I don’t want the reader to feel trapped in a dream, caused by the flight of a bumblebee around a pomegranate a second before awakening…
I want to show people what happens when one neglects to investigate life.
When the surreal becomes ridiculous, the game is over…
When the ridiculous becomes quite believable, within standards you and I may comprehend, the story takes shape.
“A very old man with enormous wings, in the courtyard of an old Spanish villa.”
“The colors of autumn change with a man’s realization that…”
“Train tracks that mean so much more to the universe than to the passengers that ride them.”
And I like Dali, but that is not life.
And here, my only fear is that I look back on this life and realize that…
It wasn’t what I wanted at all.
Walking on a beach, I lent a hand to a small sailor who had shipwrecked in the reefs.
He hadn’t been waiting long but still, I felt obligated to offer him my pipe.
We traveled back to the inn, where we drank and were humbled by the fire.
“This is where life had taken place, this tavern.” I told my drunken compatriot.
He only smiled before dozing off into another dream.
I had awoken sometime after breakfast
A young tramp tugged at my sleeve.
Upon scolding the young bastard, he promptly seized his cane and waltzed away.
I collected my wits and the coat rack followed suit.
We walked sunset strip.
Superman smiled and I tipped him a shining emerald stone.
“It was I, in the beginning and it was I in the end. Nothing is what we want it to be, but we always receive whatever we send. We will all believe this love a necessity, even in the face of the most binding doubt. Don’t ever forget what you believe to be true, either with, or of course, without.”
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Matador
I seem to recall a bull fight,
Attended eagerly as lad.
The matador, he spoke earnestly
About the victories he’d had.
He had us in his pockets,
With words of a giant’s tongue.
He promised us our winnings.
Kissed the foreheads of our young.
In the pen the Spaniard appeared haughty,
Though seasoned with exceptional skill.
And the bull was wild and unruly
This fascist was testing his will.
There was calm in the air around Sevilla,
The crowd watched with discontent
To see the Torero’s performance
In stunting the bull’s intent.
The third of death began aptly.
The matador emerged in the ring.
By now, the bull had lost much of his breath.
But knew of revolution under his wing
His hoof beat the dirt,
The Matador had missed step,
The bull knew it the time.
At last, the crowd, the country and the family wept.
So you see, women, children and husbands alike, came to the show knowing their fuehrer would fight. They believed in his words, the path that he set. A great man knows agony when it is met. The order had changed. With the people holding the rein. Didn’t we know we would one day see, how it once was, and how it should be.
Attended eagerly as lad.
The matador, he spoke earnestly
About the victories he’d had.
He had us in his pockets,
With words of a giant’s tongue.
He promised us our winnings.
Kissed the foreheads of our young.
In the pen the Spaniard appeared haughty,
Though seasoned with exceptional skill.
And the bull was wild and unruly
This fascist was testing his will.
There was calm in the air around Sevilla,
The crowd watched with discontent
To see the Torero’s performance
In stunting the bull’s intent.
The third of death began aptly.
The matador emerged in the ring.
By now, the bull had lost much of his breath.
But knew of revolution under his wing
His hoof beat the dirt,
The Matador had missed step,
The bull knew it the time.
At last, the crowd, the country and the family wept.
So you see, women, children and husbands alike, came to the show knowing their fuehrer would fight. They believed in his words, the path that he set. A great man knows agony when it is met. The order had changed. With the people holding the rein. Didn’t we know we would one day see, how it once was, and how it should be.
Years
Years I’ve grown to love the taste
Sweet seeds of the pomegranate’s bitter embrace.
And there is not enough to grieve upon.
Come to think of it, there never was.
Only once did I ever compliment her.
On the good her life had become.
Maybe if there was conversation,
Between the liar and the other one.
Maybe if there wasn’t so many ways
To tell her that I love her
When the rain stops, I ask her to come in.
She waltzes through the drops.
She’s only the Bird Girl, I thought but I…
Her eyes are made of stone.
A yellow magnolia machine churns petals.
Of a Gerber daisy’s heart.
Warm enough to drive us home tonight.
But Cold enough to keep us apart.
And all the sleepers
Come to the county fair
With ambitions in hand
And failures long passed.
Sweet seeds of the pomegranate’s bitter embrace.
And there is not enough to grieve upon.
Come to think of it, there never was.
Only once did I ever compliment her.
On the good her life had become.
Maybe if there was conversation,
Between the liar and the other one.
Maybe if there wasn’t so many ways
To tell her that I love her
When the rain stops, I ask her to come in.
She waltzes through the drops.
She’s only the Bird Girl, I thought but I…
Her eyes are made of stone.
A yellow magnolia machine churns petals.
Of a Gerber daisy’s heart.
Warm enough to drive us home tonight.
But Cold enough to keep us apart.
And all the sleepers
Come to the county fair
With ambitions in hand
And failures long passed.
The Tracks at Bloomberg
The tracks at the Bloomberg County Train Station stretch the length of a football field. Rows upon rows of copper railway, leading some to loved ones, and some away. Above the ticket counter, a large marble clock face sits. Informing the people of the days to come and the times to let pass. With all the commotion, it is easy to miss these subtle realizations. The blonde at the bar slips a ring off her finger and into her handbag. Nobody notices the old man in line, coughing blood into his palm. Even in all this noise, the baby crying, the high heels clapping the stone walkway, nothing escapes that clock face.
“So where shall we go? We have the entire world at our fingertips.” She says, flipping through the endless list of departures and arrivals. She taps her heels on the tile floor beneath the bench.
“Somewhere warm this time, I’m tired of these frigid, lifeless planets that you call beautiful.” He says half-heartedly, observing the train station as his counterpart gives him an awful expression.
“Well Germantown is full of history, we could see the Ashland Memorial in…”
“Who wants history? Another page in another brochure can tell you all about those dead bastards.”
“That is a little arrogant Charles.”
“Its not arrogant, it’s the truth. You need to move past things. Ever since we left home you’ve been all about…”
“Would you please just stop.”
“No, you need to hear this, what happened back home, it was a disaster waiting to happened. There was nothing you or I could do to stop it. Stop hurting yourself.”
“I need to use the restroom.” She says softly, rising up and walks off.
Seconds pass, years between rapid footsteps. The old man from the line is gone, he had boarded his train days ago. The blonde is still at the bar, smiling this time and joined by a gentleman in Bermuda shorts. He mutters something and she laughs simultaneously. The bartender keeps serving the rounds, but he saves a shot for himself each time they order another. The clock face disagrees, but the universe is never the wiser.
“Mind if I take a seat?” Asks a man with a leather brief case and newspaper. He sits on the bench uninvited, and the air around the two men grows quiet.
“I’m with somebody actually, she only left for the moment.”
“You’re always with somebody aren’t you Charles?” Said the older man with his ancient briefcase and paper.
“I suppose.”
“Well, you see, I watched you with the brunette, passing through the turnstiles, almost half your age is she? And last night in the hospital with that sickly old man. Was that your father I wonder? Or holding the children up so they could see out the window of the head car. Yes, you’re always with somebody, always a stones throw away when you‘re needed.”
“I have people who need me.”
“You need you, Charles.”
“Everyone needs a doctor.”
“But you are not a doctor, you are just a man. There is no reason to keep putting this stress on yourself.”
“She needs me. She is only a child, I have to help with what she’s going through.”
“Don’t pretend you care! You justify everything you do with ridiculous pretensions. Everyone of these lives would have continued fine without you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Who’s to say what is true anymore Charles, you’ve already twisted truth as far as you could take it.” The man stood up, gathered his briefcase and paper, and left.
Leaving Charles was the greatest thing that man had ever done, it is a shame others could not follow suit.
“All better?” Charles asks his counterpart upon her return.
“Yes thank you. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. My mother would approve…” She smiles at him and blushes a bit.
“That is really is grand, but…”
“I think you should choose our next destination. Somewhere warm. The Peanut Farms out in New Maryland are very nice in the spring. We could spend some time camping out there. Under the starlight, wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“It does sound exquisite. What was it called again New, New…”
“New Maryland, yes! Yes, I will purchase the tickets, there is a departure in ten minutes! I’ll be right back.” She leaps up and runs off for the ticket counter.
The clock face has watched all of this, of course. The happiness in the young girl’s heart does not go unrecognized. Two little girls play chase along the railway, until their mother scoops them up and scolds them for getting their church clothes filthy. The blonde has left the bar. So has the man in the Bermuda shorts. The bartender has pulled up a chair and rests his head in front of empty barstools. All of his patrons have left him. For once, the sun, the moon and the universe agree, all is well in the Bloomberg County Train Station.
“I’ve got the tickets, train leaves in two minutes, we should get in line now.” She says coming back. Her happiness is blinding.
They collect their bags and trail through the station’s walkways. Every step is an eon apart. Lives shatter as they walk toward the locomotive.
“Here it is, 10:15 to New Maryland. Are you ready?” The girl asks. She asks as though her entire heart is resting on this balance beam of a question.
“I…I’ve forgotten something. It will only be one second. Take a seat and I promise I’ll be back.”
“Alright, but please don’t be long. The train leaves soon.”
“I know, I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Charles sprints down the railway. Past the bar and it’s sleeping proprietor. Past the ticket counter and the great marble clock face above it. He stops and hears the sound of a steam whistle blowing in the past. With a deep breath, he steps onto the train. Another whistle blows and the tracks shake. So many tracks, so many people. Some are lead to love ones, far away in distant places. Some are lead away.
“So where shall we go? We have the entire world at our fingertips.” She says, flipping through the endless list of departures and arrivals. She taps her heels on the tile floor beneath the bench.
“Somewhere warm this time, I’m tired of these frigid, lifeless planets that you call beautiful.” He says half-heartedly, observing the train station as his counterpart gives him an awful expression.
“Well Germantown is full of history, we could see the Ashland Memorial in…”
“Who wants history? Another page in another brochure can tell you all about those dead bastards.”
“That is a little arrogant Charles.”
“Its not arrogant, it’s the truth. You need to move past things. Ever since we left home you’ve been all about…”
“Would you please just stop.”
“No, you need to hear this, what happened back home, it was a disaster waiting to happened. There was nothing you or I could do to stop it. Stop hurting yourself.”
“I need to use the restroom.” She says softly, rising up and walks off.
Seconds pass, years between rapid footsteps. The old man from the line is gone, he had boarded his train days ago. The blonde is still at the bar, smiling this time and joined by a gentleman in Bermuda shorts. He mutters something and she laughs simultaneously. The bartender keeps serving the rounds, but he saves a shot for himself each time they order another. The clock face disagrees, but the universe is never the wiser.
“Mind if I take a seat?” Asks a man with a leather brief case and newspaper. He sits on the bench uninvited, and the air around the two men grows quiet.
“I’m with somebody actually, she only left for the moment.”
“You’re always with somebody aren’t you Charles?” Said the older man with his ancient briefcase and paper.
“I suppose.”
“Well, you see, I watched you with the brunette, passing through the turnstiles, almost half your age is she? And last night in the hospital with that sickly old man. Was that your father I wonder? Or holding the children up so they could see out the window of the head car. Yes, you’re always with somebody, always a stones throw away when you‘re needed.”
“I have people who need me.”
“You need you, Charles.”
“Everyone needs a doctor.”
“But you are not a doctor, you are just a man. There is no reason to keep putting this stress on yourself.”
“She needs me. She is only a child, I have to help with what she’s going through.”
“Don’t pretend you care! You justify everything you do with ridiculous pretensions. Everyone of these lives would have continued fine without you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Who’s to say what is true anymore Charles, you’ve already twisted truth as far as you could take it.” The man stood up, gathered his briefcase and paper, and left.
Leaving Charles was the greatest thing that man had ever done, it is a shame others could not follow suit.
“All better?” Charles asks his counterpart upon her return.
“Yes thank you. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. My mother would approve…” She smiles at him and blushes a bit.
“That is really is grand, but…”
“I think you should choose our next destination. Somewhere warm. The Peanut Farms out in New Maryland are very nice in the spring. We could spend some time camping out there. Under the starlight, wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“It does sound exquisite. What was it called again New, New…”
“New Maryland, yes! Yes, I will purchase the tickets, there is a departure in ten minutes! I’ll be right back.” She leaps up and runs off for the ticket counter.
The clock face has watched all of this, of course. The happiness in the young girl’s heart does not go unrecognized. Two little girls play chase along the railway, until their mother scoops them up and scolds them for getting their church clothes filthy. The blonde has left the bar. So has the man in the Bermuda shorts. The bartender has pulled up a chair and rests his head in front of empty barstools. All of his patrons have left him. For once, the sun, the moon and the universe agree, all is well in the Bloomberg County Train Station.
“I’ve got the tickets, train leaves in two minutes, we should get in line now.” She says coming back. Her happiness is blinding.
They collect their bags and trail through the station’s walkways. Every step is an eon apart. Lives shatter as they walk toward the locomotive.
“Here it is, 10:15 to New Maryland. Are you ready?” The girl asks. She asks as though her entire heart is resting on this balance beam of a question.
“I…I’ve forgotten something. It will only be one second. Take a seat and I promise I’ll be back.”
“Alright, but please don’t be long. The train leaves soon.”
“I know, I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Charles sprints down the railway. Past the bar and it’s sleeping proprietor. Past the ticket counter and the great marble clock face above it. He stops and hears the sound of a steam whistle blowing in the past. With a deep breath, he steps onto the train. Another whistle blows and the tracks shake. So many tracks, so many people. Some are lead to love ones, far away in distant places. Some are lead away.
The Colors of Autumn
“That rug turned out nice,” one man said, but the tears in his eyes blurred his sight to the point of almost not even recognizing the patterns anymore. It had once been a fine rug. A focal point of the room, with its bright reds and yellows, celebrating the coming of a new season.
“Yeah, it did, I can’t remember the last time I just appreciated what I’ve done for this place,” admitted the other, to his friend.
They had never quite grown apart, two good ol’ platoon boys from back in the war. They could still remember how it never quite fit the movies that re-imagined it. There was a sense of solace out there on the fields. Solemn scars that John Wayne could never really capture on the big screen. Maybe it was in the knowledge that anytime, anywhere, fate’s hand could have you, and there was no which way about it.
“So what happens now?”
“Well I suspect I’ll move on, no point in fighting it, it’s just that time I suppose. I would hope that you would tell everyone my goodbyes for me.”
“I will, I will, what about her?”
“I don’t think she needs to know, she’d be better off not.”
“Well don’t you think she has a right to know?”
“A right to know that an old bastard has made the most of his life here and is ready to go home? No, she‘s happy where she is and I don‘t want to ruin that for her.”
“I think that would be a grand mistake on your part, friend.”
“It may be, but I’d like you to respect my wishes and leave it alone. After all we’ve been through together, the fields at Da Nang, up that vicious river. You could have died that day but I was there to see you through it! We were all there for each other. Every one of us, knew what we were up against, but we conquered, and we came home.”
“Alright, alright, you sour old fool, I won’t tell her anything.”
The man left his friend and on the way out a cool breeze came from the bedroom, swept through the foyer, and out the door. As he walked to the street, he watched the trees turn. First yellow, then red, then brown. And finally, at last, they were gone.
“Yeah, it did, I can’t remember the last time I just appreciated what I’ve done for this place,” admitted the other, to his friend.
They had never quite grown apart, two good ol’ platoon boys from back in the war. They could still remember how it never quite fit the movies that re-imagined it. There was a sense of solace out there on the fields. Solemn scars that John Wayne could never really capture on the big screen. Maybe it was in the knowledge that anytime, anywhere, fate’s hand could have you, and there was no which way about it.
“So what happens now?”
“Well I suspect I’ll move on, no point in fighting it, it’s just that time I suppose. I would hope that you would tell everyone my goodbyes for me.”
“I will, I will, what about her?”
“I don’t think she needs to know, she’d be better off not.”
“Well don’t you think she has a right to know?”
“A right to know that an old bastard has made the most of his life here and is ready to go home? No, she‘s happy where she is and I don‘t want to ruin that for her.”
“I think that would be a grand mistake on your part, friend.”
“It may be, but I’d like you to respect my wishes and leave it alone. After all we’ve been through together, the fields at Da Nang, up that vicious river. You could have died that day but I was there to see you through it! We were all there for each other. Every one of us, knew what we were up against, but we conquered, and we came home.”
“Alright, alright, you sour old fool, I won’t tell her anything.”
The man left his friend and on the way out a cool breeze came from the bedroom, swept through the foyer, and out the door. As he walked to the street, he watched the trees turn. First yellow, then red, then brown. And finally, at last, they were gone.
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