Alicia Ray R.I.P.
Current mood: devastated
Category: devastated Life

There is no easy way to say these words, but one of my MySpace friends, who was a budding writer/artist, passed away. The reason I bring this up is because of the way that she died. It hurts to say, but she was raped, strangled and burned. Violence towards women need to stop. People who commit these crimes need to go to jail without possible parole in a 8 x 8 cell.

Some of you may know Alicia. She is one of my top friends. She also went by the name of Heaven's Faith. Please send your warmest wishes, thoughts and prayers to Alicia, her family and friends.

R.I.P. Alicia! We love you!

Peace,

Michael

This poem is sheer free association.

Poem 120 -- Hate

Hate spews filth
From the evils deep
Living in trash
The enticing spell of Hell
Beware
Of those who claim to know your heart
Without the slightest provocation
Unknowing
Senseless

Know your cherished friends
Love them
Tell them how you feel
And never let them go

R.I.P. Alicia!

Love,

M.

Never Forget!

http://www.casac.ca/english/herstory/tbtn_mcvi.htm

Currently listening : Aaliyah By Aaliyah Release date: 2006-05-22

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Poem 119 -- Seduction
Current mood: sleepy
Category: sleepy Writing and Poetry

Poem 119 -- Seduction

Your wicked potion
Lethal
Falling blindly
From raspberry lips
Dripping
Memerizing me
Lost in bliss

False promises
Those I want to believe
Yes
You entice me
With caramel whispers
You the maniacal clown
While
I am the helpless fool
Seeking for dark chocolate glances
Savoring delicious kisses
Yearning to be the one

Allow me
To open cloudless doors
Permit me
To walk in
Unannounced
Despite your eyes betraying
Smiling that ghostly grin
You the charmer
And I the cobra
Your grip of my
Smokey senses
Leaves me
Anticipating
Confessing
Emerald truths
I'd sell my soul
But you
The thief
Who already robbed
What once
Was securely mine

Currently listening : Sam's Town By The Killers Release date: 2006-10-03

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Poem 118 -- Celebration
Current mood: tired but relaxed
Category: tired but relaxed Writing and Poetry

Poem 118 -- Celebration

Now is the time
To celebrate friendships
Lost and present
And feast on rich delights
Drink fine wine
Savor
Congratulate
All of your successes
And salty challenges
Look forward
To the bright future
Take unforeseen risks
Jump off that cliff
Fly
Fly
And breathe
Remember to breathe

Currently listening : Anticipation By Carly Simon Release date: 1990-10-25

12:43 AM - 26 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

Poem 117 -- Solace
Current mood: grateful
Category: grateful Writing and Poetry

Poem 117 -- Solace

Solace found me
In hidden silver shadows
Behind copper flames
And rhubarb clouds
Twisted in peppermint ribbon
She had been there
All Along
Waiting for fain
Recognition
But in my hazy
Mystery
I had boarded
Unlocked doors
And barred
Open windows
Until
Unsettled in blinding fear
I mustered
Tenuous courage
Broke free
Of self imposed bindings
And decided
To welcome the Universe
Absorb delicious rose nectar
And take
My rightful spot

Currently listening : X By Kylie Minogue Release date: 2008-04-01

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Darkness, Part Three
Current mood: wired
Category: wired Writing and Poetry

Darkness Part Three

My sweater, red, the color of watermelon, was now suffocating me, my tee shirt drenched in a cool sweat, the woolen top coat heavy, stifling, smothering, and as I walked through the parking lot, the ground ice slick, glossing over my first friend whose footprints were now obsolete. The flurries fell freely, and I was hot and cold simultaneously.


I got back into my car, dazed, confused, afraid that if I allowed myself to breathe deeply, I would fall to the bottom of the dry well, choke, possibly even start a crying jag that would not dissipate even by a dam the size of Hoover. So, I just drove, aimlessly, but with direction, back to my house, back to my college roommates, life having just changed, changing me irrevocably, a broken doll flung into a gutter, and my peanut sized brain could not possibly process the information I had just confronted.

POSITIVE
POSITIVE

I knew I was in some kind of Hellish dream, had to be, because there was no way this could be happening to me at twenty-four. My life was just beginning and I was searching for that ultimate dream: the perfect job, the ideal boyfriend, a beautiful home, financially secure, and my do9g coco. Would my dog really outlive me?

Somehow I managed to drive safely, yielding red lights and stop signs, making sure that pedestrians had their right of way. I had even managed to arrive in my driveway physically intact. As I parked, I stayed inside the vehicle, the motor still humming, petrified to walk inside to see who might be home, petrified that if they would notice the change in me, ever so slight, a look, a glance, and that this newfound secret would be fully exposed, angry bones and twisted arteries throbbing, transforming me into a metamorphic state.

After ten minutes or so, I knew that my refusal to step inside the door would alarm my housemates, and I was too afraid that I could not lie, hide myself, so I turned off the ignition, gathered my coat in my hands, the sweater now damp too, my forehead buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, like a hummingbird's wings. It was only twenty degrees or so outside, but I felt like I was on fire, a pig on a spit, and I welcomed coolness.

I prayed that of all people in the house, I would not come home to Mark. Mark, one of my dearest friends whom I loved platonically, yet, he had been hurt when I had not returned his affection. Sweet Mark. Why can't gay men pair off without these reservations? But, it was Mark as I turned the corner and entered the kitchen. I felt woozy now. I set the coat on a near chair, took the cardigan off, and pulled another chair towards me so I could sit down before I fell. I felt weak and nauseous, and my throat was completely dry.

I stood up.

"Mark," I said. Mark's back recoiled like a cat as he straightened himself to his full height, about an inch taller than myself. He turned around ready for a verbal blow. But, as soon as he saw me, the tension in his face relaxed, replaced with concern. I must have looked like a trainwreck.

"Mark," I began, but just then I choked on my words, and the sounds that filled the room and echoed, strangely, were my own sobs, as if I was not standing above myself observing the view.

"What's wrong Baby?" he said. "What's wrong? Tell me. Baby it'll be okay," as he held me tightly why my body stopped resisting, giving in to this frail moment.

I cried and cried.

"What's wrong? It's all going to be okay."

But it wasn't going to be okay, not by a longshot, and for now, I was not able to blurt out the truth.

I cried, and he hugged me, and we stood there, stood there, like Norman Rockwell figurines, a bit unreal, and fragile if knocked off the shelf.

Currently listening : Hard Candy By Madonna Release date: 2008-04-29

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Poem 116 -- Summer
Current mood: relaxed
Category: relaxed Writing and Poetry

Poem 116 – Summer

Blistering heat

Humidity sparing no one

Stealing breath

And the air conditioner

Hums my tune

As I sit in front of it

Air spraying cool sunshine

On overexposed pores

The sweat now dissipating

And my brother scowls

Because I am absorbing

Pure delicious coolness

While he sits and sputters

"Move out of the way!"

"We all need to cool off!"

So I step aside

Looking outdoors

Noticing the hyacinth

They don't seem particularly flustered

By unbearable salty heat

In fact

They radiate

Smiling at me

Flirting

Purring

Beckoning me to join them

But I am too smart

To listen to the coo

Of some flattering flower

I stay inside

Lying behind the couch

Just under the slice

Of frosty Heaven

And I hope

That tomorrow

Brings wealthy thunderstorms

Glowering their disapproval

Of that monstrous citrus sun

That has dominated days on end

Making itself felt

Known

Forgiving nothing

But I yearn

For now

The rain will pour

Weeping in sheer delight

While we meager mortals

Thrill

Rejoice

In a cool day

Just one cool day

Currently listening : Fever By Madonna Release date: 1999-01-05

11:34 PM - 26 Comments - 25 Kudos - Add Comment

Poem 114 -- Liberation
Current mood: calm
Category: calm Writing and Poetry

Poem 114 – Liberation

It required more

Than cerulean hopes

Custard dreams

And cranberry promises

Bitter and sour

Spoiling the now

Ultimately unsatisfying

More deserving

So when the door slammed

Shut

A liberation of the masses

Evolved in empty prison cells

And a swarm of swallows

Singing "No more!"

And proudly

I opened my eyes

Now misted in consecrated truths

Currently listening : I'm in Love By Evelyn Champagne King Release date: 1999-07-30

12:45 AM - 10 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Poem 115: Follow
Current mood: creaky
Category: creaky Writing and Poetry

Follow

He didn't get it

So l listened

Saw pale fleshy lips

Pout, preen and argue

While white veneers

Climb silken soapboxes

Spewing filth

Asking the masses to

Follow

Follow

Follow

Where spiders lurk

And cobwebs bind

Antennae waving

Eight legs clapping as one

After all

What's wrong with

Wise mature men

Preaching the gospel

Singing sanctified songs

Seducing young lads

Claiming consent

Sixteen year olds

Hormones raging

No taller than five foot eight

A first opportunity

To explain forbidden glances

In nodding dusky shadow

Repulsive grins

That whisper and coo

Beckoning

Trust me

Trust me

And we'll fly to Italy

In a bat's eye

Board my personal jet

With worn treasure

And copper stains

Even of there is no truth

To speak of

And the boys craving

For attention

Love and caressing

Responding to their call

Follow

Follow

Follow

Into depth's misery

Forgetting to anticipate the enemy

Instead

Welcoming them in

Absorbing venom

Senselessly

Only they could not discern

A monster

From a comrade

So they seek

Follow

Follow

Follow

The pied piper

Who guided boyscouts

To just past the tide

Where undertoe

Pulls fiercely

Like a mare

Protecting her foal

Except folly

Criticizes and obliterates

Naiveté

And so they

Follow

Follow

Follow

Never questioning

Just trusting

Into future unknowns

Where terror screams

Cold night sweats

Creep across bewitched skin

Astonished no one heeded them

Warned them to lock doors

Question what is not discussed

So they

Follow

Into ghost worlds gray

Currently listening : What's New By Linda Ronstadt & the Nelson Riddle Orchestra Release date: 1990-10-25

10:25 PM - 18 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

Poem 113 -- Exposure
Current mood: quiet

Exposure

Blistering moonbeams expose

Even in unforgiving blackness

Perhaps it is not overtly witnessed

But you know

Intrinsically you know

That something you protected

Held sacred

Is no longer hidden

This masquerade ball has ended

Leaving just you

Alone

It could be a shift in mood

In expression

That reveals a heart dispassionate

Not intending to hurt a soul

*So gentle*

The one who wants you

So unworthy of sanctified kisses

As you are

Stagnant and stale

Maybe it's in the glint of the eye

Longing to be wrapped

In thunderous whispers

Driving the guilt and uncertainty away

Because afterwards

You may become complicit strangers

Familiar and foreign

In your new found knowledge

Possibly hoping for more

Or perhaps just calling

A spade a spade

Maybe it was enough for then

What if you truly choose to express

Is just an openness

A clear view inward

To claret thoughts

And outwards

And honesty prized

For those who understand

Get it

Want it

Desire it

Even covet it

Hoping to be part of it

And they may already trust

What you are just not realizing

And what they see in you

That although you are running

You may be running

Ti treasure rich and unexpected

Or plunging into mysterious pools

That can elevate or destroy you

It's subtle

And it could be all

Or nothing at all

Out of these meanderings

Windows open

The angels can see in

And the demons can flee

Eager for you to pull the night

Into citrus sunshine

Elegant and pure

So you can discover

A way to your process

Like it or not

You will ultimately venture

Into the forbidden subconscious

Openness has its price

It can lead you

To gossamer truths

Emerald hopes

And lavender dreams

If you open the door

And walk through it

Currently listening : No Fear Here By Susaye Greene

2:49 PM - 26 Comments - 25 Kudos - Add Comment

Incredible (Darkness, Part 2)
Current mood: numb
Category: numb Writing and Poetry

This was another class write. It surprised me and choked me up as I read it. It is what it is.

Incredible (Darkness, Part 2)

I stepped into the cold, wet sleet, the ground silvery, slushy gray, pulling my scarf tighter as I followed first a pair of footprints, followed by another and another, as a crowd of a hundred mixed and mingled, until I lost my first friend. That cement and steel structure brewed, breathing and beckoning me, asking me to face the reality, the verdict, of what lay dormant, for now, in that vanilla envelope at my appointed time, the first appointment of the day. Nine a.m. – the first damned appointment of the day. There was a disconnect, an incredible floating sensation, where you view your body from above, much like an astronaut looking down upon the Earth (poor souls), as you observe your breathing, the pounding heart as it thump, thump, thumped against your ribcage, the bully bruising internal organs recklessly. I didn't feel it so much as understood and watched.

As I opened the door, I walked from the frigid ice into Hansel and Gretel's oven, the witch at reception, cold, unblinking, dismissive, not even acknowledging me except for this:

"Your name please?"

The anxiety began in the pit of my stomach, the acid forming, flowing into my veins, seizing my heart and eclipsing my shallow breath as I opened my mouth, no words forming. Finally I swallowed and told her that I had an appointment. She averted her gaze.

"Incredible," I thought. "That little brat."

My seething was a way to avoid the daunting task of sitting and waiting, my skin fleeing my body like a mouse scurrying from a cat, but immediately she motioned me with her index finger into an empty board room, that suddenly felt deathly cool compared to the waiting room just outside. There was a long table with a telephone in the center, one used for conference calls I thought, and about twenty chairs surrounding it, the ghosts about to conduct a group interview. I wondered who the applicant was. I tried to breathe, but couldn't find any air, the dichotomy between cold, hot and cold damaging my fragile lungs.

Then she came in, the middle aged woman, hair permed, dyed red, with a squeegee holding somewhat in place. She smiled, but it was a weak attempt at being approachable. I remember her telling me her name, but it went in one ear and out the other, the roadrunner outrunning the coyote. In my mine I called her Tess the mess, but it was me who felt messed up. She briefed me on her experience – she returned school at the age of forty-one to pursue her MSW after her some went to college, and she immediately was hired by the County's Health Department.

Tess then abruptly stopped talking, paused, and produced the envelope with the test results, test results that would alter my immediate and future plans. She handed the me the index card which displayed a confidential identification number that was meant to be me. Underneath this code were two words in all caps, red, the same word stamped twice on top of the other, a benign ledger that was only used to display data.

POSITIVE

POSITIVE

The repetition of the word confirmed what I already knew, that the second lab had verified the fist test for accuracy.

I no longer felt cold, nor warmth, or anything else that produced a sensation. I'd expected this. I had expected it, especially when my ex-boyfriend had received his news over the telephone. I had expected it, but still felt shock. "Incredible," I thought.

She began to cry as I stared dumbly at the card. She cried, and then I looked over at her, my face pale. I thought I might puke if I thought I could move from that chair to the bathroom.

"I'm new," she said, 'and I have never had to deliver news like this before." She paused before beginning again. "You look just like my son."

And then incredibly, I stood up and walked over to her as she wept, and hugged her, telling her that I was sorry.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

It was the only thing I knew to do, and inside a door slammed shut, locked itself. No dreams. No future. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I hugged her and in my head, I felt and saw nothing. Incredible. It was 1987. I would die within the year, and that was that. There was no prognosis, no treatment, and people were dying, those sweet men who had no idea of what had hit them.  Incredible, just incredible. I hugged her as she cried until I finally sighed, allowing myself to emit a tight breath of air, trying to ignore the panic as it washed over me like the tide robbing sand from the shore.

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