A Moment

This composition started out as a stream of consciousness rambling and then took off in a specific direction. I later fashioned it into a poem. It's one of my personal favorites.


A Moment

Settle down into the quiet solitude
Of all that has passed you by
And all the mistakes you have made
That every so often creep back into your memory
To sting your mind with forgotten pain
And then exit your thoughts
Leaving behind a sharp, bitter longing
That presses down heavily upon your soul
Questioning the decisions you made
And the chances you didn't take
And your mind drifts to one moment
One moment
One moment that haunts you
The opportunity that was there
You sitting there
With her in front of you
Sitting between your legs
Facing away
The construction paper and the scissors lying on the floor
The tools of some college project that was to be done
You being the helpful soul
Who would do anything for her
Always waiting for the chance
To be more than a friend

And then it happens
You reach down beside her to grab a piece of paper
And she leans into your arm
She leans
Oh the warmth in that touch
The palpable feeling of her wanting you
Her wanting you to do to something
To kiss her?
To love her?
Or was it just to hold her in that moment
And share that warmth
But you hesitate
Taken aback by this sudden hint of possibility
All the years of waiting
Wanting
Ever so slowly trickling down to this moment in time
When the girl
The girl turned to you
Wanting you to do something
Anything
Everything
She faces away from you
But in that touch, you feel her every desire
Resting on your arm
As you reach for that pivotal sheet of paper on the floor
Now is the time
It has all led to this
Take her
Take her and give her what she needs
What you need
What you want
This is it
The moment
The smell of her hair
The image of her beauty
Racing through your mind
The room is spinning
All else is forgotten
Except her body pressing against your arm
And
And

And you do nothing
And she leans back over
Removing her body
And every opportunity in the world
And you pick up the piece of paper
Wondering what just happened
And why you didn't act
And as quickly
And as suddenly
As this monumental event came to be
It vanishes
Along with any chance of you and this girl
Your lives will change
And your paths diverge
And you are left with what if?
As that moment
That possibility
That chance
Drifts off into memory
Haunting your thoughts
Whenever it decides to creep back in

A day later

Just a simple poem posting today. I wrote this one a few years ago. It was born out of rhyming the words "freezes" and "Jesus," and nothing more beyond that. I had no motivation when I started this, but it took me in so many different directions. And this poem elicits some of the strongest opinions from the people that I've had read my work. There are so many interpretations that have come out of it. And when they ask me, "What does it mean?" I have to sort of dumbfoundedly say, "I don't know."




The Illusion

When alcohol freezes
I'll say, "Thank you, Jesus."
For making my blood run cold
And it's forth that I'll sally
Down this grimy, dark alley
As my poor little life's bought and sold

I've passed up too many
Of a discarded penny
To complain about wages and cost
But it's the little things in life
That will still cause me strife
As I wonder if this cause is lost

Though my muscles are stronger
And day-by-day, my hair's longer
I'll never be the Adonis you crave
And it's this sad conclusion
That destroys the illusion
I hoped I would take to my grave

And in those final hours
When I'm surrounded by flowers
And my dusk edges closer to night
Be it heaven or hell
I'll hoist up my sail
And if you'd like a postcard, I'll write

Beginnings

And so begins my journal. My goal with this here little diddy is to recreate some of the magic that writing – provided for me in my earlier days - specifically in college. At the University of Georgia, Professor Nathan Kohn instructed all of his Creative Writing for Electronic Media students to do journal entries every day, as this would serve as good practice for getting your creative mind going and your writing pen flowing. I can’t say that this tactic worked in college because I was always too busy with other stuff. So I just fabricated my journal entries at the end of each week and turned those into the professor. The experiment failed, I guess, but the truth - the practice of it - lives on. I see how this journal can help me. And I hope it does.

I'm going to be posting some poems and writings every so often. I hope you enjoy these compositions. They are my mind on paper - my thoughts and feelings as the mood struck me to chronicle them.

The first one I post reveals the reason for the name of this blog.



Random Thoughts

Guard against these treacherous predators of the night
For the mind is a wicked creature
Not content to simply take in the reflective stare of the lazy eyes
No, it is hell-bent on opening shut doors
To realms we have since left
And ones in which we have yet to venture