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

The Dance of the Sand Hill Crane

 It is Saturday morning in Feburary and here in Michigan it is clear and cold.  The sun has risen a while ago but there are still streaks of red in the sky, lighting up the clouds, high and wispy.  I am standing by my car after completing some chore, cleaning something or retrieving something and I am slow breathing, trying to calm my heart. It has been a difficult week. My son has a fight tonight, full contact MMA, his first, and I am full of conflict and anxiety about it. Not because I don't believe he will do well, because I know he is as prepared as anyone can be for such a thing, but because I am a father and I feel like I should be protecting him from the violence of the world. Even though he turns nineteen in a few weeks and is stronger both physically and mentally than I could ever hope to be, he is still my boy, and I am scared for him. My other son is fifteen and this week was embroiled in some stupid conflict at school, a misunderstanding that had led to meetings with th

One of the Best of Us

In the stifling heat my breath comes fast and heavy. What the fuck am I even doing here? What the fuck am I trying to accomplish? I'm sitting on the mat, maybe dying, a forty something dad playacting at being a fighter. This is my mid-life crisis, this is so, so stupid. This has to be the end for me, assuming I can get my heartbeat under control, assuming I don't just peg out here on the mat.  I can't do this anymore. "It's okay man, it's okay, you just need to breathe through it. You're fine, you're okay." The voice of my training partner, gentle and kind. My partner, the maniac that drove me to such a state, that I think I might die, he sits next to me and shows me how to breathe, how to calm my body. He teaches and guides me through it, and in a few minutes I actually am okay, the panic settles down, and maybe this isn't my last class after all. "You're alright?  Okay. Now lets get back to work."  And back to work we go. There

A Soap Bubble Nothing

I built a table, out of wood.  I made a thing that wasn't there before.  I cut and sanded the wood, I drilled in screws, and now we have a table where we didn't have one before. It is real and solid and you can touch it, you can feel where I cut poorly, see the rough edges where I didn't join the wood correctly, you can lift it, feel its weight.  It is a real thing that I made.  I made a table. This is not a table, this is a nothing, a series of random thoughts that I had in the shower, which is where thoughts come from. What if our souls are soap bubbles, what if we spread ourselves too thin, stretched out and flattened? What happens when it pops, would you even notice, would you even care? What if we are meant for something more? I am already behind schedule this year I've got work to do, I have things to accomplish, friends ask me questions ask for favors and all I say is yes yes yes and- What is this?  What am I hoping to do here writhing I meant to write "writ