When falling stars

define whimsical thoughts,

passionate wanting, lifelong wishes
.

The moment between,

the insanity of reality,

and the intangible needs of life.

.

Beautiful seconds

where everything matters most,

yet nothing survives.

.

The sleepless dawn

Failing to restrain my thoughts,

from helpless desires of midnight insanity.

In life, there are many times you realize failure. In many cases my friends think of these moments in terms of careers or relationships… while I think about the severity of a moment weighed against the most critical elements of life and death. I’m glad that my daily life does not warrant this kind of contest anymore, as the responsibility of life and death decisions is an incredibly complex notion full of limitless rewards and unmentionable peril.

In my mind I am glad to have had responsibility like this, and I wanted to say my own personal thank you for all the souls out there who take these duties when no one else will.

Not many people,

know the failure I have known.

Not of simple academia,

or lifelong pursuit,

but of missing the moment.

.
When a fraction,

becomes the only measure,

when seconds define years, often infinity,

and the most wanting, hurtful loss,

is measured by fractions of impossibility.

.
I cannot tell you that I failed,

to this painful misery of holding

your child, the jewel of your life,

your love, the definition of your journey,

for all my efforts I could not succeed.

.

I remember, with crystal recollection,

the moment of decision, made with with best intent,

when my choice was wrong,

and I now cry, forever wanting,

to make that moment different.

.

Yet I cannot,

Time and fate, cruel and unstoppable,

make me struggle, to yearn and hope

that I can choose again, not for you, but someone else,

and it will be right.

.

Without a moment
of thought,
recollection,
or insight.

I found myself
breaking into my own worth
drinking of the water
that gave me life.

I had no illusion
simple desperation
dumbfounded confusion,
unknown loss.

Yet I discovered
the breath I needed,
a hope of eternity
the life of tomorrow.

In all honesty, my mind is often a flurry of creative thought and motion. It is hard for me to be “at rest” , and the few times I have noticed myself in a moment of perfect calm and quietness has been a notable experience for me.

In my daily life, this is something I can attribute to the first real loss I had in life: my daughter.

A very small handful of readers here on this site have noted there is only one other poet that I have listed in “other poets” is E.E. Cummings. The reason for this is simple, the first poem “I carry your heart with me” was engraved on her urn, which reminds me of the necessity of love. To know that which you have loved, will love, and will always love.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart i carry your heart

(i carry it in my heart)

It is not something you can disregard, nor is it something that others can see. It is something like faith, honor or trust – that while unseen, is worthwhile, tangible, and real.

It is something so rare, to have realized the awesome power such knowledge and acceptance brings. To know of myself, a decade after loss, to have been transformed into someone better.

Why does this matter?

In my professional life that is controlled by a world of metrics and business spreadsheets, I am often asked questions like “where did you learn that?” or “why do you know that?”

The first answer, which is typically a professionally minded business one, usually revolves around attending some seminar or spending countless nights practicing my trade.

The second answer, which is entirely metaphorical and of personal significance, is simply “I had a daughter.”

The first answer is merely an action, a choice.

The second answer is the motivation, the reason to which I have made the choice.

Connecting the dots

While losing my daughter was the first loss, she was unfortunately not the last. Mother, grandmother, friends. Many missed and noteworthy people.

To these people I owe a great debt of gratitude. They were the ones who taught me to know “that which you have loved, will love, and will always love” and “that while unseen, is worthwhile, tangible, and real.”

Final Thoughts

I can only tip my hat, say my words of remembrance, and share these words of insight with my heartfelt “thank you.”

to leave today, with a final line:

“The most wasted of all days, is one without laughter.”
e.e. cummings

I realize that for the longest time the notes I made around my poetic writing gave insight to my thinking and the frame of mind I had when words described idea. Some of my older writing was focused on this, revolving around my perspective (instead of the end result.)

Within this framework I shared a great number of pieces with a great number of people. Whether through books or publishing online, I always felt as though the special nature of introspection did my writing more justice.

Some of my friends know that I am fond of the concept of “the looking glass” or “sliding doors.” I am often very cognoscent of actions leading to other actions, of the notion that my decisions today are based upon the decision of yesterday. With that said, I never wanted to lead anyone down the proverbial “rabbit hole” – or to take away the personal realization a reader could have if they had not been encouraged by my own thoughts.

As my years progress and I see more history behind me, I am more aware of the fact that my life has been somewhat different than the typical rabbit.

This is a piece that defined some of that for me. A brief moment of my thought where I asked of myself “what side of the mirror am I on?”

Lost within

ponderous enigma

Trying to find answers

of pervasive illusion.

Yet I reach

struggling to redefine

to trace an outline

of belief and faith.

I do not ask of myself,

nor of others.

I ask of my future,

and of my past.

Searching,

seeking,

sifting,

hoping.

To find truth,

the moment when everything

becomes tangible,

realized by my soul.

To find my answer,

to the question I do not know,

to discover if this reflection,

will place me in fantasy or reality.

As a child, my mother told me to pay attention.

Sitting idle as my thoughts played outside.

Blurs of imagination struggling to escape this prison.

The guards of denial, created by my elders,

binding me down, restraining me.

Until I forgot.

.

If I could remember,

the way I was told to behave,

or the manner in which I was told to act -

then my life would not be my own.

I would be an extension of what came before me,

instead of the extraordinary thing I need to be.

.

If my memory

in a moment of childish arrogance,

could be deleted, as it already has been,

I would know no rules, have no restraint.

I would dream not of surviving the failure of others,

but of discovering my own, of personal exploration.

With a moment of time,
came judgment, not of those lost
but of those who live
.
The virtue of free will,
abandoned to inaction,
of emotionless life
.
Our chance to believe
not in faith, nor of unseen things
but of ourselves
.
In the children,
basked in a history
of defiance and infamy
.
The name of atrocity
becoming notorious words
of our limitless resolve
.
This bane, no this malevolent crisis
which some care not, will not,
remember and learn
.
As we know,
as we always hold dear
sweet memory, never forgetting
.
In this time, the vein hope
to care of ourselves
and of others
.
To find that moment of definition
when we, never alone, always together,
become the decisions of who we are
.
Finding ourselves to be better,
knowing care, hope, peace, acceptance, forgiveness,
Provide us to lead our world to something better.

I was laughing today, simply because  I was pounding through lines of code and talking on the phone with dozens of different people… yet the comical need of drinking four pots of coffee made me sit back and do some creative writing. As many people have noted here (sorry to all the lurkers out there!), I often post date my writing or change the posting date to another month.

The reality is simple this: we all have our moment of crisis or imperfection, of love or of lust. We never know what causes it, yet we do know what drives it. If you have an understanding of who you are, the meaning of who I am should be irrelevant. Simply read the words and feel.

I FORGOT CHOCOLATE, FORGIVE MY COFFEE

There was nothing casual,

the brief moment of desire I had.

Insidious, invasive lust.

Wanting greed.

My focus was absolute.

Debilitating.

.

Yet I knew my want,

the rich, bitter taste

an embrace of who I was

not who I would be.

As lust seized my body

and asked for more.

.

Sweet decadence,

not the childish romance,

bitter, like life in autumn.

When the strongest of summer survives.

I think, wanting without reservation

of the darkest pleasure.

.

I am not whole,

no I am not who I should be.

I am simply that,

which I want.

That of what I care,

and nothing else.

.

Sweet coffee.

As I have witnessed

stars falling from heaven

blazing in the night sky,

I fail to see

the grass beneath my feet

or the whispers of the end.

I do not question

no, I do not ask this regret

to hold my heart safe.

I merely embrace a life,

not my own, or of my choosing

that will be my companion in the end.

I cannot see,

nor can I ask for foregiveness,

as this world fades into my memory.

As a child, I learned of life through the pages of a book.

Curiously browsing through the isles of thought

contained within parchment and paragraphs,

detailed within black and white.

Words became something I cherished,

While sometimes I fell in love with the characters,

or the perfection of a simple guide of “how to”

I always found room for more.

Then I grew, both up and older

finding the best parts of epic tales, the detail of life

to be trapped within each binding,

The essence of the writer mine to understand.