Tag Archives: next

Cloud of Doors, and Things to Open

i’m waiting on a cloud

i see a door

.

i move closer

one becomes three

.

i begin to wonder

which one to open

,

now another row’s behind them

.

.

.

one, has me mesmerized

it looks wise, worn wood

in my gaze, the word HABIT appears

it opens, ajar

.

i begin to move into it

before i realize this is where i am,

i freeze

standing, thinking, excitement prevails

in

an

instant i am anxious, afraid

fearful as to what comes next

.

.

i’m in my bedroom

all i see are the piles

clothes, enveopes to file, envelopes

to PAY NOW that had been left, always

on the top, so i’ll pay…

but now,

all i see is old,

yellowing,

how tired they look, they have given up

on me

i didn’t care enough to

hang up the dress jacket,

or stick the card i bought from MOMA

in a frame

.

.

i tire.

i need to sit.

i need to release the tension from my room.

.

i look around me, i see

the depression glass emeral green vanity tray,

the noritake candy dish that holds the pink ostrich

feather that gathers dust, two sterling button hooks,

pyramid shaped rocks, and the porcelain japanese hat-pin holder

all sitting ‘Just So’

this is a comfortable place

a memory of a time, a place, a circumstance

when i was last happy

with myself

.

.

a back door falls off it’s hinges

PROCRASTINATE begins to disappear

but now a wall appears

the arched opening commands attention

a cloud sign reads SURROUND YOURSELF WITH BEAUTY

.

to my right, a mausoleum

as i walk through it’s hallway,

i notice little doors, drawers really

they are lettered; pay, return form, cancel, throw away,

make appointment, call, send

.

this is my wall of procrastination and guilt

none of the door’s sit on the floor off it’s hinges

.

i will look again, tomorrow, it is getting late

.

as i leave, i see one larger door,

it reads

FEAR

it looks like a mood ring changing colours

as my emotions change

.

.

i tire.

i need to sit.

i need to release the tensions from that resting place.

.

as i walk away

i remember the lace that graced my dressing table

and the tablature, my shrine, is remembered

.

i smile.

i smile for holding that memory,

i smile for the one i’ve yet to create

.

.

three cherub muses encircle me

to tell me when a door has fallen,

these muses are named INITIATE, DISCIPLINE and

STRIVE

.

.

i have much to learn,

but it’s good to know that i have chrub muses

to guide me through these doors and other things to open

.

.

-dld o2.o2.11-

___________________________

the muse is in, prompt # 109

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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

honesty

realiity
out of reach, except for whatever that THING IS we shared
still HAVE after all these years
in some ways, primal by their nature, we have a comfortable connection
still have it after all these years
we were younger
ignorant to what we should do, what we could do
foolish in what we made happen
not reality
as it stands before us now…
is this a sign that only time in alignment with how our lives played-out
to bring us to today
to make us wonder all these lost years later
what do we do next?

reality
from the moment that we met
what still seems surreal
both facing aftermaths of worlds turned upside-down
convinced, yet expected, we were meant to meet
to touch one another
nurture what we each needed

reality
the home we’ve been building
within this comfortable bubble
our courtship-dance
I am safe
I am loved

but have i found the me I lost after all these years?

reality

__________________________________________dld o8.o8.1o