Only You Will Never Know

Some of you might have seen this before, but I wanted to post this again since some have not seen this, and it was one piece that really helped put a lot of my pain from long ago to rest.

I wrote this before I left for Australia the last time, but it is about what was left behind the first time I was in that country. A large part of my heart remains, no matter how many times I return and leave, and she will never know... but that's ok. On the other hand, I often wish she would read this, just so she would know the reasons she would never know.

'Only You Will Never Know

Are we happier now?

Our love the price I paid
In silence... In agony
Our love the cost of duty
To what? Home?

Am I stronger because?

Our joy was made incomplete
For reasons beyond the moment
Only now understood
But in the end?

Did we feel again?

Our hopes were reawakened
In the dreams of other days
Wondering... waiting
In the shadows of our memory.

Are you happier now?

Our love swept clean
In the fires of rebirth
Our life forgotten
Lost in the wake of time.

Would you care to know?

Who I am...
Is because of you.

I do not think you will ever know.

C.

Toward the Broken Bay...

Some of you might be confused by the title, but it reference the entry and the poem, 'A Small Beach Outside of Sydney'. What follows is something that I have been meaning to write since I returned in 2004, but never really could I suppose... at least about that place and what it has meant to me most of my adult life. I have struggled with less meaningful poems about it, and one very nice work that handles what was lost very well, but nothing ever quite came to me about the simplicity of that time and how I thought I let it all go one evening in February 2004. To me, writing just happens, and when something is revealed to me, I write it (wow, sounds almost like how prophecy works :) If I really mull something over, it tends to sound and feel forced. So, today, I was thinking of age, as I am going to turn 34 on Thursday, and how far I have come and where I am going... the usual, I guess. Still, I simply sat down and wrote. For my part, it feels right. It is what I needed to say... so maybe it is an early birthday present to myself of a sort :)

'Toward the Broken Bay...'

Your gentle caress,
memory of what was forgotten
reborn in a breath, an instant
a glance...
Seeing once more.

Your tender smile,
hope of so many days
rekindled in sights, sounds
a scent...
Yearning amid the tides.

Your wondrous passion,
desire of too many nights
enveloped in emotion, a word
a kiss...
Feeling once again.

My life,
fragmenting for so long,
made manifest upon this shore
a place...
Reaching beyond the soul.

Our love,
Finally laid to rest.

C.

Australia Day

I wanted to wish my Aussie readers a Happy Australia Day whether they consider it 'Invasion' day or not :) I am sure they would wish me the best on the Fourth of July as well. Besides, most holidays these days are not that jingoistic anymore. It is all about food, alcohol, flirting, and forgetting about the government as much as possible.

But, in honor of the idea of patriotism, I leave you with some conflicting ideas about the subject from a bunch of dead people:

'Some claim a place in the list of patriots, by an acrimonious and unremitting opposition to the court. This mark is by no means infallible. Patriotism is not necessarily included in rebellion. A man may hate his king, yet not love his country.' -- Samuel Johnson

'He that accepts protection, stipulates obedience. We have always protected the Americans; we may, therefore, subject them to government.' -- Ibid.

'Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel.' -- Also Ibid.

''My country, right or wrong'' is a thing no patriot would ever think of saying except in a desperate case. It is like saying "My mother, drunk or sober.'' -- G.K. Chesterton (who also knows the mysteries of poetry and cheese :)

'Patriotism is when love of your own people comes first; nationalism, when hate for people other than your own comes first.' -- General Charles de Gaulle (crazy, De Gaulle saying something interesting)

'The notion that a radical is one who hates his country is naïve and usually idiotic. He is, more likely, one who likes his country more than the rest of us, and is thus more disturbed than the rest of us when he sees it debauched. He is not a bad citizen turning to crime; he is a good citizen driven to despair.' -- H.L. Mencken

Last one:

'Guard against the impostures of pretended patriotism.' -- George Washington

While intentionally tongue-in-cheek, the main idea is that even those who might be considered authorities on the subject have different ideas on what patriotism was and is. Personally, I do not mind some flag waving now and then (though I am not a fan of 'God Bless America' at ballgames), but I am hardly a jingoistic nationalist crying 'America, love it or leave it you commie pinko swine' (or perhaps something less Cold War). I do think of the concept of patriotism embedded in human consciousness frequently, but when it comes to holidays, I would rather kick back with a beer or a vodka and cranberry juice (Cape Cod) and grill the carcass of a dead animal with some friends and family.

In any event, have a great day however you decide to spend it.

C.

A Small Beach Outside Of Sydney

The following is one of my oldest poems I am alright with sharing with others, written not long after I got home from Sydney the first time in 1992. I had been meaning to add it anyways, but other entries and other details simply got in the way. Another entry of mine touched on this earlier, but dealt with a person revisiting the issue with hindsight. This poem still feels raw, more in the present than anything.

Oh, for any Aussies or those familiar with Sydney, the beach mentioned is actually Queenscliff, but I've visited the majority of the ocean beaches, and I am quite fond of all of them.

'That Small Beach Outside of Sydney'

Do you remember that small beach outside of Sydney?
Walking where waves caressed the fine sand.
We laughed and passed away our cares
Just to the North, toward the Broken Bay,
I know it was that small beach outside of Sydney.

We sat... watching the sun rise
Feeling the warmth course into our hearts.
I was happy, lying in the morning sun
Holding you in my arms, never wanting to let you go.

I did, though.
We did.

It was for the best we both agree;
Our lives taking different paths.
We said goodbye on that small beach outside
Of Sydney.

On the plane,
I watched the skyline melt into the sea.
I focused on a small piece of earth,
Just to the North, toward the Broken Bay...
Outside of Sydney.

C.

Belvoir St. Typecasting Blues

It is possible and probable I have mentioned some of my theatre experiences, limited though they may have been. I was thinking about them the other day, and rather bore everyone with a long, detailed post of all the things I have done, I figured I would impart some bullet point wisdom of my experiences in condensed form. But first, a tiny bit of background. Most of my work occurred from 1990-1998 and not all years then and I have worn pretty much every hat in the business except costume designer and make up (though I can do my own make-up, pretty easy for men). Mainly, my background is in acting, directing, writing and producing. I have written a couple of one-act plays, though I have lost my favorite one and need to write it again some day (a then homage now tribute to Douglas Adams and other science fiction writers), but never actually directed them. Strangely, my writing includes dramatic criticism and I won an award for it at a festival I originally was not going to attend. Even though I have not been in a production in several years, I would like to revisit the stage in some capacity, simply for the enjoyment. And I think, if finances ever suited, I would like to open my own theatre someday as well. As for the rest, I offer what few pearls of wisdom I can and perhaps a few anecdotes from those strange and enjoyable days.

1) You never know when you might be working with a future Academy Award winner: In 1992, while at the University of New South Wales, I managed an internship at the Belvoir St. Theatre in Sydney. I had already done one production that fall (more on that later) and was attempting another that wound up falling through, and was rather keen on seeing what this production was all about. It was an adaptation of Aristophanes' Frogs that was written in Aussie vernacular. Basically, my job boiled down to doing whatever the production company wanted me to do and I pretty much learned a great deal than I had ever known about lighting, sound, set design, stage management, rehearsals and blocking in those 9 weeks. As it turned out, the cast was delightful, and far more professional than my experiences in theatre had led me to believe. During rehearsals, when I was not assisting in manual labor (like building the set, putting up lights, etc), I got to know some of the cast, and of course the director, Geoffrey, who wound up winning an Oscar for his performance in Shine, and has been brilliant in most everything I've seen him in. Oh, also in Frogs was a young woman named Toni, who became known for her role in The Sixth Sense and, more recently, Little Miss Sunshine.

2) You never know when your real accent will be considered a poor imitation of said accent: While it is true I have a very flat accent for an American, and therefore non-existent as a Texan (which has helped at times overseas), I should hardly think I sound like I am trying to put on an American accent, especially when I was using my normal speaking voice. Admittedly, some have mistaken me for a Canadian or Californian, but I would have thought my continuous use of y'all in conversation would at least give away something. In any event, I was in another Greek play when I was in Australia so many moons ago, and we were doing the less humorous Medea, and I had the part of the tutor of Medea's sons. From a historical point of view, my accent should have fit since in Greek times, many foreigners were used as tutors of nobility. However, one of the musicians relayed to me at the wrap party that a friend of his, in a very authoritative way, complained that my American accent was so fake. The musician then replied 'Really? That's so funny to know, considering he's from Dallas'. Needless to say, the lad's smugness dissolved faster than a slug in the Dead Sea.

3) Injuries and emergencies: You never know... Sometimes an injury or emergency surgery can change a performance, lose you a part, or force some serious improvisation. In my case, I have been the beneficiary of all three, if one can call it that. During the casting for a musical called Little Me (made famous for Sid Ceasar's performance as all the main male parts), I suffered through an emergency surgery (the details are not important except for the fact it was exceedingly painful) that forced me to miss the end of the auditions, although I had read well for one particular part that I had expected to get.(so well that almost the entire cast, even the guy who eventually got the part agreed I was best for it) I failed to call in the next day for class and the final auditions (silly me, I was unconscious from the pain), so the director/professor gave the part to someone else, who was a better singer no doubt. In the end, I wound up with multiple 'accented' parts (meaning I did something like 6 accents in the play, sort of a running gag), which to me, turned out to be more fun in the end.

When doing Romeo and Juliet, my best friend had the parts of Romeo and Mercutio on alternating nights, and I was playing Balthasar, his faithful manservant, so Ihad more dialogue with him than any other person I was involved with, including an important scene in the last act. During the third act one night, just after Romeo kills Tybalt, Benvolio is supposed to rush him off stage. In a fit of adrenaline, the Benvolio pushed a little too hard causing Adam to severely sprain his knee (he later found he had a slight ACL tear I think). Thankfully, we had an intermission, but he was in excruciating pain during the rest of the performance, shortening the play considerably. In the early fifth act, about all he could say was 'I defy you stars!' negating any pertinent information I was supposed to tell him... I will tell you improving iambic pentameter is rough. He gutted it out and finished the run, though we had to modify his fight scenes some due to his knee.

4) You never know when you have to direct a play that has already been cast: 'Grease: You're the One that I Want' notwithstanding, in theatre, the director makes all the casting decisions (unlike say, film). However, I had just finished one play and was requested to direct another at the behest of the writer of the play I had just directed. The problem the play was already cast and I had to begin immediately (I had not quite 5 weeks of rehearsal). Being masochistic back then (1998), I agreed and embarked on one of my more bizarre theatrical experiences. First off, the cast was not quite what I wanted, but I had no choice, since I was lucky that the whole play was cast. It had 15 parts (and all 15 had to be on stage at once) I think, and that was immense for a one-act. So, I did the best I could, but with all the school schedule conflicts and such, the only time we could rehearse was after 10pm at night, and I even had to deal with conflicts on the day of dress rehearsals (so I turned our tech into a full dress to help those who had to miss), and since the conflicts were school conflicts, I had to deal with it. Secondly, the staging was tricky because it was set in a high school classroom and I was in a thrust stage, therefore someone was always going to have their back to the audience. Thankfully, I was able to minimize it, and the play turned out pretty well... in fact, had a full house both nights. I admit, I was pretty proud of the show all things considered.

5) Finally, I think Stage Combat Instructors are jealous of Fencers: In stage combat, the object is to make a deadly art look flashy. In fencing, the idea is to 'kill' your opponent. Needless to say, Stage Combat people don't care for fencers that much, mostly because it is tricky to unlearn your footwork. Either way, I am sure it is jealousy :)

That should cover the high(and low)lights of a sort, and I am still fond of the experiences. Maybe I will return to the stage in some respect one day.

C.

Travels

As promised, here is my sort-of travel article, more generally weird advice from my many wandering across this strange and wonderful world. Frankly, it is much lighter fare than the last post (though if you have an interest in Holocaust issues, do read) and other issues I have been dealing with today.

So, I have decided on a few comments in the form of a little advice for those really strange situations that always come up when traveling. I have written several travelogues and when I was in Australia last time, I kept a travel journal I updated on another site that became a series of essays on my visit and walkabout of a sort. Of course, my journey did not begin there, and my fascination with traveling begins at a very young age when we would pile into the car and visit my dad's family in Arkansas. Since then, I have managed to visit and/or drive through every state in the 'Lower 48' (that quest being completed this past summer when I finally went through North and South Carolina) and a couple of provinces in Canada. However, most of my experiences, odd or otherwise have occurred overseas, starting in 1991 with a trip to Eastern Europe and the then Soviet Union. It would not be the Soviet Union for long, as their government collapsed and was faced with a coup d'etat scant weeks after I left. The atmosphere of the post-Communism era in Europe and the almost post-Communism era in Russia was astounding. It seemed like everyone in each country I visited loved us or at least loved our dollars. I am sure the people have changed since then, having not been back, though I would not mind visiting again. Since, I was last there, Czechoslovakia became the Czech Republic and Slovakia, Hungary and Poland stayed more or less the same; the Ukraine became a nation (and was preparing to declare its independence from the USSR while I was there); and the Baltics have gone their own way. Plus, Leningrad became St. Petersburg. In fact, when I left it was Leningrad... one year later, when my Dad visited there, it was St. Petersburg.

Well, this entry is not so much a travelogue per se, so I will spare you a whole lot more detail, especially about my two trips to Australia. Let us just say I was very young (19) the first time I visited, and older (31) the second time. Needless to say, time and the political climate in the world changed my view and most others. Regardless, political climate did not alter my enjoyment of the visits.

Ok, some travel tips... my top 10 things to do/ or not do when traveling this wide and crazy world. Also, I am not going to give you obvious advice, like say, don't drink the water or always keep your passport safe. Oh no, what you will find below is either going to be incredibly useful or totally useless depending on your situation:

1) Pack Light- Some might think this belongs in the obvious section, but no... I have seen some luggage that will overwhelm the most strong willed of pursers. Seriously, in Eastern Europe, the lighter you travel the better because the trains off load quick and you need to get your luggage quickly or you might have to reclaim it in Bratislava when you are headed to Warsaw. In Australia, I found that often times bus and rail stations were not so close together, or the local hostel was a bit of a hike (on average 1 to 2 miles in some places), so traveling light in the heat of an Australian summer prevents your death from dehydration or a host of any other heat related issues. Granted, another way to deal with this is to rent a car or fly or take a cab, but those are not concerns for us mortals and backpackers.

2) The best deal in not always the best deal- This is mostly to deal with my experience with hostels, no not the ones out of Eurotrip or Hostel, rather than conventional hotels, but it is possibly my advice might apply. Just because a place is 20 dollars a night, does not mean it is worth the 20 bucks. When in Australia, I stayed at a variety of YHA's (mostly safe and comfy youth hostels), and all averaged around 20 to 25 dollars a night. Some were worth it, others were not, especially when air conditioning is a concern. Sometimes it is better to pay a little more for the creature comforts, than swelter in subtropical heat to save a few dollars. On the other hand, I stayed in a few places (the Dunsburough and Augusta, Western Australia YHA's) that were worth the money and then some. I think in the end, for me, it all averaged out.

3) Try stir-fried Kangaroo in black bean sauce- In Adelaide, I had the most marvelous birthday dinner at a Thai restaurant that served Kangaroo... yummy. I don't really recommend salt water Croc, though... a little too chewy.

4) Don't take the scenic route into Canada unless your license or license plate is from a state bordering Canada-Sounds strange, eh? But I digress, the Canadian guards were only doing their job... a couple of college students up for the day to go visit Winnipeg and decided to take the scenic rout. Instead, the border guards see our Texas plates and licenses and decide we might be smuggling drugs into the Great White North. I explained I was going to school a scant 80 miles away, but to no avail. Therefore, they wound up searching our car. Because of that lovely experience, we came back through the main crossing on I-29 in North Dakota and had no problems.

5) Do not attempt to kill the March flies- One of the many pestilences in Australia, the March fly is one of the most annoying, for it will constantly buzz you, and it bites... much like a horsefly. Indeed, aside from its aggressiveness, I am not sure how much different it is from a horsefly. The problem is, the March fly's buddies seem to know when you whack one of them, and it only makes them madder. So, kill a March fly at your peril.

6) Digital Cameras do not handle seawater and coral very well, or at all- Tell this to my digital camera, still resting at the bottom of the Coral Sea... *sigh*.

7) See the Hermitage- for our Tennessee audience, not Andrew Jackson's home (though I hear it is nice), but the museum in St. Petersburg, Russia. Truly one of the great museums in the world, rivaled only by the Louvre I suspect. I have not seen the Louvre, so I cannot make that judgement, but I have it on good authority.

8) Cape Le Grande National Park- A not as well visited place, as it is some 60 miles or so from the nearest town(and about 600 miles from Perth), but well worth it for the great beaches, the sometimes friendly dolphins, and at times, the magnificent desolation. I sat on a beach at the Eastern edge of the cape for about half an hour or so before another person showed up. One of the best half hours of my life... never felt more empty and alive at the same time.

9) Travel across Sydney Harbour (Port Jackson) by ferry- For Sydneysiders, they would probably say, well, sure. It's far easier to cross by ferry than via the tunnel or the Bridge... though pretty scenic across the Bridge. Trust me, the ferry is the way to go to visit the north side of the harbour and easily the best way to get to the most scenic zoo on Earth, Taronga Zoo (which is on a hillside that overlooks the harbour).

10) Finally, have fun. I know it sounds a little trite and obvious, but I have so many involved in 'whirlwind' tours not having fun when they should be. Of course, this might be difficult if you are traveling for work, but the above advice would probably not apply in that case in any event.

Hope this advice helps, for you never know when these events might occur in your travels.

C.

An Epiphany

This particular piece actually fits my own philosophical debates concerning higher questions and sometimes higher answers. (and is an excellent continuation of the previous post) I wrote it in a fit of inspiration (hence an epiphany) while traveling along the Great Ocean Road in South Australia back in 2004. It was sort of a lead in to many of the issues that I have tackled since and hope to continue to explore, and what really lead to my writing many more poems in my travels that year in Australia.

'Epiphanies'

All my yesterdays combine
at points hidden and seen,
in sweeping vistas and distant shores;
places I have longed for,
wanted, and still feel.

This fabric of being cries out,
desperate to understand these moments
counting on tomorrow's concealed joy.
Is it right to wonder
For what I know could never be?

Journeys into future's days
are lost in revelations of past beauty;
an instant of perfect harmony,
a resurgence of the unrequited,
worth the struggles, travails, and pain.

Within myself I have found
memories of the unknowable
reaching beyond time and soul
into the spiral arms
of a universe's welcoming love.

It lingers in us all...
our lives, our loves
our pain, and our sorrow;
borne from the cradle of time
yet rests in the currents of our soul.

I understand the truth
of who I might still be;
No longer waiting in a world of dreams.

C.

Chasing Twilight

Sometimes I like to write sequels in poems, mostly because I have changed, for good or ill, since the last iteration of the poem. (which in the case of these two is about 3 years and some change apart, more than enough time to warrant a sequel). In the following pieces, I am not sure how much I have changed, and I admit that I wrote the sequel to the first poem more for effect due to being a little inspired by the sun setting in the Indian Ocean on the western coast of Australia. Also, the poems vary in style... the latter has some rhyme structure, but I do not rhyme very well. Still, for some reason, I felt I needed to utilize such structure in the poem. Anyway, do enjoy and have a great weekend.

'The Long Twilight'

Dreaming of worlds that never were
Longing for nights that might have been
These are the thoughts and memories
Of nothing left to give

I am haunted by regret...

Knowing the truth of things not said
Seeking the past of futures dayI
t does not calm the sorrow
Of anything that could remain

I am chased by remorse...

Holding on beyond the night
Smoldering within fragments of dreams
These are the visions and remnants
Of mornings borne through pain

I am battered by pride...

Wondering about what will not mend
Listening for what will never answer
Those are the faces and forms
Of what has passed away

I am haunted...

Not hating nor loving
Hearing but not listening
Languishing in twilight
Lost in a world of dreams.

'Twilight Revisited'

'Is a dream a lie that don't come true, or is it something worse?' --- Bruce Springsteen, The River

I know the solace of regret...

Torn by choices from distant days
Sensing what could have been forlorn
Laid bare in full view
Of the nebulous light of 'morn.

I yearn for a memory of ignorance...

Borne from remnants of desire
Yielding to a truth that would not stay
Lost in the sorrow of desolation
Caressed by the shadows of a fading day.

I seek the embrace of absolution...

Coursing through veins of doubt
Removed from this soul's gentle light
Welcomed ever so warmly
Into the impending wasteland of the night.

I am haunted by twilight...
Forever trapped in my world of dreams.

C.

Night Train To Perth

I guess I will continue a common thread, posting some of my work from when I was in Australia and/or my Australia-related poems. I will say, the last time I was in that country I composed some of (what I feel) my better stuff. The following is another experiment in still, using similar lines but changing the order of the lines... I think there is a technical term to the form. Me, I just like the way it felt.

'Night Train to Perth'

Note: The Indian Pacific is one of the great train journeys in the world, taking 72 hours to get from Sydney to Perth. I started the journey at the midway point, in Adelaide(only a mere 36 hour journey from there ). I wrote this as darkness descended upon the Nullabor plain, one of the emptiest places in the world. I did in fact do this journey twice, though I left from Kalgoorlie (12 hours from Perth) and went all the way through to Sydney, a scant 60 hours later. I then boarded another train for a 14 hour journey to Byron Bay. But what a way to travel...

Beneath the glow of crimson skies,
The sound of metallic thunder rolls.
While cities fade into deepening shadow,
The future is all the journey knows.

Shadow engulfs the surrounding plains,
Within the wonder of starry skies;
Metallic thunder closing all around,
While onward still the journey lies.

Amidst the beauty of such a night,
This journey knows it cannot die.
The sound of metallic thunder rolls,
Beneath the calm of midnight skies.

C.

Profiles In Motion

Last time I was in Sydney (boy I make that sound like I go there a lot, only twice, 12 years apart), I traveled extensively by mass transit when I was not hoofing it. The place I was staying was only about 3 miles from Downtown, so it was a long walk, but not annoyingly so. Depending on traffic in Sydney's old winding streets, walking was sometimes easier. Also, I could take the train, but that was only so effective as well. Anyway, I hopped onto a bus one busy afternoon and winded my way to town and noticed the blurred reflection of the various persons getting on and off the bus. It struck me as a metaphor for how we deal with each other and the business of our lives.

The poem below is the result of such inspiration and I should point out is pretty stream of consciousness and I am aware of the lack of punctuation. I simply felt the style was right for what I was seeing.

'Profiles In Motion'

Are we all the same
So long as we are in motion?

Glances traversing sensing movement aside
Rushing into chaotic din within without
Seeing briefly through an instant
Blurred crowds pushing reacting tearing
Overwhelmed... hopes thrown askance
By the restless tide.

Do they know
What we become in motion?

Faces lost details forgotten trapped
Locked away in limbo recall pointless
Glancing questions vacant answers
Hollowed racing amidst shadows of time
Contained... lives held down
Where concrete and steel collide.

Are we aware
This price of being in motion?

Forms fuse merge blank forced
Charging leading through mindless clutter
Losing stripped vestige of souls
Maddened frenetic pace fraught
Burdened... in the guilt of days
Made manifest by routine.

They all drift away
The longer I stay in motion.

C.

Conversationally Speaking

I am always one that is interested in conversation, so long as it is not a one-sided conversation, then it becomes a monologue (for either party involved) and, unless you happen to be a great lecturer or public speaker, will end in boredom for one of the parties involved. I certainly have been on both ends of such conversation disasters, but nominally, it tends to be a rare thing, as I tend to be a conversational chameleon, moving from one conversation to the next with relative ease on a variety of subjects. This ability has served me well in the past, and it has caused some major issues too, but those are tales for another time.

I noticed when traveling abroad the variety and numbers of conversations I had. And, traveling alone and being an American, I tended to start a conversation with the random person in a hostel, on a beach, or most often, while traveling from point A to point B (but never from point B to point C... I refused as a point of pride, lol). What got me thinking was the nature and brevity of many of my conversations as I moved on to another destination, or those I spoke to either were moving on, annoyed with me, or were simply bored. I thought about what made me remember them and whether or not they would remember our words and time together. As a general rule, I suspect it was not the case. For my part, on my most recent trip, I remember dozens of snippets of dialogue, a few pertinent, memorable conversations, and one... one though so brief, I remember it as if I were still there. Five minutes, perhaps, but five minutes that set me thinking about this issue and later inspired me to write a rather stream of consciousness piece (and one of my few poems that does not capitalize at every line... one of my stranger quirks, but to me normally gives an even feel to a poem) that delves into the nature of our words and what we remember about them.

(incidentally, one thing I am doing is starting off with a cross-section of styles... which unfortunately means I will have to post a poem that rhymes soon... not my strong point at all)

'Quality of Conversation'

We speak exchanging pleasant
words and double meanings losing
steam at every nervous instant,
afraid to hear what we should
wondering if these voices are all we are
trapped in a space whose
walls confine yet cannot be contained.

A silent pause damnable tho'
welcome normal but hurtful,
momentum mired in what might
be a chance at deeper reflection
a connection incapable of emerging
strains the borders of our tension
sending the heart and soul into a pensive stall.

Opposing forces prey upon us
noisy frantic pulling all around
fragments of obligation call to our rest,
yet reasonable inherent possibility
will be partially shuffled low
as what remains of these thoughts
dissolve and scatter in the full light of day.

Time slips into the present...
hoping I can remember if you remember me.

C.

The Quiet Earth

When a dream goes astray...

That was the original introduction to this poem (on my writing portfolio, I was allowed a little one line intro to each piece posted), and it still holds to some extent, for this poem is certainly about what was and would never be again. Not that this was a bad thing, but I needed to write it to close one door and move on completely. I think I had always pined away for what was even when I told myself I was not. Simple fact of human nature, I think. In any event, I had spent a long day upon a beach in Western Australia, just watching, listening, and I knew... I knew I could write it all away. I had reached a point where I could accept the present, and the past could simply be laid to rest. The end results were several poems that served to heal, but this one had an edge to it, I guess, that allowed me to finally understand how I go to that place, and how to move on. I admit, it is quite cynical, more so than I am these days, but I think have always been more cynical as a writer than as a person...

'The Quiet Earth'

In the depth of my heart,
I knew what had to be...

You believed in the best of me
Tho' saw the worst in my eyes;
I gave you little in return,
Save the burden of my pride.

Is that the price I would pay
To be damned by my love?

You wanted everything for me
Yet understood the pain borne within;
I held back all my fears,
'Til their fury could not be contained.

In the tumult of this life,
I could not compromise.

You remain in the depth of my heart
But lost to the quiet of my soul;
I, of course, cannot give anymore
For my world has grown far too cold.

So many years gone...
All that lingers is the silence.

C.