Scratching Its Way Out

I've been working on a few short stories, hunting and pecking in my head, piecing them out inch by inch. It's great to see how much I've grown, writing. I've also been doing some Critter critiques on Critters.org.  This has helped the most because I can see just how much other writers struggle with how to express themselves. How to push out a head full of dreams on paper is a daunting errand. Some won't make it to the finish, but I intend to overcome all obstacles.

I think that immersing myself in my loves and joys has given me so much hope! My wonderful wife, lovely and sometimes frustrating children and various horror and sci-fi stories that I'm reading lend so much to my progress. I'm glad of that, for sure, as the days are dreary without them.

These short stories may be nothing. So what. Who cares if they don't hit the mark of commercial success? All I know is that I have to write them. That's all that I feel, the need to create, scratching its way out of my mind.

Comatose

Slipping into an emotional coma. Seemed to be drained of what little remained in the first place. I try to explain to myself that there is an underlying message for it all and it probably is. I would like to think that giving it my best is what I have done. Don’t know how to manage loving when loving seems to be returned to the sender like mail that went to the wrong house. Nothing changes, nothing stays the same. It’s a cycle that I seem to be drawn into, undoing what has been done, walking around a path that ends up at the same wall I just climbed over. Sadness pours like a fountain.

Don’t cry for me, I am awaiting closure. Not so much more I can take. God asks me to have patience, and to ignore my pride, which I do. Pride is the offspring of the Ego, and they are both monsters, so much that I don’t know which is worse. Sadness.
My eyes dream of something I remembered and possibly lost again. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s much more than a man such as myself can even hope to accomplish.

God grants you what you need in order to get over. It may need to end in order to get over. And if that’s His plan, I’m good. I’m fine with it.

Been Waiting, Lord

Whereas they want it all, grabbing blindly at none, my eyes are open so give me some
Been waiting on this Lord, wondering how it’s gonna come,
How my hands will be positioned, where my irises will be aimed,
Will it follow the way of the world, or the rules of the game
Where profit equals smiles through a soul’s exchange,
Or perhaps a miracle that cannot be explained?
Will selfishness usher the demise of my favor?
Will I ever bear fruit for my labor?
Or will that sweet taste be unavailable for me to savor?

Whereas they want it all, lost in the error of their fun, my eyes are open so give me some
Been waiting on this Lord, wondering how it’s gonna come,
How my mouth will sing your praise, or be full of lamentation,
Will I be standing amidst a family and their adoring admiration,
Where my soul is at ease and I live free of frustration?
Or perhaps I am pursuing more education?
Will I suffer the sins that my father has wrought?
Will I leave this world still seeking the unsought?
Or will I rest assured of the price my soul was bought?

Lend me your hand, God, let me stand
I want to be your warrior, but I am just a man
To work out the journey and perform your plan
My eyes are watching you Lord, here I am.

Self-Same/No Escape

Another one from long ago...

Just as I stagger in, seems like I’m staggering alone
Just seems lonely as I smile ‘cause they know I’m a regular
Charles is familiar and I’m more than proud to say I’m back
And there she is with a shied grin, black pumps waving
And there she is with her hair pulled back and a red pencil skirt
And she, never looking but I want them to look, I want them
They should visit the new me in fashionable attire, crisp new jeans
A mean New York cap and coke and vodka in a plastic cup
I am abrupt and tattered dealing my face like a deck of cards
So someone’s fancy can jump free of the ground
Still sulking in one spot, one shot down gazing in amazement
At a crowded frenzy of blinded lies I am making friends with images
Knowingly bludgeoning my wits against a wall of recidivism

If God had designed the underlying mechanisms to regenerate
He would have made a failsafe, a secret place of escape
I want them to know my urge to hold my thoughts in their hands
All the twinkles of my stars as the hourglass drains of sand

Here I am again, a bustling drunkard minus friends
Shuffling in expensive shoes with no ends to lend, laughing
At stories of hollow conquests, little hedonist hopes throwing my
Input into the fray, throwing my love like a baseball, then fouled away
Steadying upon a stump of associates crashing their names in my head
I don’t remember names well enough, but faces stay painted
And in my fingers I fix a playing theme, I have traced the lines a hundred times
Escape is never to be had, and I know, I know there is no walking around it

There is sound that pulses like light through the dark, hanging like a halo
My God should be angry, my whimpers swallowed and subdued,
I never ask Him when I should, “My Lord, what must I do?”
The night is not an answer, it is only a clue

The roses seem brighter here, but how is that true?
Even with another destination, there is always you
Even in another place, you will remain.
There is no escape. Your self is the same.

Pink Pants

Can’t you see it’s bothering me?
A stale kiss covering your caustic angst
You’re dripping your world in front of me, a watery nothing
To step over and avoid while ducking your lollipop face
Tears are for friends of martyrs and their inevitable Wake

Don’t worry too long with your nose in the air
I am punching holes in your picture, a pen through your eyes
I really hope you see me, I hope you see
It’s really bothering me and I don’t want you to change
Your reddish lips part to say something I heard yesterday

Distant stars caress my memories as I hold the night sky
Something of a wonder, this world, its charm
Something of a bargain of evil, ring the alarm
You’ve risen to cause trouble again, and you cry
You cry buckets when my eyes are dry

LOL! Can’t you see it’s bothering me?
These robots, iron-headed mules that pose like marionettes,
Trying to hold up the veil, its transparent glory,
the strawberry smear on a white sheet
the typographical error I choose to delete.

Won’t you come with me, huh, won’t you?
The whistles of candid enthusiasm
Marked optimism, the blurred vision of hope
Sitting in the right place, wanting nothing, asking never
To see something else I don’t want to need.

It’s me, it’s you and it’s time in a bottle
Preserved for your attention on a day when you can’t think
I’m pushing down the pedal, I mash at full throttle
Washing the reds in whites will turn your pants pink
Put some bleach in the water and soak them in the sink.

The New Hope Vote

Here we are, much of us crippled with that ever so familiar butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling, on the eve of what will essentially become the most profound historic moment ever: the possible election of a black man to the highest office in the US, and the possibility of a woman as Vice President.

Either way this goes, the shockwaves will be felt throughout the planet, as we make way to reverse the damage to our reputation with other countries that we would normally have strong ties. Our relationships with many of our neighbors are strained, and people in our own country find the government action/inaction appalling and ridiculous to say the least.

I spoke to a soldier, an Obama supporter, and she remarked on how the War in Iraq has gone on too long, now with over 4,000 U.S. troops pushing up daisies, which leaves us with an option to pull out with 2 years. Many desire victory before we withdraw, but with no clear enemy, no face to place on terrorism, we are fighting blind anyway. Terrorism will never be quelled, for those who are willing to throw their lives away for one common cause, make an invincible opponent. They are everywhere...and we can't tell a terrorist from an orthodox sheikh. America is lost in the desire to destroy something we don't understand, and in that sorry ignorance, we may be digging our own graves.

So, be careful to vote for the possibility of peace, but more importantly, vote for what you believe in. My father and I disagree on the candidates, and his reason for voting is a bit of fanaticism in my opinion, but it is his right to choose. That right will be defended at all costs.