Friends were complaining after a major ice storm in the Chattanooga Metro area (Catoosa County, NW Georgia). With lows around 6 degrees above zero, it WAS cold! As the sun came up, it showed something magical: Diamonds in the Trees. I walked through the woods and out into the wildflower field at Spirit Tree Farms, where goldenrods, pokeweed, late bonneset, blackberries, grasses, and other native plants joined with honey locusts, hickory and oak trees, and more, to show off a collection of sparkling jewels unmatched at any jewelry store. I riffed these iambic lines in a video, trying to stiffle my crying. Thanks to HomeGrownNationalPark.org for the inspiration, and to Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus for the Creation.
Barbarossa: Ein Deutsches Gedicht / Lied nach Elvis Art. For a BYU German class, a friend and I — returned from our German-speaking missions for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — had to memorize a long poem auf Deutsch. It was tough, until we put it to music. (Of course, we had to use #Elvis music!) Years later, I remembered the song / poem and captured it. Here’s Barbarossa von Friedrich Rückert.
The world seems disconnected
from me,
and I from her.
Why does the water-wading song
drill through
my bedroom door,
as if to mock me
and my lullaby memories?
I am abandoned
by all who I thought
loved me,
and who
I truly loved
and lived for.
My mistakes
have unraveled
all my life,
and I feel
no mercy,
no compassion,
no hope,
no love,
except for
the faith
and hope
I have
that,
maybe,
He loves me still.
As he wearily made his way
to his king size empty bed
alone
it was a song better left unsaid,
unsung.
He heavily breathing
from sinus infection
and midwinter cold
and allergies
and dust,
from cleaning up messes
that were not his own,
yet were,
taking the green pill,
medicine that would cure
his cough
or at least let him sleep,
(although he must be woken up later to take the medicine that would keep his heart beating.)
And he just watched a movie
about lunch
that reminded him of a film
about dinner,
and why has never anyone made one
about breakfast,
the most important meal of the day,
because after breakfast no one can write.
Don’t wait up.
And the movies and the poems that spawn them,
he wonders if he could write such,
that perhaps some obscure
Art House actor and actress could make them come to life
and seem more real
and less pretentious than they are.
Then, in the midst of his rambling,
the door opens
and she who was once
the author and finisher
of his life and salvation
interrupts
and he doesn’t know if it’s about
old men’s diapers
or the ice cream mess
he had to clean up from the floor
because she,
unaware,
left it there.
Will the House burn down someday?
Is he the only one who can see?
And the art house films
remind him of his daughter,
cosmopolitan
(though not in a cosmo girl type of way,)
but living in the Queen City
or the Big Apple,
and now he is out
in rural deplorable land
and he wonders if his lack of connection
to the arts,
to music,
and to Passion
is robbing him?
Or is it feeding his soul
with something much deeper,
much more mature,
something that Nature can bring
only to those who are immersed
deep
within her.
He shuts his eyes
and picks his toenails
and slowly moves
back
and
forth,
wondering if he will fall
while reaching for
the box of Kleenex
rescued from the back
of a non-functioning SUV,
at first covered with mouse feces,
but then underneath functional enough
to capture
the dregs of his draining brain
as he pushes
and pushes
and pushes
so hard that
his ears pop.
She wants more,
cracks open the door,
slowly shutting it
as he droans on,
drones on
and on
and when he asks
what she needs
“Nothing.”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.
I was wondering who
you were talking to.”
And doesn’t that really ask
the penultimate question?
“Who am I talking to?
What am I talking to?
What am I talking to who about?”
Does it matter?
Why should I care?
As I slip into
the abyss
of Nyquil-induced slumber,
I can only hope my alarm
eventually wakes me up.
And then,
that I won’t need melatonin
to go back to sleep
again.
CyranoWriter’s Creativity blog started more than a decade ago. I heard a poet read at President Obama’s first inauguration. I thought: “I can do that!” And so I started.
Making a goal of writing and posting a poem or creative piece every day, I put my creative thoughts into a wordpress.com blog. More than 7400 creative pieces later, I moved that site over to CyranoWriter.com. If you followed me there, welcome back!
What is CyranoWriter’s Creativity?
Most of these pieces are short poems, which I try to make into Haiku (they are in the sense that they are 5/7/5). Some are longer. Some are free verse. Some are prose pieces. Some are silly. Most are serious and observational.
Most of the pieces are “romantic” in nature (single for more than a decade, I had a lot to say about the pathos of that state). Now that I’m married, the romantic writing continues, but with much more hope. Other pieces are observations of either nature or human nature. Many deal with the issues we all face daily. And still others are just thoughts and musings, prompted by my observations of what is happening around me. Some are augmented by my photography. Most are left for you, the reader, to visualise in your mind. All of these reflect how I see the world, and what living and observing and just being means to me.
My hope, my dream, is that people will read my work and “see new”. They’ll think about how they see or what they feel about the things I see and feel. And, most importantly, I hope my writing, day after day after day after day, will inspire others to simply see, to observe the amazingness happening around them, and to capture it in whatever form or style they choose.
People tell me “I used to write. I wish I could write more. I need to write more.” To them — to YOU — I say: “Do.” Because, 7 years ago, I heard another poet. And then, I did.
PS: My work is in chronological order, with the most recent writings immediately following this post. If you are looking for a particular subject or topic, type in some key works in the “Search” bar (above right), and it should bring up all my writing related to that topic.