Skip to main content

Scraps and unused ends #1

Scraps and Unused Ends:

I write little things down often, smallish ideas or rhymes or whatever.  I thought I would post some things up here that I wrote and like, but that do not make a lot of sense to attempt to have published for whatever reason.  Sometimes things get in my head and refuse to leave unless I write them down, and it is worth it to me to take the time to attempt to capture them if for nothing but the momentary peace until something else jumps in and starts squawking for attention.  Most of this stuff is silly or stupid or just plain nonsense, but sometimes something cool comes out of it.  Since these things do not and will never have a home, I thought I would make a place for them here.  Its warm, and there's a fire.

I do not consider myself a poet by any means, but sometimes I write things that can only be described as poems.  So.

Ahem.



Rags and Wings


I am carrying the heaviest load and a friend arrives. 
I’ll help he says, I’ll get this end
We share the weight for a while trudging through the endless sand
Heavy he says
Not so much since you got here.  Thanks
Yeah he says simply.  I’m a friend.
Our footsteps trail behind us to the horizon
Ahead, endless dunes
Let’s rest a moment he says
We put the load down on the sand
Listen, he says, do you even need any of this?
I’ve been carrying it since forever, I need it
But we were born with wings, he says, We were meant to fly
He unfolds his wings, stretches under the white sun
You’ve got them too, you just forgot
And he’s right
They are there behind me, dirty and weak, folded up under my rags
You just have to leave all this behind he says
You just have to remember what it was like to fly he says
Watch
He jumps into the sky and it is beautiful. 
I stand and watch until he disappears into the sun
I shoulder my heavy burden, alone now,
Trudge through the endless sand
Underneath my rags, my wings hide, dirty and forgotten.

 ------

 I always like when a writer takes a moment to explain where that came from.  Neil Gaiman in particular does that for most of his shorter pieces and I always love it.

This is a little obvious, I know, but I was at work wishing I could just walk away from everything that I didn't like in my life, my uninspiring job and my unfulfilled dreams, and it seemed to me that tomorrow for me will be nearly exactly like today.  I remember the distinct thought arriving that we are not meant to do this, to sell our lives away doing things we dislike to grow older and die without ever knowing what we could be...  I texted my wife and she texted back and suddenly things didn't seem so heavy and dark.  She is a friend that helps share the weight of this life.  And so I took a moment to try and capture this.  It is not perfect, and may even be a little trite, but I like it. 

Anyway.

Feel free to comment and contact me via the usual methods.  I would love to know who you are.

Oh and if you are a writer on Twitter, make sure to check out the saints @LitRejections.  I have no idea who they are but I'm glad I ran across the account.  Just super encouraging and awesome.

Still Writing, 

RP  






Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

So I find myself wanting to write about politics, which I hate.  I want to write a scathing review of our political system, and the douchey asshats that we have elected to represent us, because it is something that vexes and frustrates me on the regular, and what I do is write about things that bother me and then I feel a little better.  It has worked well for me and my personal well being; just doing this blog and airing all my personal laundry for all to see has been as cathartic as anything.

But I hate politics.  I think that it is intentionally divisive, designed to make us see the world in an "us vs them" mindset, to see the whole world and our place in it as sides in a game, a bloody and terrible game.  It makes it easy to start painting the opposition as something other than we are, which in turn makes it much easier to think terrible things about them, that they are racist idiots, that they are stupid takers, it makes it easy to say awful things to them, especially f…

We Would Be a Song

I seem to define my life with soundtracks, playlists that encompass epochs or periods of change or development.  My earliest music was my mother's: Van Halen and Judas Priest, Def Leppard and AC/DC.  I remember a friend of hers explaining to second grade Ralph that the big balls that Angus was singing about were parties, but even then I didn't buy it.  My teen years were heavy on grunge, Nirvana and Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, and that was the first time that music ever felt like it was mine, that I discovered by myself or through the radio, or like minded friends, that was the first time that I took it and owned it and loved it, and even now I'll hear Black Hole Sun or Rooster or Smells Like Teen Spirit on the radio and back I go.

In the fifth grade, I moved to Kelso, Washington. I want to say that it was hard, but what I remember mostly from childhood is just this sense of taking every day as it arrived.  What else do we have except our own experiences to measure thi…

Die Laughing

I want to die laughing.

I imagine it, this big final guffaw, watching a video of someone falling down or being attacked by a goose, just this terminal laughter, a giggle or a wheeze, that's the way to go out. We're all dying, just some of us faster than others, some are torn away and some drift off, but the destination is the same for each and every soul on this beautiful miserable planet.  Whether it be by accident or murdered by time, we are all on the same ride.

I want to be taken away by the Death of the Discworld, like I imagine Terry Pratchett did, the classic hooded skeleton, blue fire eyes.  On the Discworld, you pretty much always get what you expect; the afterlife is what you believe it to be.  I imagine Sir Terry, wherever he ended up, laughing his face off, turning his brilliance on the world itself, holding a funhouse mirror up to distort images into strange shapes, recognizable, but seen from a different perspective. Godspeed Sir Terry. Mind how you go, sir.

I want …