It's been ten days since I've written, and I am stumbling
on empty words to fill my pages once again.
I don't know if I am just blocking the world, or
what is happening.... but I really am having a hard time.

Perhaps it's because life is busy again
- too busy to enjoy - to listen, and think,
and to have no interruptions for beauty.
Perhaps it because the one I love doesn't appreciate
words - or poetry, so I find it hard to be inspired.

Maybe it's because I can't think of something
beautiful to write - but only words of sadness and desperation
- words that leave a reader lost.

I don't know the reason, but I am jumbled and stuck.
I just wanted those of you who read to know
why the blog has been lifeless.

Thanks for reading,

Jackie

Lost

Sometimes I crave your freedom -
your ability to turn words into
symmetry,
fling yourself into blank paper
and cover it with
nostalgic memories.

I have become a hostage
in my own head,

unable to create
unable to purify
this morbid existence.

While you wrap yourself
around syllables of poetic bliss,

I fill up my pages with
chaos –
cloudy thoughts that
steal beauty
and force darkness.

I want to bite from that stillness

corrupt my head

with your sunshine

and silence.

Confinement

You say you cannot stay,
unwilling or afraid.

I never know with you...

Settle down in these sheets,
and rest your head a minute.

Just try to breathe.

I can prepare a sonnet in my head,
but you only want me in this bed.

The stillness of poetry is unsettling.

You say you cannot think abstractly,
only in linear space
where two bodies merge
and language is useless.

I imagine a broken funnel between us
where I spill the words effortlessly
and they disappear somewhere near reason
and insanity.

Dropped like a sharp C on your broken piano.

You say you want to leave -
that these thoughts are too deep.

My mouth just bleeds
words like seeds.

Let me go then
Let me be the one
to solidify my needs.

Absolut

Swaying softly in the music
the drunk takes a bow

wrapping around his words
with slurred annoyance.

Seeking to end it all,
he continues to babble
incoherently

about life and possibilities.

The woman
across the table ridicules:

the poor man’s sorrow is another
man’s laughter.

We are stuck in time
which doesn’t exist.

He is stuck in a moment
captured by Vodka
hoping that someone will
take him home and let
him pour out his misery.

In Memory

I have been trying to think of the words to say for a few days. One of the dearest friends I have ever known passed away ten years ago, on July 17th and I never got to say goodbye. For you Clyde, Goodbye my sweet friend:


Clyde’s Return

We watch silently as the
Flowers bloom, spreading their
Beauty over the earth.

We await him each year
As he says hello to us from
His garden.

We have moved on,
Yet the garden remains,
Seeking to turn a lonely
Place into a refuge.


"All That We Let In"
Indigo Girls

Dust in our eyes our own boots kicked up
Heartsick we nursed along the way we picked up
You may not see it when it's sticking to your skin
But we're better off for all that we let in

Lost friends and loved ones much too young
So much promises and work left undone
When all that guards us is a single centerline
And the brutal crossing over when it's time

Oooooooo(I don't know where it all begins)
Oooooooo(And I don't know where it all will end)
Oooooooo(We're better off for all that we let in)

One day those toughies will be withered up and bent
The father son the holy warriors and the president
With glory days of put up dukes for all the world to see
Beaten into submission in the name of the free
We're in anevolution I have heard it said
Everyone's so busy now but do we move ahead
The planets hurting and atoms splitting
And a sweater for your love you sit there knitting

Oooooooo(I don't know where it all begins)
Oooooooo(And I don't know where it all will end)
Oooooooo(We're better off for all that we let in)

See those crosses on the side of the road
Tied with ribbons in the medium
They make me grateful I can go this far
Lay me down and never wake me up again
Kat writes a poem and she sticks it on my truck
We don't believe in war and we don't believe in luck
The birds were calling to her what were they saying
As the gate blew open the tops of the trees were swaying
I've passed the cemetery walk my dog down there
I read the names in stone and say a silent prayer
When I get home you're cooking supper on the stove
And the greatest gift of life is to know love

Oooooooo(I don't know where it all begins)
Oooooooo(And I don't know where it all will end)
Oooooooo(We're better off for all that we let in)

Random

MUSIC
Cling
Grasp
Choke

Erase
Feed
Wipe
Cleanse
Stir
Soak
Unfettered
Tied
Hands caressed
Heart obsessed
Bleeding of uncertainty
Insecurity
Serenity

Jacob’s Freedom

Jacob stared vacantly out the window as the palm trees gently brushed the balcony. He could see their movement, but couldn’t grasp what was happening. He had seen the trees move before – wildly sometimes even, but normally Jacob only saw them in their stillness as they rested upright reaching towards the sun. Below, the beach was layered with people wearing underclothing, occasionally sprinkled with naked breasts and sun-kissed private parts. Jacob knew that he shouldn’t stare at the women, but was fascinated by the way that their nakedness seemed to free them. He couldn’t think of a better way to let the water stroke a body, and imagined it must be the same feeling that he gets in the morning, when his mother pulls off his clothing and makes him stand in the curtain covered white room, where the water splatters across his body from the metal thing above.


He wanted so much to run down to the beach and take off his shorts, but couldn’t get the meaning out of his mouth. He never could - he didn’t know how people moved their mouths back and forth to make words, but he understood when people made the sounds. He began to tap the window loudly with his fists, hoping that someone could hear him.


His mother walked in “Jacob honey, do you want something?” He bounced his head up and down pointing sideways with his jaw at the ocean below.

“You want the beach sweetheart?”Jacob nodded fervently, pushing his hands down on his shorts to show her that he wanted to take his clothes off.

His mother laughed, “honey, you can’t go out there naked – it’s only what grown-ups do.” He balked – banging his head into the glass.

“Oh honey, I understand – you’ve never been to the ocean before. Let’s get your sister and see if she wants to go swimming, k?”

Jacob looked out the window again, rocking quietly back and forth as his mother called in her high-pitched voice to his sister. He wanted to get into that water, and let it push him around like the other people were doing. Back and forth, he swayed. The colors below melted into him. As the indigo water kissed the white sandy ground, a kind of foam would emerge, reaching towards the sprawled out bodies. Jacob thought that the water was trying to touch them to make them free too.


Sarah bounced into the room smiling. “Hi Jake, what’cha doing?” Jacob rocked, and flapped his hands towards the window- grinning from excitement.

Sarah grabbed his hand, nodding approvingly at the Curaçao coast. “Let’s go – Dad can help you into the water.”

Jacob beamed, and continued to flap as he pounded his sandals into the ground after her. Sarah walked fast, her steps quick and calculating. Jacob watched her feet as he followed her down to the blueness. Behind him, he could hear his father’s voice telling his mother goodbye. Stomp, stomp, stomp, went the feet around him. Splash, splash, splash, went the water. Jacob swayed from side-to-side in anticipation.

“You excited buddy?” His father asked from behind.

“Uhhhh,” Jacob moaned, extending his neck to stretch his voice. He knew his father would understand – he always did. Even when Jacob was still and couldn’t communicate with motion, his father could read his fragmented thoughts, and would show him that he understood what nobody else could.

Sarah flipped her sandals off and sprinted towards the beach, kicking sand behind her as she ran. Jacob stopped abruptly and pulled his head upwards to watch his sister. He wanted to see if her face showed the familiar freedom that he had noticed all morning. As she stepped into the ocean, Sarah turned to face them, grinning from ear to ear, and Jacob knew that she felt it. He decided then that being naked wasn’t important, because his sister had on her underclothes and she was free. His father gently wrapped his fingers around Jacob’s wrist, signaling that he also understood.

Jacob turned towards his father, bobbing his head to let him know he was ready, and they began to walk towards the water. The women that he saw earlier were laying on brightly colored towels, their bodies soaking in the sunlight. Jacob started to move his hands, carrying his father’s with him as he swayed.

“Alright Jake, let’s take off your shirt and get in – I’ll be right next to you the whole time.”

Jacob moved his arms towards the sky allowing his father to take his shirt off. Without hesitation, Jacob grabbed his father’s hand and guided them into freedom, smiling broadly as he took his first step into the ocean.

The End

Surrounded

Beauty of Being
No words necessary
Thoughts become feelings
Feelings have no language
Expression is emotion
Happy becomes one
One becomes love
We exist together
Unified by God
Who is He?
And am I?
Woe is me
Who are you?
We are Love,
We are God

We are truth

So set us free

Writer's Block in Paradise

Silky sundown

Seeps into my soul

Swaying softly into the breeze

the trees grasp the shade

like ghosts drifting towards graves

Surrounded by soliloquies

and children singing folk songs

I search the blank pages

for a sweet melody

Only to be rewarded by

Silence and stillness

Poems of love

and lazy lives

Linger somewhere

Yet I close the journal

without penning a word

For some moments

get lost in translation

and are left alone

without languid language

The Gift

As the magnificent sun drops behind the ocean
and the beach is kissed by gentle waves
The serenity takes hold and rocks me to sleep

Dreams of princesses
and castles of hope
push their way inside my head

Captured by nature
wrestled by timelesness

I thank the Being that
gives me the beauty,

the purity
and stillness
and for the gift
of insight,
and the chance to
grasp the power
of enlightenment

Hidden Paradise

Holding on to yesterday
Dreaming of tomorrow
Struggling for today

Confusion torments
Simplicity accepts

A piece of heaven remains
Untouched in Bagram
A shard of hell clings to its beauty
Trying to force itself
Upon the children,
the women,
the innocent

Fire burns deeply
Water flushes pain

Grasp each moment
as it passes by
Hold on to love

Paradise is here
Hidden beneath the
War

SIMON SAID

The following is a part of a larger story that I have been working on for quite sometime. Because it is somewhat of a memoir, It is sometimes too painful to continue, which is why I only have 10 pages done. Any comments would help - thanks!


Simon stared out the window. The snow piled down sideways and had started to cover up the pane, so that all he could see now was the cab of his orange truck. He knew it was time to go to the doctor again, but the blizzard was his refuge. The pain had reached inside and twisted itself into black knots of decay and he could barely stand up. Instead, he sat in his favorite leather chair with his right leg stretched out carefully in front of him.

The chair had been his only friend for the past year and it still smelled like her, so he sat for hours on end. Sometimes he even fell asleep, waking occasionally, to rest his nose against the cold leather, inhaling its fading memory. His refusal to get out of the chair that once held her, kept him from going to the doctor yesterday, and it surely would keep him from going today. He looked around the room at his possessions and thought of his success. Each thing he owned however, brought him back to remembering her, and the vicious cycle forced him to shut his eyes.

Two hours later, Simon awoke and looked out the window again. The snow had almost covered the entire glass, and he could only see through a small area, his fading bumper.

“Thank God,” he said out loud, startling himself.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken, or with whom, and his voice had a callous hoarseness to it, as if he were a chain smoker, and had recently quit. Although Simon didn’t believe in God, it was a phrase that he often said, and afterwards, always found himself silently frustrated that he had thanked something that didn’t exist. It would be one thing if he had thanked his wonderful chair - or the table even, but to thank God was ridiculous it seemed, and yet he said it again and again, and each time he wanted to kick himself for his stupidity. At any rate, he was happy that there was absolutely no way that he could go to the doctor and that he had yet another excuse to sit and remember the last time he held her.

It’s not as if Katrina had died or anything, she had just disappeared one day, and never came back. Simon had just taken out the garbage, and they were ready to go on one of those long walks that they took each night around the beautiful neighborhood. When he walked in, Katrina was standing in the doorway, screaming. He tried to calm her down, but she just went on screaming, babbling incoherently about her cat and its fur, and how much she wanted to stroke it. Simon didn’t understand the ranting, or where it was coming from - they didn’t even have a cat - hadn’t for years in fact.

He called the doctor, who told Simon to take her to the emergency room immediately. When he tried to get Katrina in the car, she screeched loudly, and slapped him hard on the face. It was as if she didn’t know him and had never seen her husband before. Simon’s face stung from the icy hand, and he tried hard not to grab her. Frantic, he called the doctor again, and within a half an hour, Dr. Wild standing on his front door step trying to calm Simon down. The doctor wouldn't make eye contact with Simon, who was starting to feel as if this whole event was planned.
He couldn’t grasp what was happening - why the family doctor of thirty years was so formal - why Katrina suddenly snapped, as if she had seen a ghost. It clearly defied all the rules of logic, and Simon was always a logical man.

Within thirty-five minutes, Dr. Wild had explained that Katrina had likely either had a stroke or was overtaken by sudden onset Alzheimer’s disease and would need further evaluation to be certain. Simon was beside himself. What would he do? How could they tell? Was there a test? Could it be erased? Could she come back? Would she remember him? All of these questions and more were thrown at Dr. Wild, who sadly could not answer them without stuttering and stammering and this made Simon even crazier. He wanted to punch the man in the face – the old man who had taken care of his family nearly his whole life. He imagined tearing Dr. Wild’s lips away from his mouth and stomping on them to force them shut. Simon couldn’t breathe, and his heart was thumping so loudly, he was sure Dr. Wild could hear it, and would tell him he was having a heart attack. But instead of dropping dead on the front porch, they were both summoned by a horrible, piercing shriek. Katrina had opened the door and was apparently terrified by the sight of the two men.

They managed to get her in the car, which was no small endeavor. She cried, screamed, and hollered her cat’s name, while angry tears poured down her face. When Simon tried to hold her hand, she pushed it aside and withdrew, as if touching it would taint her. They rode together in bruised silence, and Simon was sure he would faint if he didn’t get there soon.

When they finally got to the hospital, Katrina looked at Simon and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, remembered him. She clung to him as if her whole life depended on that moment. Simon held her and breathed her hair into his nostrils - the hair that he had smelled a thousand times before which was previously ordinary, smelled of roses. He felt her breasts against him, warm, and part of him. They fit together perfectly - better than any two people in the world, Simon thought. When Katrina let go, she reached her lips up to his, and whispered into his mouth the single words that he could never repeat, nor ever forget.