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.