I carved a moment in time
with the finest words I could find, and yet the voice fell flat hardly deserving of the attention I had hoped it to garner.
So I sat in the autumn stillness
cradling a cold whiskey sour while the sun sank behind the trees and the words continued to race frantically around in my head.
The chill air was heavy and still
as the pointless echoes sank, pooling at the base of my heart, even as orange and red and yellow seamlessly streamed across the horizon.
When the beaded glass was empty
I set it down clinking beside me and waited for the words to come but there was only silence now, and I smiled at last.
Sunset over the Aegean (Turkey 2011)
she weaves tales of such glorious complexity
the richest tapestry of love and fear and wonder and I, desparate to feel, wander lustfully from one courageous strand to the next dipping here dodging there filling the gaps in my mind with faces and figures and finest determination all of which I have acquired from the worlds that are born of her pensive passionate thoughts she is my muse, she is my author and I would follow her to the ends of time ever eager for the next incomparable tale her characters compel her to compose
sit, breathe an’ start again
yet dessicated rhymes
inhibit the next step an’ the next til haunds clench in sullen despair an’ wha’s tae say it will e’er end.
stop nou, erase
ane other dram first rum this time tae sweeten the words an’ loosen the tongue tae speak sumwise braw so sip, an’ start again.
but dinna jus’ write
ye gormless pillock— listen, hear the words feel them in yer bones wed them ane tae ither mind nae the destination bind yer soul tae the journey.
breathe, be, jus’ be
an’ start again
it is only because of you
my love, that i begin at last to understand what it truly means to be a writer
beyond the obvious creativity
the shrouded activity of mind crafting eternal substance to clothe ephemeral ideas
beyond the cleverly constructed
characters careening through indecision and madness and fear ever endearing themselves to me
beyond the precious peers
who inspire and guide you and the late night hours spent tapping away in the dark
beyond all of this and more
is your all too tender heart sorely abused, breaking again beneath the callous burden
of the utilitarian indifference
oh so effortlessly wielded by petty fools who may never know the unencumbered grace
of your soul
Laya, my beloved writer, at Westminster.
in voiceless moments
i hear them all
that resurrect my soul
that breathe purpose
into this life
in voiceless moments
they speak to me
evoking countless memories
and joyless endings
punctuating this verse
with hoary silence
Salt Lake City 13 Feb 2013