I was invited to give a Ghost Story on World Poetry Open Mic for their Halloween broadcast sooooooooooo...

Trick or treat - the “gobble-ins” are out and about.  Chuckling here.   I hand out the goods each year …hoping to see the ghosts wave, turn, and walk away… sigh, maybe one day …one day…

“Ghostlets…”

There was this bar in Kin -

too young to buy in California

but …we’d earned our rite of passage

then …just as now. Mama-san knew us well,

hard woman but she hugged me once

…but that’s another moment.

“Was late fall, back in ’69 - ’70.

Strange how you remember whens -

isn’t it?

Clear as the mud you wore,

the dirt you hugged and ran through your fingers.”

“A real Indian summer’s day.

Bloodwarm, clear - moon-bright transparent …ink

of a night…

’til midnight neared.”

“‘Tween then and 2,

clouds grew …high aloft -

gathering, darkening, closing in,

roiling - moving.

The shadows - long and flowing,

uneven patterns as the moon broke through

and through,

and through - paused, crazy glow and glistens

…then…

…the dark - tightened…”

“As we listened…  somehow breathing,

gazing back …and forth

back and forth…”

“The air had this rhythm of life -

come and gone

touch, feel, whisper…

come …and gone …then

not a breath, of breeze or ours "

everything HELD

as the sounds …paused… and slowly returned,

back and forth,

began to grow, build, flow,

back …and forth,

now louder and louder still.”

“Cicadas stuttering, as each pause …grew.

Came to life.

Bitterns and crakes - gulls too.

Echoing… echoing…

the sounds of feathered wings,

…leathered wings…

dripping, sawgrass rustling,

mud being moved.

Heavy-padded feet brushing,

ALL moving - round and around - flowing

lost in the dark.

Waiting …in the dark… waiting…

In the dark.”

“Gawd - sweat is cooold at 2 a.m.

and the mind numb from racing and startles

and thoughts seeping in-and-out,

in-and-out …for hours on end.

Eyes burn.

Hands have this shake you come to know

And the smoke ya can’t have will NEVER taste this good.”

“The afterimage is some kinda orange-white-yellows-black …swirls

and speckles white and black, bright grays -

dots and see-me-stars

pulsing, moving through your vision

edge-to-edge - eyes open

…or not.  And you can’t hear.

Lips move but it’s all so far away…

So very, very far …away.”

“Ya can’t measure time by forevers …you just live em.

Finally you breathe again

and again… the heart slows,

shivers begin… you’re alive.

Damn, you’re alive.”

Sigh…

“This rounds on me…

…Missing friends…” he said.

Tags: "Poetry, Writing, CHris

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"I Miss The Thought Of Him..."

It has been a long and deeply introspective week.  So many events transpired - terrible and deeply moving events that paused the world and touched our perceptions of living.  Death and endings affect us all… so much - Ebola, Ferguson Missouri, Robin Williams, Lauren Bacall, Gaza and Israel, shadows of MH17…

“Nanu, Nanu…”

Mind me talking here

- like this -

for a little bit? 

Seems we get kinda busy

and yet at the end of it ...can't really point

to an exact instant

and say what was so busy about it. 

Sometimes we just

don't take notice of the hours      passing

and yet the seconds within some of those hours

...are an eternity WHILE - THEY - are passing.

I had coffee this morning

...pretty early even for me

(likely - even for most - actually). 

Watched the steam expand and spread

to the transparency - of being absorbed. 

I had SOME thoughts flow through,

all in a rush,

and others that meandered so slowly they almost

didn't register behind my eyes. 

They weren't important,

or overly striking,

or even intensely memorable      thoughts -

but, they were ...instants of recognizably pensive moments

that bonded parts of me to other parts - of me,

and each flow had a weight

and each held a "presence" -  gave a meaning.

Do you pause and "create" sounds

and tones

and patterns

...color schemes and shadings

- all behind your eyes? 

And what of the echoes -

the ones that float and swirl and hold your senses

as your conscious body sits - or stands -

or you’re laying down…

while your eyes stare off into wherever it is we DO go

while we are within our ...selves? 

Do your lips form -

shaping tones into meaning,

adding the brackets and waves and

walls and corners and wonders

...and wanders...

as the meandering air flows

- filled with your "intent" - your aria -

expanding into the transparency of "absorption",

your existence at one with the moment in hand?

...thoughts...

Sometimes life is best in the wee hours...

depressions are a part of living...

and choices are always ...personal and relevant to our present.

…sigh...

the sigh really does say it all ...sometimes

I've paused within here several times... and always understood.  Still feel the "shivers", "shudders", questionings - answerings.  I feel the echoes of life, living, early morning porch steps, street curbs.  Walking, running - nowhere-to-go yet going-and-going-and-going if only in a mind. 

"Damn Mork...you went and did it."

I know

- know -  you had to.

Its ok - and it's not

- ok - at all.

You found YOUR path

and we aren't you -

we have our own to follow

as we must.

So innocence ends

as it always does

with a tear

and a new found silence

inside...

And it's hard to grasp

what we knew

as real

as unreal

as the truth 

- of even self lies and stilled imaginings,

as perceptions and perceivings of

our allusions of existence

and illusions of ...of our immediate now.

Precepts change...

Existence, the world and living and

Eras too   

and people? - what of people

left in     left behind, 

- what of people holding tight

to thoughts that ...aren't,

thoughts and fears and confused graspings...

what of our own mirrors      inside

and the images of self

seen behind our eyes,

the sounds we feel within,

turns and hurts - the feel of each gasp

tightness and fear

the uncontrollable RUSH of

the new endings to pause... to accept

...to desire.

People...

some end - others transition into

new nows

new    remnants

- old      and odd bytes of

static wishes and breathings and 

things - break

...people too

but thoughts -

thoughts continue flowing, floating,

running, screaming, crying, flailing     'til in our dying

we hope

over and over - in ways even we don't recognize -

until

all at once they

...cease

they do     cease

- we hope.

Seems the only constant is truly ...change

and yet we

no - I -

I feel     lessened

lessened by the knowing

that a person can make a difference

and yet feel so deeply hurting that

they can only go     away

away

but not anywhere HERE

away - as in beyond our

-or their -

understanding.

A gentle man was taken

And we …I… miss him.

Chris

Tags: Poetry, Writing, CHris

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"Who will place a marker in the field where the children are?"

“MH17…”

How many times must “angels” fall

because of another’s decision to define their existence

- their self-worth and …humanity?

- their godliness and reverence

- their perception of personal power and purpose

- the rightness and righteousness of THEIR-alone-choice

in and with the blood, hurt, fear, tears and endings

of another?

And I know – KNOW - there WAS

a rush of

“YESSS” – and arms raised in celebration and

TRIUMPH!!

And – “We SHOWED THEM!!”

Glad-handing and backslaps…

yells, catcalls and pride-full-shouts!

…as infants,

children

brothers, sisters, cousins, parents -

…people…

fell through and from the sky

THIRTY-THREE      THOUSAND     FEET

and impacted the unyielding earth.

We’ve seen it all before …we have.

Witnessed over and over and still over again

as the chosen-to-be-guilty

became memories

…of someone’s wars

…of another’s times

…of personalized slaughters by-execution-by-decapitation-

by-massacre-by-bombs-by-gas-by-snipers-by-tortures-

by-hangings-by-burnings-by-crucifixtions-by-hunger

by choice

by whim

…by merely existing.

We’ve seen how many mass graves discovered?  And they

and their victims were the honest sense of honor,

pride, and purpose held by …“someone”?

They were and remain HIDDEN

…hidden… hidden by purpose and choice –

Hidden because of individuals’ sense

of rightness? -for what they did?

for what was done? …yeah, right… proud

and personal monuments to their “Cause”. 

Even the rivers hold their secrets while awaiting

the cease of winter’s melt and spring’s flow.

And we…

we memorialize the victims –

plaques, markers, …places,

community led prayers and individual remembrances,

candlelight vigils, walks …talks, poems… shared tears

ribbons, flowers, crosses, …stars…

personal “leavings” that mean something to US -

and after – well, people return and are heart-full again

touched …again

through the years - again

but nothing -

nothing ever remains of or for

…the killer, the choice-maker.

Who stands now

Fist to the sky

Pride FULL

With a joyous shout of “IT WAS I!!”

“I DID THIS!!”  …anyone?

Anyone at all?

"Who will place a marker in the field where the children are?"

Damn them all to their hell.

Chris

PS:  "What they left behind."  is a gallery on CNN's page.  Click on the pic to advance to the next and the next and… 

Strange, how much goes on ‘tween the ticks’-

tocks, the feel and self sound of each pulse-

beat, of the rushing blood paused within the eyes-

blink, while the mind’s measure of our existence

fractures

as the world

…stops.

Tags: Poetry, Writing, CHris

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"Breathing On Demand..."

When you're just near
- I listen to my heart beat stuttering

and feel  every breath in lungs too tight .

...And then you paused - spoke...

"My hands got so chill, clammy.
and I froze
rooted
dumb - its like I almost know what to say
and then
and then - damn
... you looked
at me
into me
and I couldn't turn
or move
and I can't
can't think
can't move
can't speak...
I'm so frozen, afraid -
afraid you'll notice
me - and how I'm not -
not much of anything really...
nothing at all special or worth your notice

or touch
or smile...
and if you did
DID
notice me
I'ld die...
I'ld -I'ld just be in heaven
I wouldn't know how to stop smiling
to NOT smile
to NOT FLOAT
- into tomorrow -
to not breathe ever again
without feeling the press of your hand in mine
your fingertips brushing my cheek
without dreaming of your lips
and the presence of YOU
in my life.

Please... please stay?
Please..."

"Uh, uh... its just around the corner -
and to the right."

Chris

Tags: Poetry, Writing, Chris

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Tags: Poetry, Writing, CHris

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"A Series Of Thoughts..."  continues on and on.  Minds are like that, flowing and meandering whimsically and then raging as the WORLD just FLOODS in - then out.  Its sunny and the wind is whispering - clouds shimmering... and the mind is crying to come out and play.

Rain is a state of mind... hmmm.  Seems we often think in terms that separate and hide us from view. 

"Rain Is A State Of Mind..."

Rain is a state of mind -
mine, yours, anyone's,
everyone's.
We carry our selves
everywhere -
and try so hard to live within
the 'borders' of
our allusions and illusions.

But the 'borders' have changed -
they, like we, are so very, very shattered!

The world is NOT a little place; but, no PLACE is suddenly more than a heartbleat away.  Within your LIFE - every WHERE is within your sight - not within an instant physical touch... but within your sight, within your hearing,
within your - reach.

You can see and hear
and GOD - be touched, without being - touched.
You can be in your sanctum -
the one place that has FOREVER been yours - alone ~
- your 'closet', castle keep, bed... your PLACE.
Even -
A kitchen table at 3AM after all your 'tears'
  have finally stopped falling or maybe you just
  woke and need to cry, want to be anything and anywhere
  but right here and right now
  anditsallclosingintightandnowhereelsetobe
AND SUDDENLY
you HAVE some one else that is
RIGHT
WHERE
you are...

...hello...

I think its hardest realizing
we were settled for...
even if WE settled ourselves -
no one really wants to believe
it happened TO them.

     How long do YOU wait
     to love before you don't wait anymore?

"Love WILL come" -
"...it will grow" -
I OR YOU
can and "WILL learn to love"
me or you... eventually,
if given the time...
remember hearing that and those?

There is compassion,
desire, want, caring, LUST,
a whole society promulgated,
studied-and-approved LIST
-  of ways to be WITH others.
And we carry the list into our lives
as the frame for how to survive.

--- and then you FEEL... something ---

And what about when you ARE in-love
- who self-sacrifices themselves
after knowing all their lives
ALL
their
lives -
that there is no such thing as storybook Love!!
There is Lust and heat.
There is understanding.
There isn't 'completeness' or
another "half" awaiting discovery...
'til rather suddenly their
- IS.

The shock of being in-love
and knowing it -
with someone who 'settled'
AND was in turn 'settled-for'...

Being the "other"
- man or woman
or is it always to be
- just another man or woman?
There IS a lot of Rain
inside
and behind-so-many-eyes.

Life can be such melancholy mysts.

Chris

Tags: Poetry, Writing, CHris

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Tags: Poetry, Writing, CHris

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"Same..."

You've said EVERY word -
I've ever used and yet
you've ne'er heard any word
I've ever said.

Your words are mine,
mine are yours.
Ours are theirs,
theirs are ours.

One is alls'
alls' is one's...
We are each others'
and yet - not any-other-one's.

Same - different

different - same...
and I'm crying
today...
and you are ~
not --- wondering --- why.

Perhaps you should...

Chris

Tags: Poetry, Writing, CHris

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"They Call The Wind... Mariah..."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qkmvwCpcZlM

The hard thing about listening
to music, narration, theater,
video clips, TV, and yes - people
any one -
is always when THAT voice
is NOT the one we hear INSIDE...
the one the MIND provides so freely
and personally...
so its somehow 'wrong'
the timbre, tone, the feel of it,
the way it just DOESN'T fit right...

...and the dissatisfaction grows
and takes away from the focus
and often closes our ears,
hearts, minds.

But when it IS that voice we hear inside -
well, listening is the very least we CAN do...
Gawd...
ya know?

Chris

Tags: Poetry, Writing, CHris

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