and because I'm trying to be productive today, here's something else!

Fireworks

A star

one constant

in the myriad of ephemeral sparks

falling from the sky:

counterpoint to the beautiful burnout

raining ash down onto this dry ground.

Water, part 1

This is the beginning of the story I was talking about the other day, but I'm not really that happy with it. I think it sounds overworked and pretentious. But, I've been feeling that way alot about my stuff lately, so I'll post this anyway and work on fixing this problem ::sigh:: Hope you like it anyway!

In the River

The night was dark, except where the mist collected light in the air, low hanging stars in the solid sky. The grass glittered with freshly fallen raindrops as I walked slowly down the archaic cobblestone streets that did their best to connect the community. My mind still hummed with the after affects of a busy day at work: I pondered problems left half solved, re-hashed carefully made conversations with superiors, and sighed as I thought of the many looming deadlines. But as my mind whirled and my feet paced, the languid evening air began to soak through the mantle of worry I wore and ease my mind. The streets I had driven down so many times possessed an unusual mystery as the fog bent shapes and shadows into new patterns, and admiring these, I paid little attention to where I walked. After a time, I came to an old bridge, perched over a stream bursting with the day’s rain. I paused for a moment to watch as the usually docile waters surge forward with determination, dragging at trunks of trees that usually stood high above its’ banks. The silt from the shores stained the water brown, and for a moment, the river’s pulsing waves appeared to be hundreds of powerful swimmers riding the rapids, pushing forwards over rock formations they had overwhelmed, arms outreached, then snapping back in sharp breast strokes. A sharp snap from a tree, giving in at last to the river’s relentless heaving, drew my mind back to reality. The tree, unmoored from the loose mud slammed against the bridge and with the excruciating rasping of metal tearing from wood, the bridge collapsed into the river. Spinning dizzy, battered by waves and wood I struggled to the surface, gasping for breath. The scintillating cold sucked me back under and rushed me on down the river. Head over heels, I was pushed onward by the throng of insubstantial swimmers until I felt my body dragging on sharp shards of gravel. I clutched handfuls of it, as if holding the pebbles would slow my progress through the darkness. A passing wave thrust me toward the shore and I dragged myself onto the half flooded island and collapsed, curling into a ball to fight the cold.

My Inspirations

I promise I'll put some more of my stuff up soon, but in the interim, here are some of my favorite poems:

in time of daffodils

in time of daffodils(who know

the goal of living is to grow)

forgetting why,remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim

the aim of waking is to dream,

remember so(forgetting seem)

in time of roses(who amaze

our now and here with paradise)

forgetting if,remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond

whatever mind may comprehend,

remember seek(forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be

(when time from time shall set us free)

forgetting me,remember me

e.e. cummings

Dream Girl

YOU will come one day in a waver of love,
Tender as dew, impetuous as rain,
The tan of the sun will be on your skin,
The purr of the breeze in your murmuring speech,
You will pose with a hill-flower grace.

You will come, with your slim, expressive arms,
A poise of the head no sculptor has caught
And nuances spoken with shoulder and neck,
Your face in a pass-and-repass of moods
As many as skies in delicate change
Of cloud and blue and flimmering sun.

Yet,
You may not come, O girl of a dream,
We may but pass as the world goes by
And take from a look of eyes into eyes,
A film of hope and a memoried day.

Carl Sandburg

Always Marry an April Girl

Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.

Ogden Nash

IN A STATION OF THE METRO

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet, black bough.

Ezra Pound