Thursday, February 21, 2002

 
The song sings forth
Between the somber and mirth
Tracing the edges of life
Tempered in burning ice.

It begins and ends at one point.
The path opens and closes in a myriad directions,
Joining and tearing apart all that is.

It is an old song perpetually renewed
Told in an erratic rhythm
Featureless and unique.

It had been years since he had stepped foot here and decades since he had felt any connection with it. Today, looking at the renewed monstrosity, he felt both a connection and a yearning. The sky mocked his tortured thoughts with daggers of radiant light that seemed to sneer down at his discomfiture. The gates had swung open before he could even reach for the buzzer upon the brick post that held the cage door. The yearning grew and as he drew himself up and walked forward he felt the familiar pangs of relentless years dragging at his heels. He had come home.
The path was old, but recently washed and recently bedecked lavishly with varicolored roses that stretched back from the path like myriad carpets of poppy dreams, incandescent with a hope that had perished before he had gone away from here that first time.
The air was still; no birds sang through the stagnating air. The Legacy was still alive, its heart beating erratically, but not yet ready to relinquish its hold on even Nature itself. He reached the broad stone steps that led up to the double oak doors. Behind them, he knew that old nightmares waited, teeming with pent up rage barely reined in by the civilized air of the house. A chill wind fluttered ominously against him and he shivered. With arms folded cautiously, he marched up the steps with a resolve he himself did not feel, but knew he had to present for them, for the Legacy. Before he had even reached the top, the huge doors swung open, expecting. He breathed in deeply and nearly choked on the rancid air that peeled from within. With courage he did not know he possessed, he stepped forward into the darkness. The doors quickly closed behind him with finality, leaving him in gilded oblivion.

James posted this at 8:10 PM.

Wednesday, February 20, 2002

 
Sanguine shadows sucked out the sweet sap
Drawing shy surrender from sad, slitted eyes.
Seraphs sashayed between man and beast
Sharing sweet harmony in nature and society.
Together, the angel and the devil walk hand in hand
Sliding across the ages,
Masking truth with silver lining and silken tongue.

In the first age, man was unaware.
The angel and the devil played
And God was joyous.

In the second age, man began to think.
The angel and the devil looked up
And God was forgotten.

In the third age, man became aware.
The angel smiled and the devil conspired
And God was still forgotten.

In the fourth age, man was corrupted.
The angel frowned and the devil sneered.
God was called forth, but he did not answer.

In the fifth age, man prayed.
The angel approved and the devil raised his brow
And God turned his back.

In the sixth age, man cried out for help.
The angel wept and the devil guffawed.
And God looked down.

In the seventh age, man does not know.
The angel and the devil war
And God shakes his head.

In the final age, man is no more.
The angel sighs and the devil cries
While God creates.

James posted this at 10:52 AM.

Tuesday, February 19, 2002

 
When the sun shines softly,
Serenading my brow in song
I sit silently upon the silky grass,
Sighing in contemplation
Short breezes sift intermittently through the hills
Singing a sultry sonata to incite the soul
Small birds whistle Spring’s sweet harmony
Under an insatiable sky
Where all secretly share seconds of pleasure

James posted this at 12:46 PM.

Monday, February 18, 2002

 
The engine screamed as.... the car pealed from the shopping center, its dark windows concealing the crime. Passerbys glanced up from their lazy afternoon shopping and wondered what had prompted such a hasty retreat. They shrugged their shoulders collectively as the black sedan hurried out of sight.
Inside the store, Caroline O'Grady looked up from her basket of groceries. "Bobby," she said to her son, "Is your sister still looking at those magazines? Tell her to come back. It is almost time to go."
Bobby did not move and looked guiltily at the floor. He was supposed to stay with Ginny, but the lure of the candy counter had taken him away. Now, he had no idea where she was.
He could see that his mom was becoming quite irate at him, so he acquiesed and went to look for her at the magazine rack.
"Ginny?" He cried as he came upon the magazines, but there was no sign of her, only another lone shopper looking put out at having his reading of the latest sports magazine interrupted. Bobby moved on and decided to look for Ginny at the candy counter. He knew that she loved sweets as much, if not more than he did. As he came closer, he saw blond pigtails and grabbed her shoulders.
"Hey!" The little girl was not Ginny and Bobby immediately apologized for his mistake. Where was she? He called out again several times, but no answer came. He asked several people if they had seen an 8-year old girl with blond pigtails named Ginny and every body replied that they had not. In a panic, Bobby rushed back to his mother.
"Bobby," Caroline held Bobby at arms length, urging him to calm down, "what is it? Where is Ginny?"
"I'm sorry mom!" Bobby cried, "I wanted some candy and I thought she would stay there."
"Oh, God." Caroline bolted up to the register and told them what had transpired. Almost immediately, a booming voice came over the store intercom and announced, Ginny O'Grady, if you are anywhere nearby, your mother and brother are looking for you. Please come immediately to the front.
Fifteen minutes passed and no one heard a word. Panicked, Caroline called 911, sobbing her case to the police. I minutes, the front lot was packed with police. By this time, other customers had begun to realize that something was amiss. Some came to give their sympathy and more than some of those helped to search for Ginny.
"What's going on?"
"Ginny?!" Caroline rushed to her daughter and hugged her tight. As the realization of her daughter's safety was assured, she pulled apart from Ginny and looked down at her sternly, "Where have you been? The whole store has been looking for you?"
"I went to the bathroom next door."
"Promise you will ask before you do anything like that again!" Ginny nodded quickly. Caroline went to the police and apologized for her mistake. They admonished her a little for losing track of her daughter, but since everything was fine, they left it at that and were on their way when another frightened woman came rushing up to them.
"Oh God," she screamed, "Help me! My son! I was only in there for a second and now he's gone!"

* The above story was a contribution I made to The Writer's Couch.
James posted this at 12:56 PM.

 
Denizens digging diligently down dirt ditches desire decreasing debts.
Electors each enact egregious errors evolving epitaphs.
Mandated macabre mercenaries march madly, moving mountains; maiming mercilessly.
Ongoing ostentatious ornamentation overwhelms onlookers ogling overmuch.
Near Neverwhere, notorious Names nullify nascent
Sentience.

James posted this at 12:50 PM.

 
Under the green shade we ride
Down the path beneath the blue sky
Stopping now and then to partake
Of new and old, places, people, and time

Seeking new time we fly
Over in the stars we progress
To level in the green
The old, the new, and the ever-present

Lost voices upon the wind weep our loss
As the Light swallows our friend to drown
In joy, ever-lasting happiness
Upon green valleys under enlightened skies

Red roses entwined with white lace
Grace the stage as the stars spell out
A name to last the ages
In our hearts ingrained with excitement
And bursting with comfort

The crimson dawn awakens, warm and alive
Beginning a new day
Again and again
Regenerating life after death
Till the twilight calls our name.

We are at one point from which three extract.
Three roads of shifting changes, day by day.
One road is the road of ease and comfort
Boring and sterile in its happiness.
The second is one of pain and experience
Exciting and strengthening in its endurance.
The third is one of mystery
Dangerous yet hopeful between lighted fords of darkness.

Whether to comfort
Whether to pain, or
Whether to mystery
Fate rides on the first step
From that rocky road of direction
Into the rest of our lives
Tread carefully.

James posted this at 12:48 PM.

 
Desert time shifts sand in siroccos of surging salt.
Cloaked denizens of lost hope sashay aimlessly.
The Lizard glides noiselessly amongst the cacti,
Plotting his course with deliberate care.

Tactlessly ticking torrents of tepid,
Teasing tendrils tear at the tragic theater.
The Lizard sits pensively,
Contemplating the ponderous efforts of the lost.

James posted this at 12:07 AM.

Sunday, February 17, 2002

 
Truth renders itself up in absolution.
There are no absolutes.
All are but series of moments linked in the void
Pictures in frozen frailty
In limbo, we walk amongst the inky blackness
Searching for clarity through timeless bubbles of memory.


Trapped in a gilded golden silence,
Potential wrapped tight, bursting at the seams.

James posted this at 4:19 PM.