I fell down
It wasn’t far
But in that distance life shot past
with indeterminate speed
I was the moon, falling,
David Bowie gliding to earth
Lost in a desert
Alien to myself as to all around
I grabbed a midnight Pan Am and headed to New York,
Landed in Idlewild,
Memories not yours.
You, the simple one I used to be,
After all the searching
Found life was only what I needed.
Shadows crawled out from the walls,
Dreams of freedom being mine
As you fell into cracks and crevices so small
That hopes of retrieving you were insane.
Tag Archives: thoughts
103 years, Judge Ingram said,
as Weberman lowered his head,
charged with crimes of acting out,
found guilty, on 59 counts,
child sexual abuse, towards a 12 year-old girl.
His religion could not excuse,
his heinous acts, his moral turpitude,
an unlicensed therapist upon an unwitting soul.
“I would cry until the tears went dry,”
the victim sighed with head held high.
Now 18, married, she moved away,
her home in another place to stay,
for society still perverts the crime
to wrong the woman victimized.
Brooklyn D.A. Charles Hynes got it right,
wresting power from the powerful,
letting law see the light,
so victims will know their voices are heard
and justice once more rises at dawn,
to challenge the dark, one day at a time.
obliged to all
my brain dissolves
in New Year’s wine
in champagne’s fine
in chocolates and delicacies
that palates must attend
to such distress as tongues
and taste without refinement
as we pursue a state of sheer inebriation
without a hint of what the morn shall bring
in pain and torture
as heads collide on pillows softer
than an angel’s hand could lend.
Oh, we are, doubtless, a species of abuse!
Queens, so regal it proclaims
But harbors those who maim
And kill the innocent of this a city,
Inured to violence
A purple heart of death.
We honor killing, murder, depravity
And toss aside what’s left of our humanity
Replacing it with such insanity
That souls are set adrift.
Which dream was real
No hour longer than this day
Under cover though I stay
Tangled mess, my sheets tell the tale
The next awaits
And never arrives.
When darkness overcomes
To hide has just begun.
Victims of the city walls
All await a deadly fall
Through sewers, streets and shopping malls
The Subway tracks tell us all
That life is rotten to the core
When we neglect our neighbors call
No jobs, low wages, a scary sight
As politicians continue on
Wreak havoc on so many here
And food a scarce commodity
While rents increase and they rejoice
To those we pay a living wage
As we scurry to our grave.
In winter’s white
The open field is swallowed in a foot of snow
Another and another falls
Till nothing on horizon shows.
Then antler disappears, though buck stands six feet tall
And bull a breadth beyond that height–
The world outside is very white.
Then quick return to hearth and home
The blankets beckon, no more you roam.
Till spring melts in a river flow
And summer flowers bow down low.
So, this is about
A woman friend of mine
Who said she was upset
At Obama’s reelection,
And I ask, why?
Romney was against abortion, but she did not think she should would take responsibility for a child of a women forced to conceive, no matter what the reason.
She did not care that he had no thoughts or comments on whether women should be paid equal pay for equal work.
He would privatize Social Security, and possibly leave millions of Americans destitute.
And health care? Well…
So, why was she upset?
She is not rich.
She depends, partially, upon her husband’s pension (they are both recently retired).
She is upset at the increasing property taxes and health care costs.
Is there someone who can enlighten me?
From your humble blogger, runningwithellen
On the way to Mount Snowdon
I met a Slate Quarry.
Though not the one to err
Yet I found deep thought
In the passing of memory
Far under a tree
in the trolley garage.
Then as we retreat
you may vent, as you please–
But not to neglect,
to Canada we photo
And while Easy does it,
He’s my favorite by far!
But do not ignore
Doggystyle, yes, there’s more–
Thundering Herd, not absurd;
And we speak of adopting a little bit more!
So here’s to my minions–
In them I do reckon, with Brevity, tis true,
A soul’s walk will do,
So splash a little paint–
my words shall remain
with Margo’s Notebook,
and Sage’s misadventures
a source of real pride,
at night by my side–
Love those dogs, I confess,
Can’t get enough of you, I guess!
It should so please me, if you would just see,
My newest companion–
It’s Zack, he flies free!
Oh! Très bien! Très bien!
Uno or dos
I seem not to know
Whom I like most.
I count on my fingers
Five – up to ten
And then I begin
To count them again.
This is quite fun
Having you here
To read all my gibberish
When it appears
And though I do know
You’re all very busy
I can’t stop myself
From making us dizzy!
To say “miss” is to imply there once was, but I assure you there was not.
Growing up in a morass of mediocrity, accomplishments were relegated to others, and ours was a life marked by others’ needs, a turning of the lamp before dawn, a turning off at night. What happened between was of no consequence.
Nor did it provide satisfaction or mere contentment.
It was but a passing of time till sleep. Sleep, less and less each day, and time grows burdensome.
Fragments of contentment appear and disappear, so subtle that their remembrance lasts not long, insufficient to be recorded.
Which yesterday revealed a moment with the possibility of renewal, satisfaction, meaning, continuity? If there was, it is lost, intangible.
Last night I sent a bus careening, with people calmly going to their death
In my dream
Wrapped in plastic
But that was the second bus
The first hurtled out of control by itself
The first was a ghost
A foretelling of the second
And a third, split in two, suspended in air
And shrink wrapped
With damage control emblazoned on its side
Spun down the corridor after the two.
Then I woke.
At 4 in the morning you wake, depressing yourself
At 6:11 it’s not the same.
Two pots of coffee, and you’re almost sane.
Insidious is this sorrow
So many tears to shed
Though laughter fills the air instead
This sorrow weighs against my chest
To live a life filled with regret
That tears can never stop the tide
Of sorrow walking by my side.
why so my heart breaking
why do these tears come tumbling
flooding my soul
why must I feel so empty
oh lord, why am I so adrift, disconsolate
cannot just one thing in this universe make me whole
must I search till my heart breaks for finding nothing to replace the one being
that made my life whole
I cannot end these tears
there is no reason nor recourse for the tale that echoes forth
I have but solitude to seek and in that state I would find a glimmer of my former self
I am hyperbole and so inclined to meaningless allusions
I am a fragment of what you see
and inclined to be nothing more than the wind
and more a figment than truth
I am reality, but only in that fantasy that we perforce seek to surrender ourselves.
oh god, must I be this
I should drown in sorrow before I regain a spectrum of humanity
that this humanity be but wind and water, both gone and vanished into the air
I am but soiled in how I did regard the hearts of others
and yet I would relive these sorrows were you to let me pass to worlds that would divine the beauty of the world to come.
Let so my passage be, and to this I would incline my one true heart
to meet that heart I know does await, if not one true love, than one I should love, and with your will
I truly set my soul to be the keeper of this trust, to that I do compel myself
to fail thee not in this endeavor.
How quiet he is.
In death as in life.
Soft, smooth, once warm, now cold and stiff.
Gone my love. Gone my long companion of days adrift and nights awake.
Gone now, gone forever, three feet down, an amendment to the soil.
To mask my pain and ask forgiveness.
What life did you lead. Were you served well, you who bent your head and body to my will.
I did ignore. I did. I remember well.
Soft, my boy, soft next to me, so easy to put aside.
To gather back those times, the endless repetition of a life’s attitudes, changed never, repentant forever. Time finite. Time infinity.
You left, and I sit, shocked that 16 years passed before me, unnoticed.
Asleep in your place on the floor, the discomfort comforts. The last sleep and weariness of each day blurs my mind of thought and emotion. Kept at bay, I exist.
Brought to tears
my heart does cheer
and thoughts of how you appear
to mellow my response
in ways I may enhance
a quality of life
so often rife
with war and woe
though this I think you know
my feelings are sincere
I must reply
I am not tied
by land or sea or sky
and will admit
with fitting wit
I’d rather live than die.
Not summer’s heat
Nor winter’s chill
Though snow is 15 feet
And Fahrenheit soars to 100.
Then watch hurricane Irene tear your heart
In consort with the wind
As crops disintegrate
And mud swallows up your life, your dreams
And follow her from flood to famine
The inexhaustible dryness of nature’s vengeance
Burns body and land.
A tale of change, a warning to a world asleep
A scream without a sound,
As plunderers make their way
Through primeval forests,
What happens when you lose all reasons for living, when existence seems meaningless?
Why does this happen?
Is it simply the result of a set of circumstances, or is it inherent in the person, something that was always there and only needed a trigger to be set free?
And when you begin to go over the things you want to put in order so that your death will not put others in distress over the things you may have left unattended?
And when you solidly believe that even though you maintain the ability to laugh and enjoy certain aspects of this world, that your existence is worthless and noncontributory to the betterment of the community, in such a way that you feel there will be no loss, but surely a gain for others, as you leave space and resources for others to make better use of?
And even when you formulate these feelings, a part of you remembers something you truly wanted to do, and already you want to postpone your end in order to accomplish this one thing.
The result, though, is no less sad, for the depression remains, and joy is only fragmentary.
Ending seems so more fulfilling than constant mediocrity.