Tag Archives: forward

Facing The Demons That Lurk Up The Ladder, Step One

Climbing into the darkness. 
That’s how it always starts. 
I don’t know where I was beforehand,
 and I don’t know why I am pursuing that space above. 
My climb up always starts with ease and determination in step.
Right, left, right, left, right until I am left at the top rung. 
I hesitate.
.

That’s what I do when I’m uncertain of what to do next,
 of whether or not I should continue my march up. 
All I am sure of is the darkness, it is everywhere. 
Even when I’m not looking, I sense the chill
 and heaviness presses on my lungs. 
The chill that envelopes and squeezes. 
I don’t like the feelings I have here. 
.

I hesitate with trepidation, for myself and for what will become of me
 when I step beyond that which I am able to see. 
Progress can only be made when movement is forward,
 or to that place of unknowns in the dark. 
Progress can only be made when progression is achieved
over doing nothing,
but hesitate. 
.

It is a more complex entity, that space. 
It presents more to chew on. 
If you are hungry enough, you will forge your self, your feet, your mark. 
Moving on is not scarey, but entering a room,
 when before, I was only climbing up to an unknown, unseen space.
It is unexpected, and foreign and presents it’s own set of things to understand. 
.

I have gotten this far, yes, so I suck up all strengths that I once had 
and climb into that room. .

I stand alone,
.

as though a spotlight highlights my entry. 
Can it be sensed that I am filled with apprehension? 
Can it be that obvious?
 The light points out the fact that I am sweating. 
 The light shows that I am ill-at-ease.
.

I go no further and stand alone in a room filled with fear.
.

My fear to climb.
 Not a fear of darkness.
.

I am afraid to better myself, to go up,
 to grow.
I am afraid of success, afraid
to succeed at being anything that is different than how I am now,
 a mediocre bystander in the dark
 in a room filled with my fears.
.

.
-dld january last, 2011, and there will never be another
__________________________________________
ThinkingTen – On Location, Mondays: In a room filled with fear.

questioner & writer discussing habits

Q: don’t you feel guilty for not getting much done?
W: i’ve a few journals with notations all over
they need me

i have (pause) written, as tho i’m going to finish it shortly
they need me

and things with boxes around them and stars,
exclamation points and lines with arrows
directing to what’s ‘Next’,
i guess to warrant urgent completion
they need me most

Q: how do you move forward from so much distraction, from so many artistic outbursts?
W: i stare at the page, waiting for the page to talk
forgetting about those lost words,
’cause that’s too much of a pain to search for them.
laziness comes into this funk too.
aren’t i a pathetic role model for writer’s everywhere!?!
Q: she laughs

W: i’d much rather sink into the scene before me…
the fire
a pot of coffee
and an ashtray between us

than to take all those loose ends and
connect the dots
to make sense.

Q: so, you feel like you are fighting the page to coax out the words?
W: i fight scuffmarks on pages overturned
the attempts are fruitless and the ritual sabbotaged,
but that’s my place, isn’t it? to take the seeds from the rind
and water them down with less words
excreting more growth, more sense
so i am left with
a comfortable poem to leave on my coffeetable,
next to the ashtray and wandered dots of no consequence to me,
yet.

Q: thank you for this insight. i will continue this interview in next month’s edition.

……………………………………………………….3/28/2008; rev. 8/10/10, rev. 11/30/10
Writing Challenge for KaizenMuse – The Writer is IN, Writing Club

dear me

dear me,
I’m in my eighth decade
an octogenarian, is how I’m deemed to the public
and stamped with all-too noticable marks of death –
melanoma ridden age spots and a brain
not knowing how to do simple tasks.

I do dislike the fog hovering,
yet imparting clarity when it’s appropriate
when my life depends on such knowledge,
like now.
 .
this is why I write.
although frail and withered
from remedies man has made to conquer the evils dealt,
man’s homemade unnatural concoctions
have no place in my life, for
i can still climb mountains and dance a belly dance
in my mind
that hasn’t been altered,
yet the disease I was born with continues to rear the ugliness.
 .
I perservere
and for reasons only
the core inside 
knows,
I live now, to connect
that core within’s motivations
to share, so that you may learn, or at least
nod your head, so I know you understand.
 .
the wrenching of my gut, my umbilicle spirit
saved me from deceptive hands
cloaked and wiling to compress the air from my lungs
strength, forward, rejubenate, recompse, MEi knew that i had to depart from that life
to live to find the ME, that was lost, stolen, raped.
 .
my umbilicle spirit
gave strength to move forward,
rejuvenate and recompose who I am.
my umbilicle spirit
turned inside-out, to reveal all that is important
so I could dismiss all that is not.
 .
.
~dld november 10, 2010
_____________________________
dual writing challenges:
T10:  Words, Inc., Wednesday:
(1) fog, and (2) frail
The Muse Is In:  Prompt #86, Wise Elder