Broken Tombs in the Wind

Broken Tombs in the wind,

Whistle with loves and lives,

And Voices in the snow.

Winter is deep and it loves in strange ways;

Not in the least,

For the living as the dead,

Embraced in its cold earth.

The hidden gates and the abandoned ball,

Succoring the universe as they succored from it for those years lamenting

in the wisdom that they would be here ever since their lives took shape.

Seldom kept in their minds as much in their hearts of life but ever on,

What the dead do is not Known, and Eternity…

 

[∴Can winter be over now?]

Unbridled

Where does the wind go?

Where does the time go?

When will the sun stay,

always in the sky?

I feel that there’s a rhythm,

and the song will never end,

but I know that there’s an ending

I just don’t know when.

I hope that one day then,

when it all comes crashing down,

I can see the lands where all that time had gone to,

and where the winds are all around,

where the sun shines every morning,

and a song.

If there should be a higher dimension to go to,

and more dimensions below,

am I still in the beginning,

or am I near their height?

I must be somewhere in the middle.

Living out this strange life.

 

 

Nono’s Store

We were all living at Aunt Nono’s store at the time: My Father Kevin and Mother Nancy as well as my Younger brother Ryan. Aunt Nono was in California when it all started so we had no idea where she might have been. The electricity was out for a few months and so we were still getting used to making fires and lighting the old oil lamps Nono kept around the antique store. It had a cozy back room with a fireplace, all wood paneled walls. The front room was about as boring as any store front, and it’s big front windows saw through to the strip mall enclave outside.

I was never a big user of technology and my parents grew up in the 80’s so I don’t think the internet crashes really hit us as bad. Their big thing was the lack of comforts. It took hours to boil the course rice from the bag we salvaged and our clothes stank from lack of any running water to clean them. It bothered me too, but I could see it bothered them more.

But my brother, he never lived in a world without phones and the internet. Even as we sat by the fireplace with the pot boiling rice and the low firelight flickering across our downtrodden faces, he would take out his precious phone and the foreign blue-white LED light would splatter into the dark. His eyes wide and grasping for hope that he would get a connection again. Each time, it became worse to see; I just wanted to take it from him and throw it into the fire, but I could see it gave him hope and that was the resource that could afford any cost.

“Why don’t you just throw that damn thing away!” my mother said. Her face twisted with frustration as she huddled under Aunt Nono’s blanket.

My brother said nothing but clicked refresh on the unopened web page.

“Didn’t you hear your mother!” my Dad said by the firelight. He threw in a leg to an antique chair and the smoke smelled like varnish.

“Maybe it came back up! The government was trying to bring it back in places.”

He clicked refresh again and I could see tears in his eyes. I reached over and put a hand on his. He looked over suddenly with wide eyes.

“You’ll waste the battery.” I said

Slowly he clicked away the screen and put it back in his pocket.

“We’ll try again when we can move.”

The first month or so we had to live this way, sitting by the fire waiting for the rice was full of conversation. We’d reminisce over things and the places we went and how things might get closer to how they were. I always knew that things would never go back to how they were. I didn’t say anything, but I think they knew.

Now we just sat by the fire, watching the flames like the enigma of life. The only sound now the lapping of its magic tenderals on the pot, the snapping of ancient wood, and the occasional bolt of thunder beyond the thin confines of the house. There was no telling if it was natural thunder or not. The silence with each other was a fearful and tense comfort.

We had to find things to occupy ourselves. Nono’s store had a collection of strange knives and I learned pretty well how to throw them and a series of marks embedded into the far wood panels of the wall showed practice. My favorite was a sort of curved knife with a curved handle of bone with a large pommel at the end. I would idly learn how to spin it between my fingers. I taught my brother as well.

“I’m gonna look outside.” I said, standing.

My family looked at me.

“Be careful.” My mom said.

“I’ll look too.” My brother said and got up.

Beyond the thin wooden door was the storefront, still full of junk and antiques which were now of little value except to burn. An old globe, the kind you’d see in old movies in some rich guy’s study, stuck out among brass poles to a disassembled trundle bed. Coffee tables and handcrafted chairs with floral patterns on their cushions from a bygone but not a dissimilar era.

The big glass windows that looked out to the big parking lot showed the rubble and deep holes gouged into the tarmac. The other stores in the old strip mall plaza were dark. Old cars, either smashed into twisted metal or burned to a solemn husk littered the cracked and jaunted pavement. In the distance, a tall building was engulfed in flame. It had been burning for two days.

The sky was clouded with a low overcast that had been present for nearly a month, and tiny speckles of rain formed on the glass panes. Under my poncho and my brother under his blanket, we moved to the window and looked up. Beyond the clouds flashes of orange light could be seen and their mystery was terrifying and out of our control.

The two of us just looked and said nothing for a long moment.

“What do you think is going on?” My brother finally said as booms and rumbles reached our feet.

“I don’t know. The government could be trying to fight them.”

Suddenly an object burst from the clouds far away. Behind it carried a streamer of blue flame and debris broke away and spiraled in streaks of blue.

“look!” My brother said.

The object became more clear, and it seemed to be nearing us. An aircraft of some strange design. I couldn’t see any wings and my brother adjusted his old rayban glasses to see better.

“Get back.” I said as the craft broke apart further, it’s hulk rocketing down.

The craft struck the burning building and the largest part skipped off of it in a shower of fire and rubble. It moved very fast now in our direction and crashed against the smashed pavement at the edge of the parking lot. The sound was a tumult and the ground shuddered under our feet as it came to rest at the far end of the plaza.

From what I could see, it was not a government plane or design at all. Wordlessly we watched it as blue flames rose up to the heavens.

From the side a door could be seen opening and we pressed up to the glass to see. Several small blue humanoid creatures exited it and milled about the wreck, they had weapons of some kind and red spines flaring off of their heads. At the distance we were, it was hard to tell what they were doing, but they were the survivors.

“It’s them.” I said, and the primal fear took hold. We looked at each other and both bolted back to our parents.

“We NEED to go.” I said

Mom and Dad both looked up at us, breathing heavy.

“What is it?” My dad said standing.

“A ship or something just fell and some of them  are out there in the plaza.”

We took no time to hurry our things together. The hunger was what lead my dad to strain the half cooked rice, pouring the water over the fire and make for the door last with the pot in his hand. We left the embers for whomever might find it.

The four of us moved swiftly as we could out into the woods next to the highway and we did not stop moving until dawn rose the world into a grey.

Moment

Once so far away,

is now arrived,

is now behind,

is with us forever.

life is a moment,

long and incoprehendable

brilliantly arising, confirming,and deteriorated

A jump, a wave, a pulse, a splash

from calm to calm

and punctuated by pure sun warmth,

the cool immersion of water,

the tickle of green grass,

the mysterious dark,

Life is a moment of everything.

A fantastical Drop in it all.

Sonnet a day 1 : On Dicipline

So  something I’ve told myself I’m going to start doing, Each day I’m going to write a sonnet, I may not always post them, but I will if I got nothing else. They are likely going to be just terrible because it’s more of an exercise to get better with words than any kind of attempt at anything legitimate. I usually don’t plan out anything, but start out where I’m feeling and work from there. Rhyming is always weird when you have to force it. I am also not keeping to any kind of meter per line for those sonnet nuts out here if you exist. Here’s the first one I wrote last night.

What could be more elusive than discipline?

The specter of death does not harry me so.

Much greater ease to…do a line

Than to organize thoughts for one to go.

So much is said to be gained,

From steadfast work and devotion,

And yet here I have remained,

my head sputtering with useless commotion.

Is this only a moment of clarity?

What befalls those with simple grandeur?

Is it all just mediocrity?

That to my face takes petty pander?

I fear I’m likely a fool’s simpleton

And that death would come easier than any discipline.

(I realize maybe some of you may not think this one is humorous, but It’s more of a sarcastic joke on how in shambles my life has been, I’ve been sick for the last few days but I finally cleaned out my room. It feels better, but I haven’t been in the best mood recently. Hence, a lot of stuff on my life falling into shambles. Hopefully with spring I’ll start to feel better and stuff I post can reflect that. Anyway, something to think about enjoy! (also I do not do cocaine, I couldn’t think of a good way to say what I wanted and rhyme it to discipline.)

Sleep Deprivation

The crisp blue light,

only shows,

That the poison images,

are living

inside my slacking sinew.

The gravity pulls back,

to turn away from this shackle and face the silence once more,

instead,

I skip across the dreams realized by others,

closer to death.

Somewhere beyond the words and light and thoughts,

beyond the waste of worn pathways,

beyond the mocking laugh of the sliding sun and stars,

when light and thought and words are no more,

Maybe I will finally fall asleep.

And yet temptation is an ocean that I drown in

Distraction is the sharp bite of my vice

The poison lingers sweetly

and stings when sober

If I could only SHATTER the veil that burns my eyes and saps my wasting body

Break my head from the illusions and damn the dreams of others.

Maybe,

Eventually

I could fucking sleep.

Grey

Grey is my heart and grey is my mind,

grey is my view on days gone by.

A mist of vapid mystery.

Each moment is a grey droplet swirling around me

grey  in color, grey in emotion, grey in impact

I age like a tree among them.

Lines and creases deepening into my animal form

Growths and hair sprouting

The pain and joy mixing in like scars.

I am a concoction, a chemical, a mist among mist.

All that I can grasp is grey, all I am is grey

the mist disperses me.

Yet just beyond my reach, in the next hour, in the next day

is the phantasm of all simple color and vibrancy

I am chasing it like childhood across the vapid land

And as the mist grows heavier

Like a tree I will stand.

And reach my fading arms towards

the sky beyond the clouds.

.

http://bit.ly/1JGYDfE <—scifi serial story.

http://bit.ly/1HcO7yX <—-Maybe another poem.

Mind’s fire.

Circulating Spirals of uncertainty rise and retreat.

Dark forms burn in my brain, casting secret shadows from clear flame,

releasing Angels and Demons, both pure and profane.

Coals burn hot with life filling my soul

And yet the darkened logs weigh heavy as all toil.

flames in my head grope at the sky

like a hornet’s nest, swirling fears and lies

biting notions of a burning will

to fight, what love, and who to kill.

It all seems useless.

The pressure strains in multitudes

smoke of all lost and ash of all dead

only substance, white-orange and lapping

is the fire in my whirling world

destined to disperse.

Yet feed the flames again and again,

I catch onto new worlds whether living or dead.