Slumber's Ketch

Slumber's Ketch was one of the first pieces I put down on "paper" and one of the most fun to write.  I'm not sure where the title came from but it just works.  It has become sort of a moniker for the vessel that is my writing.  We all, if lucky enough anymore to get to a good dream state, dream.  Many times we can't remember them, and often don't want to.  But dreaming is very important to the health of the human mind and subconcious.  Waking up at 3 a.m. can be a great time to write, especially if a great idea enters your mind.  Come sail with me on Slumber's Ketch.  After all, I am the Captain.

Laying here at 3a.m. I stumble with the thought,

That I should be in other lands more often, but I'm not.

I reach for a drink and draw it near, my throat a parched abyss.

Oh how I miss your sweet embrace, and honeysuckle kiss.

I ride the seas a tattered man naked in the rain,

Searching shores and village scenes to find you once again.

Once more adrift on Slumber's ketch, your image I embrace.

I'd ride through Hell forever more, to see your angel face.

"Leave me now!" I curse the light which taunts these endless days.

That I might dream of you tonight caught up in your rays.

Minutes turn to endlessness within this dream anew,

And I reach shore just in time to catch a glimpse of you.

You round the corner and out of sight you slip without a sound.

My heart in pieces round me falls silent to the ground.

I sweep it up and tuck it in a wound that will not seal,

This emptiness of broken man that only you can heal.

With one last breath I reach for you and catch you by the arm,

"Sail with me on Slumber's ketch, I'll keep you from all harm."

A new horizon beckons us; we know not where it's sending.

Unnamed shores await our hearts; this song is never ending.

Slumber's ketch sets sail each night rugged on the waves,

Launching from a thousand ports memories it saves.

Oh, sail with me on Slumber's ketch far into the night...

Yes, sail with me on Slumber's ketch to reach the morrow's light.

Move On

    Once again, and sometimes far too often, the head and the heart get into ugly little spats.  I don't exactly know why, maybe that is how the Creator intended things to be.  Or, maybe it is the power of the great Deceiver.  Quite possibly, it is just the way we are wired...I don't know.  Move On is dedicated to that ugly little spat.  Be it shortlived or lifelong, I think it is something everyone experiences, and sometimes you just gotta move on.  If anyone knows a group that could put it to music, that would be great!  myk

Livin’ with a pain and an echo in my heart

Of where she used to be – yeah she ripped my world apart

Now she’s gone and memories are all that’s left of her

Love’s a wicked game and there ain’t no bloody cure

[chorus]

Stand tough (stand tough), stand strong (stand strong)

Get over her and move your life along

You can’t hold on to something that refuses to be held

Love’s a wicked game that’ll rip you all to hell

Too many times we let fantasies prevail

They only serve to burn and they pierce like rusty nails

But you gotta let ‘em go or you’ll drive yourself insane

The struggle of the heart in a game against the brain

[chorus]

[bridge]

[Screamin’ guitar solo here – preferably by Ritchie Sambora of Bon Jovi]

Cuz you gotta keep a balance ‘tween what’s real and what ain’t

Love’s a waiting game – takes the patience of a Saint

But you’re gonna lose your soul if you give in to the game

Lady Luck or Love either way they’re just the same

[chorus]

Stand tough (stand tough), stand strong (stand strong)

Get over her and move your life along

Hell, you can’t hold on to something that leaves you wonderin’ what to do

So if you play that wicked game there won’t be nothin’ left of you

[outro]

Yes, love’s a wicked game, it is, it is

Love’s a wicked game, hell yeah!

Love’s a wicked game, ya can’t win, can’t win

Yeah love’s a wicked game….

Go on and give the wheel a spin…

~ LOST ~

I think there comes a time in every married person's life when questions arise about what life would be like under different situations.  This is ~LOST~  It is the thoughts and wanderings of such a person who explored those ideas.  They can be scary, harmful, sinister, revealing, and real. 

Autumn dew fell ‘pon the ground

Bygone days waned without sound

Content in knowing the sun would shine

As it had done from the dawn of time

Assuming the sun tomorrow’d rise

Sheltered from the watchful eyes

Of Mother Nature and Father Time

Assuming life’d exist sublime

An aging sot, him fearing not

His axe he’d swung without a thought

The forest green with love and life

Would still exist amidst the strife

Until a soul screamed what the Hell

That diadem he knew so well

Should cast him out due to his wrongs

For he had danced to different songs

Assuming green on foreign soil

Would be less than his current toil

But in release and seeking wealth

He’d squandered love and life itself

Alone resulting from his greed

He’d poisoned love; denied his seed

The honesty and trust he’d bent

The life he’d had he quickly rent

Now left in void and without life

He’d shattered spawn and murdered wife

This bold, untamed, and confused child

Left shattered lives in dead dreams piled

Cautioned not from his own mind

He thought new life and love he’d find

And then the smack - reality

Did hit him and light came to he

Sick from lack of conscious he

Prayed he’d rather die than be

Alone as he had thought he could

Survive without his husband-hood

Who’d foregone grace by own despair

Convinced new life would soon appear

Alas though not did realize

This reckless sot amidst his lies

That what he’d sought beyond his gate

Had long been grace and one of Fate

Raw and bloodied by his own axe

His life he’d lost by making tracks

T’was not his own he’d torn apart

A wife and kids with bleeding hearts

With only hope to shield from death

The gate he closed with final breath

To love one’s wife more than one’s life

It took a dance with Death one night

It took the tears of children and

The cavernous pain of being banned

Grace now he seeks at every turn

His heart a mess with just one yearn

That for his wrongs and sins laid out

A final chance to quell all doubt

Lo but by grace from God above

Undying faith and that of love

The aging sot crawls humbly home

Ne’er again swears he to roam

For after dew and dark of night

There comes new life with morning light

Each day a chance to live again

Provided one repents their sins

There are no realms of brighter green

Beyond one’s gate this sot has seen

No greater wealth than family be…

Content responsibility

The Chase

No amount of writing would be quite complete without some mushy love stuff.  Here is The Chase.  I suppose it could be lyrics to a song - if it had music put to it.  But that is not my forte, nor my gift.  I write.

It was early in the morning’s rays upon that hallowed place

I was taken unaware and alerted to the chase

In vain I sought to hold it near, my quarry wild and free

But from the chapel tower fell a song meant just for me

Play on; ring out, unto the fen

I cry for your embrace

Deny me not my diadem

Continuing the chase

Now torn between my quarry and, that most holy sound

I found my spirit torn in two, my soul turned upside down

Resume the chase or catch the knell, I wrestled with the thought

That I might dock my ship that night, my hunting all for naught

Play on; ring out, unto the fen

I cry for your embrace

Deny me not my diadem

Continuing the chase

Digging deep within my heart, I pulled with all my might

Dammed be I when eve was nigh, alone I’d be tonight

So I forgave the tone that came from high upon the hill

To lose the passion of the lass, myself I’d rather kill

Play on; ring out, unto the fen

I cry for your embrace

Deny me not my diadem

Continuing the chase

A fortnight came and went before we sank into the sand

My body rent o’er hill and vale we knelt both hand in hand

The friar came to speak to us, and preach of that above

The quarry kept, the bell in check, now only rings of love

Play on; ring out, unto the fen

I cry for your embrace

Deny me not my diadem

Continuing the chase

Play on; ring out, unto the fen

I’ve finally found my place

Upon my heart forever more

Is etched my lover’s face

Under Down Under

I think Under Down Under is a perfect culmination of a SMALL obsession I developed in the Fall of 2009.  I got restless...really restless.  Probably as a result of being military for 20 years and moving every 3-4 years.  I found that Winterset, Iowa (where I currently live), is located at about 41 degrees north latitude.  So I grabbed the globe in my living room, turned it upside down and spun it until I hit land.  My finger came to rest on Tasmania, Australia.  Then I headed for the Internet.  I learned everything I could about Tasmania and looked at every picture I could find.  I found a job and a house there.  I was ready to GO!  When you read Under Down Under, you will see why. 

Not just a state, but a new state of mind.

No locale on Earth, like this will you find.

A small spot down under, ‘round 42 South

Smitten the moment it fell from my mouth.

TASMANIA! I pondered, why hadn’t I thought

To digest its beauty? Right then on the spot…

A hare-brained idea to pack up and move

To reseat my roots- carve out a new groove.

White sandy beaches and fresh air galore!

My heart yearns to visit and learn even more.

But who will go with me, who dares leave the States?

To start again over as expatriates.

For we only live once we often chance not

To fulfill our dreams stuck in the same spot

By a show of hands who’ll go with me there

No pomp, circumstance, or gaudy fanfare

Ain’t nothing like her in such a small place

So many environs she brightens my face

Waterfalls, jungles, and rolling hills too.

Mountains and forests and Devils, a few

So much to see that I want to share

And did I mention the world’s cleanest air?

A long way away out over the sea

This heaven on earth is waiting for me

Won’t you please join me in Tassie today?

If just for a moment or forever to stay.

Under down under I do long to go

Alone or together I just gotta go.

Ugly Stew

It's rather funny how a bad day at work can inspire a good session of writing.  I sent this to my wife just to clear my head and blow off some steam.  I went back and reread it, and decided it should go in The Phoenix Documents.

I am in a real ugly place right now.

Sinking fast…exit…how?

I’ve printed and signed

My letter to quit

I’m sick and tired

Of all this $h1T

I can’t do my job as I should

I feel real bad and it don’t feel good

Pulled left and right and way off balance

No chance to hone my few lone talents

I’m tired and pissed and just don’t care

And norm’ly that’s just not my aire

I don’t like where I’ve gotten to

Not much left and what to do

I’m not the kind that’ll take my life

But this place, this race, this patch of strife

I just don’t like it - I won’t deny

Is this depression? Or just a lie?

I hurt day in and day out

Why the struggle? Why the bout?

I hurt from stress with no release

Bottled up I can’t find peace

I work because that’s what I do

A robot man among the slew

Who don their fake happy faces

Like sad reminders of other places

And it’s not fair I dump on you

The angst I feel, this ugly stew

Cuz once I’m up then you’re down too

This seesaw battle until life’s thru

No drug, no counsel, or hypnotist

Can change the things that make me pissed

Only attitude and change

Can get my mind back within range

On doing what I have to do

Like it, lump it, it’s nothing new

I guess that’s life…
What can ya do?

Imperfect Balance

This piece has an interesting structure to it.  If you look, you'll notice the piece is balanced and unbalanced at the same time.  The top lines have 4, 3, 2, and 1 word statements.  The bottom four lines have 1, 2, 3, and 4 word questions.  So it IS imperfectly balanced. 

Emotions. Thoughts. Desires. Fears.

Hopes. Responsibilities. Dreams.

Passions. Yearnings.

Questions.

Answers?

Everything for?

Who’s in Control?

For now or forever?

Chained Liberation

Sometimes, when life just seems to suck, or you get in a funk, questions pop into your head.  That is a great time to throw them down on "paper."  Even when you feel like there is no climbing out of the rut you are in.  Chained Liberation is sort of an oxymoron...kind of like life can be.

Oh…liberation!

Know ye the countenance of a survivor?

What are the spoils of victory?

Are the victorious truly victors?

Do champions fear survivors?

How is victory measured?

In hearts broken?

Or wounds healed?

Oh…liberation!

Oh, the untamed ganglion of diabolically charged nerves

That cyclone torrentially through my body!

I beg thee be still, lest I succumb to thy wrath.

The fears of the unseen, unknown, and uncharted

Dance before me as though I be shackled – doomed…

Lo! I wield my mighty sword! No, a dagger. No…stick…

Fearlessly! No, mercifully. No…unsurely...

I cry.

Oh…liberation?

The Father, Son, & Holy Prose

The Father, Son, & Holy Prose could be considered a shrink-wrapped version of the Bible.  I think I got all the "major parts" in there.  Most importantly though, the wonderfulness of salvation as a result of death.  

After the fall of Adam back when time had just begun,

God sent to a world of sin his only begotten Son.

Cain had long ago killed Able out of anger, lust, and greed,

While the holy son of Mary learned to work with wood and read.

To the shouting jeers of many, Noah built with gopher wood.

The young new King would later teach of love and brotherhood.

Hated by his jealous bros Joe was cast into a well.

And Satan tried thrice tempting Christ all to no avail.

Sin was running rampant through the soulless hearts of many,

While a woman swept her house to find a lone lost penny.

Delilah cut off Samson’s hair yet he still brought down the house,

And the Son of Man he spread good news to leper, thief, and souse.

His fame it reached the temple mount and worried all the priests.

On a Thursday night with his 12 friends, he ate his final feast.

Then Judas sold him out and Peter swore he didn’t know him -

Had Christ known his whole life long where his ministry was going?

Arrested on a trumped up crime and nearly beaten to his death,

Silently he stood his place with calculated breath.

They placed a thorny crown upon his beaten, bloodied head -

It wasn’t yet three years ago his word began to spread.

They mocked him from the rooftops as he dragged his cross o’er yon,

Oh the miracles and things he’d done, the sea he’d walked upon.

He’d fed 5000 faithful with some bread and fishy meat,

Then they laid him on the upright; nailed him through his arms and feet.

Crucified that day ‘neath the hot Judean sky -

Given unto us that man no more need die.

The soldiers cast their lots for pieces of his clothes,

A savior to us sinners from his head a radiance glows!

He cried out for his mother, to his father, and for a drink...

He’d told us how to live our lives; words printed in red ink.

And in his last few breaths our sins he did forgive - 

For had He not died on that cross none of us could live.

But even as the gates of Hell prepared to draw him down,

News of resurrection like fire spread throughout the town!

The purity of life; the One born without sin,

Now sits beside the Father your soul is His to win.

Genesis 1

I'm not really sure how Genesis came to be, but it was very fun to write.  It has also inspired me to quite possibly put the rest of The Old Testament to rhyme.  Enjoy.

Desert rain on sacred sands dowses parched and foreign lands

Hot earth screams in painful grief cracked and gaping seeks relief

Pre-dawn echoes with the sound of arid static ‘cross the ground

Yet with the rays of early dawn, eking forth life inches on

Man not yet has seen this place nor sought the joy of summer’s face

As though from magic the urge does grow to put forth seed and let it grow

Can he plant upon this place a crop of hope save from disgrace?

Each day in passing great care is spent removing weeds soiled back is bent

To labor long alone finds he empty without company

Into a slumber he is sent to no more be a lonely gent

For in that slumber greatness transpires, beauty to match 10,000 fires

She’ll be called Eve, ‘the end of day’, when rays of sun shall pass away

The union of these ancient hearts insures mankind ne’r here departs

For like the crops sown in the earth joy from joining’s given birth

The courtship plans are carefully set a night these souls shall not forget

Into each other’s eyes they stare engulfed in summer evening air

Unknown to both from ‘neath the ground into their realm it fought to bound

Depravity, Deceit, Denial sprung from the Styx across the Nile

“I’ll rule this place – this garden green” into a tree it slipped unseen

The pomme de mort was giv’n to she to share with he – humanity

Then Heaven cried and the Father knew these children had His knowledge too

An acrid presence filled the air no longer a garden but a snare!

Their eyes wide open ashamed were they - they ran and hid. Perfect? Not they.

Banished now by God himself that God damned apple brought death not wealth

Desert rain on sacred sands falls now upon another’s hands

The peaceful one Noah is he constructs an ark monstrosity

Again mankind has failed to be what was to be perfect like He

And in due time the Father rid of all he'd made 'cept Noah's kin

Hot earth screams in painful grief cracked and gaping seeks relief

Pre-dawn echoes with the sound of arid static ‘cross the ground

Yet with the rays of early dawn, in pairs of two life inches on

Far away the rains did fall

Poker Face

I would like to thank Carman for inspiring Poker Face.  His work is profound and his message, powerful.


The match was set from the start of Heaven’s human race

The war to wage til the end of time, the Devil’s hid an Ace

The Prince of Peace was dealt a winning hand by count of most

How could any soul alive foresee the fall of the Holy Ghost

Satan would cheat as oft he does even at a game of cards

But Grace would fall almost willingly his body broken chards

The Father in loss would shed a tear his Son so broken low

And Hate would roar a mighty roar his aim was ever so

That tear would fall upon the earth that from which man was made

And Evil sought the peace of night to which there was no shade

The ten-count came a surprise to most inverted as he lay

The Son of Man rose to his feet confirmed to win the day

The Devil sensed his time was through upon this hallowed ground

And back to Hell was sent this spawn with thunder through the ground

“Now go to sleep you child of mine” the Father doth proclaim

For I alone control your life - your soul, the cards, the game

Ode to a Thunderous Soul

I don't want anyone to think that men alone go through mid-life crises, because I do not believe we are the only ones who do.  Ode to a Thunderous Soul can be poignant to almost anyone at almost anytime.  Things like this happen because life is not all sweet and buttery all the time.

So once again, I have dipped my quill into the depths of my soul and inked the following poem.  I don't know why it is so easy for me to pen this sort of writing.  Perhaps it is my inner Canis Lupus which aches to for the wild, untamed highlands of the unknown.  Perhaps it is Poe's twisted alter-universe where the mind is free to come and go as it damned-well pleases tormented by the Pendulum of life.  Either way, beware of my thunderous soul...


Dark clouds race before my eyes,
                                lightning flashes no disguise.

Can you sense my thunderous soul,
                                prepped for war with just one goal?

To rid myself of angst and pain,
                                ne’er to come this way again.

Oft I stroll to realms not seen,
                                existing only in my mind and dreams.

A world that I alone command,
                                a distant, foreign, open land.

No more I wish to be confined

                                but free my soul - unleash my mind.

Alas, this war, it rages on
                                fueled by unrest and lyric’d song.

Condemned unrest by choice I find
                                that time no longer can rewind

Back to a time before today
                                when life was free and full of play.

Oh, how my stormed soul longs to be
                                freed from life’s captivity...

But like Icarus I long to fly
                                beyond my walls perhaps too high

Yet in the end I’ll tumble down -
                                my thoughts and dreams ash on the ground.

Who’ll sweep them up or air them off
                                the edge of time and set them soft

Upon the skin of life anew
                                under stars or skies of blue?
But caught upon reality

                                are markers of my sanity...
Others counting on my stead
                                to keep them safe and bring them bread.
Povide parental guidance and
                                a mate with dreams and future plans.
But just as fast as Heav’n is found

                                I fear storm clouds will gather round,

And wake my wandering soul again
                                with thunder, lightning, raging wind.

Beware the clouds within my view
                                their acid rains may fall on you...

Victorious!

Victorious! was one of the original pieces which was lost when my thumb drive crashed.  Only about the first 2.5 stanzas survived.  It is also one of my first "religious" type pieces.

The city was bathed in eerie bliss as rain danced on the sky -

The night though young retained an age, an age of days gone by.
Prowling in the shadows, the beast, which has no name,
Searched for souls of sinners; fueled by endless shame.

He spied a lone lost salesman returning for the night,
He sniffed the man expecting not – there would not be a fight.
The beast, he fell upon the man and, struck a fatal blow.
His prey, this catch of man he slew, he felt his hunger grow.

Two young men, and a teenaged lass edged on his ancient fury.
He would rid this place of sin-soaked souls but there would be no hurry.
He had roamed this plane a thousand years and never missed a beat.
Each night he’d claim a soul or two and feast upon its meat.

Thrown down from Heav’n and denied Hell they’d left him here to rot.
Among this waste – humanity – revenge was all he sought.

For it was written long ago by God’s unwavering hand,

Of angel men and mortal maid their offspring would be damned.

An outcast from the dawn of time he had been this mix of seed.

His family tree a brier patch of sin, lust, and deceit.

The curse was his to carry, a bastard’s living hell -

To hunt the souls of sinners this son of…Gabriel!

Damned and yet determined he lived for every bout;

This half-breed angel mortal his fate to carry out.

He sought to rid this world of sinner’s souls by night.

Though driven by unending pain he longed to make wrong right.

“Were I not damned and shunned from Light,” he cried out in the dark,

“I’d turn this world inside out and leave a Holy mark!”

For in the moment it took him to beg release from Death;

The ancient smell of frankincense filled his every breath.

That fateful, fragile instant when he fell upon his face,

His soul was ripped from Evil and filled with endless Grace.

Now born again and charged anew he managed to his feet.

A power he had never felt – a glorious radiant heat!

He felt his quest had changed a bit, new angles of attack.

Instead of sending souls to Hell - to Heav’n, he’d send them back.

And like the fishermen of old, he felt called from the shore.

His aim was true as was his Guide - a hunter never more.

Amazed at how He’d saved him; how quietly He’d knocked.

This half-breed angel mortal by Love his heart unlocked.

This story of a bastard son once cursed to hunt the earth;

Was changed by Grace alone, my friend, because of Jesus’ birth.

For we are all just like this sot – sinners we all be.

We hunt for souls unlike our own and shun them endlessly.

But that is not the way of life our Savior he did preach -

He taught that we should live in love to all souls we should reach.

Forever on and ever true this hunter he does strive.

To capture souls from Evil’s grasp and guide them back to Life.

And to each fight this soldier brings a shield and flaming sword.

His helmet winged and armor true, fresh hammered by the Lord.

He's never failed and never will - this promise we live by.

So long as Christ commands YOU knight, your soul will never die.

Lift up your eyes, your head, your hands and look to Him above;

Forge forth-in faith and fearlessness cloaked in blood washed love.

Humanities and the American Dream?

Humanities and the American Dream was actually part of an essay question from my Humanities class and part of a recurring dream that I had for a while.  It sort of evolved into what you see below.


I am not 100% sure what the American dream is.  Is it, “a nice house with a green lawn and a quiet neighborhood?”  And don’t forget the 2.5 kids, dog, and white picket fence.  Do we go through stages of this dream just like we do when we are sleeping?  I believe so.  We may start out with this dream, but as the night wears on (or in this scenario, as life goes on) the dream changes…

I have had a recurring dream of a large house, with twisting, hidden passages, each leading to a different room decorated in a different mood.  Some rooms are brightly lit and welcoming, others ancient and almost foreboding.  The house is in a nondescript location and is grey-green with dirty purple and grey accents.  I see dark wrought iron in place of white picket.  The yard is slightly overgrown, not neatly manicured nor weed free.  Nevertheless, inside I hear laughter; not 2.5 children, but four BOYS.  There is no doll-play, or the "whistle-BOOM!" of imaginary missiles shooting from little green plastic army tanks.  The ceilings thunder and the floors shake, as open areas in the family room turn into wrestling rings.  Soccer and football cleats abound as do the leather laced orbs representative of their sport. THUD!  "Oh, the humanity!" someone screams...

Welcome to my nightmare.  This is my American dream.

Myk, 2009

The Get Well

I think the title, The Get Well, is a well chosen title for a few reasons.  Friends and family offer Get Well cards and kind wishes for most anything, whether it be an emotional event, an illness, or a broken arm.  In the case of the poem, the individual has desires she wants filled, so the well is also a wishing well of sorts.  The poem could apply to either male or female, so it's OK if you can relate to the Well.

A young woman wandering down by the well,

Glimpsed her reflection and in it she fell.

The well was of wonders and places unseen,

Of images wanting, and what could have been.

Content in her moment and sure of herself,

She recalled the words of a friendly old elf.

“Breathe, darling flower, and recall the Bard,

The path you are on won’t always be hard.

The hearts you’ve laid broken along chosen path,

May number many, but that’s what thou hath.

No matter your choices, you do what you do,

For what now lays broken, can be mended too.”

She pondered the words from both elf and Bard,

Realized her lot and realized how hard –

Her climb from the well and ascent to the top,

In search of true happiness she vowed not to stop!

Now reaching the rim of the well did she pause,

She glanced back behind her and realized the cause.

The search for what’s out there beyond one’s own life,

Can cause even flowers considerable strife.

We often desire what just might have been,

But find ourselves back in that same well again.

Hold on to your friendships, lovers, and mate,

For what God endorses, no man can create.

That well’s now grown over with ivy and vine,

And all but forgotten and lost unto time.

But sometimes we pass it and give it some thought,

And wonder should we look in, or better we not?

That question can only be answered by those,

Who in it have fallen and pondered – “who knows?”

Drawn to You

Not a lot to say about Drawn to You.  Is it sexual in nature?  Maybe.  Is is vividly picturesque?  Maybe.  Will it conjure up thoughts you didn't know you had?  Maybe.  Read it and let me know what you think.  It may inspire you...

I am back.
Again.

I don’t fully understand the draw.

What is it that keeps me returning to this place?

The smell of quiet stillness as you stand sentinel-like in stature?

You do not waiver. You do not lean.

I reach my hand out to you and you do not deny me.

Is it the sound you make when I touch you?
As I make contact with your cool, smooth skin, I feel it.

 

I press my ear to your mouth, for your whisper.

For your whisper alone.

Engaged, my fingers find the place of promise.

Deftly, I move. It takes only a moment to release you.

Raising you up, your body glistens approvingly.

My steady hands guide you toward your place of purpose.

I reel.

You are mine – and I am yours.

Your welcome wetness cascades all around.

Rising slowly at first, your crown takes its place.

Unchallenged, I release you from your prison.

You explode with effervescence.
Valiant in your release, your aim is to satisfy me.

Come to me, fill me, satisfy me.
I will not deny you.

Alas, too soon, you are spent.

Empty. Hungry. I thirst.

But for only a moment am I saddened.

A gentle tug on my heart reminds me,

You are not really gone.  And I am not alone.

Lightened in head and heart, I smile.

Is there more?

I beckon your company once again.

I am not denied.

Again, and again, I set you free.

You return the favor, unselfishly, willingly, lovingly.

Over and over we dance tonight.

Mind and body reeling in your magic, I smile.
You intoxicate me.

Good night.

We will dance another time in another place.

For now...it is closing time.

The beer industry and I remind you not to drink and drive.

Inadvertent spillage may occur.
~myk~

REM Embers

REM sleep is where dreams happen.  What we remember of those dreams are somewhat like embers in a fire.  While they are hot, they don't provide much light.  I took the two and combined them REM+embers=Remembers...the hardest part of a dream can be remembering it.  This was a fun, dreamish piece to write.

Standing on the edge of eternity, I glance at my watch.

How long have I been here? It can't be more than a few minutes.

Instantly, I am standing near a bustling boulevard.

I make eye contact with the passengers as they hurriedly inch by.

Why does everything in the fast lane pass so slowly here?

Attempting to wave, my arm is pinned to my side. How?

Suddenly everything's gone and I am back on that unfamiliar edge.

I notice my aloneness, my arm frees.

Too late to wave, I check my watch again.

It has been hours since my last chronological inquiry.

Stranded now, in my own mind, images begin to emerge.

They are purple then orange then yellow.

They appear to dissolve into each other - bicycles?

Why bicycles of all things? Turtles would fit this place.

They would slow my watch down.

I recall but for a moment where I was earlier.

I was getting a haircut just off the square in my hometown.

The smell of bay rum and "hair-isols" (I chuckle at this).

The hum of clippers "lowering the ears" of a young boy.

I close my eyes - I am that boy.

Snip, snip. Hum, hum. "Hair-isols" and bay rum.

Eyes still closed, I twitch. Dozing?

I am standing on the edge of eternity - again.

My watch has stopped.

In Tech We Trust

This piece serves somewhat as the figurehead to The Phoenix Documents.  It captures some of the fateful day that launched much of this collection and much of my efforts.  I have used it in several training sessions and offer it as a living example of the value of redundant data storage.


It wasn’t all that long ago that we would often say
"Why put off til 'morrow what could be done today?"
For now we put all our trust in microchips you see
In silicon and gigabytes we've set our fancies free.

We elevate and glorify our RAM and MP3
And scream and curse and argue with our rotten ISP.
Bigger!  Better!  Faster!  More!  We crave technology
It's in our cars, phones and watches - we cannot let it be.

But every now and then we find it sometimes comes to pass
That all this techno-luxury's a huge pain in the @$$.
It’s happened to every one of us, that thing that stops your heart
A beep, a blink, a sound - your words were there but now they aren't.

For eagerly one Monday morn I went to search my drive
And to my heart's intense dismay my drive was not alive.
My book!  My files!  My art!  My prose!  The life blood of my soul
Could no longer be accessed - retrieved, I had to let it go.

I cursed myself for days on end for failing to apply
A rule I've stressed from my first day as a fledgling IT guy:
Save early.  Save often. And back it up to cloud or DVD
And then those precious bits and bytes might not be history.