The boy yells back to his friends bravely climbing the remaining steps as the friends come running up the pathway.  The boy raises his hand to get candy and the moment his fingers touch…

“RAWRAAAAARGGHHH!”  

The “statue” comes roaring to life and scares the living heck out of the poor child and his friends.  They are screaming, running down the steps and halfway down the pathway, before the combined laughter of my sons and I make them realize they have just been had. My youngest stops laughing long enough to call the boy back and convince them all it is okay to have candy. He gives the other kids a few candies each, but lets the little boy take as much candy as he wants for being the brave one.

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

It seemed only fair since tomorrow is Halloween, that I have at least one such story for it.
And with this, the only non-fiction story of the set 30/30 set, I miraculously conclude the 30 Stories in 30 Days Challenge on time.  It has been an interesting romp stretching my imaginative path, I hope you’ve enjoyed the stretch. I now return to my irregularly scheduled blogging.

I’ve Got The Look…

All mothers have a certain look in which their children instinctively comprehend to mean  stop and desist NOW.  I do not care how “no mannered”, “fresh”, “no home-trained” et cetera the children may be, all instinctively understand the most powerful wrath short of the Lord Almighty’s is about to reign down upon their little souls and behinds should they continue with the offending activity.

There are the mothers whose look will only work on their own progeny. There are the mothers in which the look not only works on their children,  but other family members’  children and sometimes the neighbors’ children.  And then there are the mothers. Those special mothers who can utilize the look with such force, that even the children of complete strangers will take heed.  It does not happen often, for I realize I have to be in a certain mood and the child involved must have seriously crossed my invisible line of intolerance for it to be at maximum force, but I am definitely among the last group.

That being said, while all mother are capable of that look, not all mothers have the ability or the desire to use to its full potential and that is a shame. Mothers who cannot put the fear of Mom unto their little darlings at a very early age are soon victimized by the tiny terrors they’ve brought forth unto this world.  I ran into one of those unfortunate types this morning.

I heard the mother already pleading with the child the moment the subway doors opened.

“Sweetie won’t you please sit down.”
“You’re going to hurt yourself!”
“Didn’t I say sit down, Sweetie?”
“You’re going to get a pow-pow.”

The mother did not say “Sweetie” I’m using it  instead of the child’s actual name to protect the little hellion more so than the parent.  I also cringe when parents of young children use cutesy names for things. If you are about to discipline your child, the child should fear it. It is not a “pow-pow” it is a “spanking”.  Children do not fear the cute, especially when spoken in that sing-song sugar coated speak most adults reserve just for young children. Sweetie was not that young and I’m guessing having heard such idle threats all his young life, this child was no exception.

I partially read my book, partially listened to my music and partially watched as I sat across from them.   The little boy climbed up and down from the seat, swung on the pole and yelled back at his mother in turns. Several people were giving the mother the stink eye as Sweetie ran among them nearly causing one passenger to spill her coffee and causing another to trip. Mother would apologize, yell at her child, the child would be still for all of two seconds and then the boy was off again.  Even as the train became crowded he still misbehaved, just contained his mini-mayhem to a smaller area.

At some point a woman who had had enough touched Sweetie on the arm and nicely suggested that perhaps the child should sit. Sweetie turned around, screamed at the woman from the top of his lungs on how she is not his mother and hit the woman with the plastic bat he had in his hands.  The mother grabbed the bat from him and apologized to the woman. This was twenty minutes after I first embarked and now even I had had enough. I took off my ear buds and put my iPod and the book I’m reading in my purse and stood just as Sweetie turned around and started to run.   Right on cue Sweetie accidentally ran into me. He spun around and raised his hand as though to hit me and I’m guessing that was the moment it happened.

The Look had made its appearance.

I raised an eyebrow at him and whatever he was thinking about doing, he rethought it as his hand slowly came down to his side.

“Say ‘I’m sorry. Excuse me.’”  I looked down on him.

“I-I’m sorry, excuse me.” He echoed contritely, taking a step back.  I heard someone exclaim “Daaaamn!” as I pointed at the boy and then at the seat next to his mother. Without another word exchanged, he picked up a toy that was on the floor and sat down close to his mother looking at me penitently.  The mother looked at me balefully as though she was about to say something and I looked at her waiting for it.  She thought better of it also, putting a protective arm around Sweetie as I returned to my seat.  There was a small bout of applause as I sat down, put on my iPod and returned to my book. The man sitting next to me looked from me to the kid and back “How’d you do that? And can you please teach my wife?” I just smiled, shrugged and returned to my reading.

A chapter or so later I realized it was still quiet. When I looked across the aisle from me Sweetie was fast asleep. The mother still looked like she wanted to do me bodily harm, but I was not worried about her. A few stops later, she and Sweetie disembarked.

Someday, someone is going to be there when I give some unfortunate soul “The Look” and have his or her cell phone camera ready to capture the moment. Obviously, I have no idea what I look like when I use this unique expression, but it apparently has some mystical power in it and I would really like to see it for myself.

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Weekly Story Challenge

For all its potential…

We are all wounded.
We are all fucked-up.
We are all scarred.

Some of us are a hell of a lot more jacked than others. And not all of our scars are on the outside.

Some of us are equipped to deal with it.
Some of us are not.
Some of us don’t even want to try.

We try to tend to our wounds, control our persons in our own ways…

Some drink; some get sober.
Some starve; some binge.
Some find Jesus; some lose Him.
Some chose to sleep alone; other choose to sleep with anyone/everyone rather than be alone.
Some are adrenalin junkies, crowd seekers; some become hermits.
Some draw, paint, write, create.

And some of us wake up to a tear drenched pillow yet again, but don’t remember crying…

Some of us do any combination and/or all of the above in our lives.

These are our realities…
How we dull the pain…
Silence the noise …
The ways in which we attempt to overtake that which threatens to overtake us…

For all its potential, this world can be such an ugly place sometimes.

It’s up to us to find / carve out our own individual niches of beauty within it, to survive the best we can during our time here because the alternative sucks and neither side has a reset.

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Found this written on a paper tucked in a book while I was cleaning. I hadn’t read the book in years, so I’m not sure when I actually wrote it, but it was definitely my handwriting.

I scare me sometimes.

Remember Prayer

So just, come to me, for anything at all,
Call my name, it is yours to call.
Feel my faith in you, when you can’t find your own,
And always remember, you’re never alone

Freddy Jackson featuring Najee / All I’ll Ever Ask

Yes, sing My praises in hymns when times are good
But it’s the hard times where faith is truly understood
When you’ve had a brush with life’s shortfalls
Some offer prayer, every chance they could
Others are too afraid when they know they should
For all succumb to the curve of life’s pitfalls
So, whether you scream for My name out loud
Or kneel to Me in the quiet, anything but proud
It’s never too late to rise from a downfall
So just, come to Me, for anything at all

Reach out for Me, just reach out with upturned hands
I know the forces don’t always let things go as planned
And be not ashamed if you’ve never before prayed at all
Come to Me now, come to Me, I will understand
Remember it is My footprints that are seen in the sand
When the die lie still and you’re pressed against the wall
When you fear you have finally lost it all indeed
A simple prayer is the liaise to all you need
And never feel any request is too great or too small
Just call My name, it is yours to call

When your skies shift from watchet to gray
And a torrent of troubles come your way
For you’re worn, you’re tired – weary to the bone
When you feel you’ll never, have a say
In all the cruel games that life can play
When the darkness invokes your heart to moan
When you’re convinced without a doubt
That your end seems like the only way out
In the times when it feels your faith has flown
Feel My faith in you, when you can’t find your own

“In the beginning…” starts The Word’s first page
“…Christ be with you all. Amen” marks the final stage
From the first fillip of light I’ve ever shone
That setup the first of a Seven-Day age
Words that still have the power to assuage
Words that can inspire, words that help to atone
On those days, when you’re lost as what to do
Remember “These sayings are faithful and true.”
My love is reaped in reward as all love sown
And always remember, you’re never alone

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dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 58

Hyde Park Poets Rally – Week 71

I Had Words

Depressed man

I had words; words were my all
From opening cap to closing dot
Whether frivolous or thickened plot
Words that captured one leaf’s fall
Or held a fidget much in thrall
Now, I slowly lose all that I’ve got
I had words

Words from days past I can’t recall
Feeling my brain’s descent to pot
I’ve learned to make do with my lot
As from my mind words start to fall
I had words

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dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 50

Missing You

Through the fire, to the limit, to the wall
For a chance to be with you, I’d gladly risk it all
Through the fire, through whatever come what may
For a chance at loving you, I’d take it all the way

“Through the Fire” – Chaka Khan / I Feel For You

Sadness plays on the stereo through and through
Yet I can’t make myself move to turn the dial
Each song gives recollection of the love I once knew
Each song packs a tear slipping past memory’s smile
Another tear drops with the revelation – I’m missing you
For my life, I couldn’t tell you what started it all
Perhaps it was the love that came from up above
A dreamland with the best that we were made of
This was ours – winter, spring, summer or fall
Through the fire, to the limit, to the wall

I see the pictures on the wall, where more memories bestrew
A capture of that infamous “I know something” smirk
That to this day the origins of that one I never did construe
All I can do is once again laugh – God you were such a jerk
Head in hands, I cry through my frustration – I’m missing you
There are times I still turn thinking I heard your footfall
In just that moment forgetting Death’s crow, the cruel thief
For I know I’m imagining things and I’m mad at my own relief
Do I dare think of what I’d decide if choice came to call?
For a chance to be with you, I’d gladly risk it all

Turning off the stereo, I somehow manage to do
Quoted lyrics so beyond affecting all that I feel
I wonder how long before there’s a call to Bellevue
Because I’m laughing, but Lord knows this pain is real
And the tears flow without cessation – I’m missing you
A twisted part of me wonders the price I’d pay,
What trial to finish, what deadliest path by far
Would it take to uncross that most unforgiving star?
If it gained me but a moment with the Fates to parley
Through the fire, through whatever come what may

No hopes of thinking this bout is anywhere near through
I close my eyes, but it’s really beyond my command
I watch it all just as clearly, caught in memory’s purview
As trapped in this heartbroken tide as love letters in the sand
Cold gripped in the moment’s desperation – I’m missing you
I know I’ll have better ones, but no, not this day
And I gather these precious memories of our past
Even while knowing this is just a mood not long to last
And not finding it in the least wrong to honestly say
For a chance at loving you, I’d take it all the way

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Yes, my old friend the Glosa form.

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight ~ Week 43

Reading Raivenne

When the Book of Me was fully open to the life of you, it was tough handling what was written on those really private pages wasn’t it?  Now that the private section is closed off to you, it’s tough not always knowing what’s written there. Especially, the private parts you think may be about you.

Sucks for you, huh?

And what if there are? Private parts written about you…

I could tell you that there is nothing concerning you, but it’s me, with a history of you. We both would know that for a blatant lie. A part of you is always going to be in that very private section of me.

I could tell you a truth that may have something to do with you, but what could you do about it even if you wanted to? Would it assuage your curiosity? Build an even thicker wall between us?

I could mind fuck with you and tell you, yes there is something, something that I can’t tell you, knowing the curiosity of such would drive you crazy. But I couldn’t live with myself putting you through that for no reason other than Schadenfreude.And I am happy to say, I now care a hell of a lot more about who I see reflected in my mirror, than who I thought I saw reflected in your eyes.

Or I could do exactly what I did, and tell you the truth…there is nothing concerning you, that you need to know about. I know, you do not like not knowing anything that may concern you. It may bug you for a hot second, but by the time you’re reading this (if you ever do), I know you’re already over it.

(I hope) you know me well enough to realize, if it really were important for you to know, I’d tell you.

So you say you can’t read me any more, not the way you used to. Is it really that surprising? We had a long time apart and neither of us are the same people anymore. I had to quickly learn to build one bitch of a thick ass wall to function around you without falling apart. The wall held shakily at first, but it is formidable now. I don’t know how to lower it.

Besides, I don’t think I should.

When I desperately need a friend to open up a page to at 3am, your name is no longer on the short list which comes to mind. While, I may still choose tell you things others may not be privy to, you’re no longer among those few 3am-ers.  Thus you no longer have access to deep private pages written any more. And that really is a shame; for you were an excellent sounding board once.

These are the new chapters of the Book of Me.

Only time will tell if you are a continuing character…

…Or already an epilogue.