Urban Love Song.

 

 

What is there to say about the sun streaming

Through the naked branches of March;

Casting their shadows to dance and play

Along the dried flakes of grass not ready

To grow again?

 

The cars are driving by.

 

Across the way, a kitten perched in a windowsill

Spying the pigeons below and wishing it too,

Could sprout wings and become a harbinger of

Death from the skies.

 

The cars are driving by.

 

The newscaster spoke of sunshine

And bird songs weaving through the

Clouds pregnant with rain;

It looks like rain.

 

The cars are driving by.

 

Heavy and tired from another day

Fighting for air rights,

The sun dips below the horizon;

Defeated once again to huddle in its corner

Waging its next war on darkness.

 

The cars are driving by.

 

I thought of you today.

For the millionth moment in a torrential

Storm of thoughts floating across the currents

Of times past and dusty yesterdays.

 

The cars are driving by.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Smoke and Mirrors of 2 a.m.

misadventuresinreality

Reflections. 

It’s all just a smoky kaleidoscope of illusion glaring back at us from the superficial surface of time.

Look into a mirror and you can see the reflection of the past peering back at you, glassy eyed and weighty with things we once knew.

The reflection of myself, speaks of the universal mysteries yet to be solved, and in her madness she tells of the world, deciphering every mystery ever known, and in the recesses of the 2 a.m. clock that counts the beats of insanity suddenly we are filled with the comprehension and the understanding and it all makes perfect sense.

The whole world and the universe and every vacant being upon it, reflected back at me in the time driven wonderment that is the staple of every midnight rambling.

It’s to know one’s self; it’s to know one’s sole purpose upon this planet. And we are all…

View original post 251 more words

Getting An Education.

I didn’t want to

But I wrote the essay anyway.

Another piece with no real thought

Designed to dazzle and wow and earn

Another low A.

 

Did I mean it?

 

Sure, as much as anyone can mean the

Verbal regurgitation we are forced to upheave

To demonstrate we understand the material.

 

Do we; do we understand?

Does it matter?

 

Frighteningly; no.

 

Education is nothing more than accepting the status quo

On rote memorization.

 

And I’ll get an A,

Which I’ll toss in the box with the others

While walking away with facts and statistics

Dripping from my skin.

Are We on the Right Roads After All?

There’s something about getting older that makes you turn around and peer into the foggy shadows of the past looking for some sort of sign that where you are is where you want to be.  Few things in today’s world make that easier than social media.  If I think back to the friends I’ve known who’ve come and gone, I realize that if it weren’t for things like Facebook, I would probably have no idea where they were or what they were up to.  But I wonder if this makes getting older any easier, or if we’re using this as a crutch to cling to things we should’ve left long ago?

I don’t know how it really happened, but I decided to go through my friends list and do a little ‘spring cleaning’.  It soon became apparent that 70% of the list is people I went to school with; some dating all the way back to the crayon eating days of kindergarten.  Going through their profiles, I started to juxtapose their lives against the backdrop of my own, and it became frighteningly clear that for all our misguided youthful aspirations; we’re all pretty much living out a version of our dreams.

I know this doesn’t seem like too big a stretch, but I have to wonder how it is that a bunch of kids who dreamed of being writers, actors and rock stars managed to cling to those ideals for more than 20 years?  Stepping back to reality, not a one of us is making much, if any, money from our pursuits, but they’ve managed to morph into hobbies that our day jobs are supporting.  I can’t speak for the rest of them, but I sure as hell would like to make money off my passion one day, but the realist in me just crosses her arms and shakes her head at the idea. 

When I consider how it could be that for all of our tireless efforts to achieve what our optimistic childhood selves would’ve wanted, the movie ‘He’s Just Not That into You’ (Kwapis 2009) comes to mind.  Mushy romantic-comedy plot aside; the whole premise on rules and exceptions seems to ring true not just in matters of love, but in life as well.  Putting that idea into perspective; there are how many would-be writers plugging away on their computers this very moment? (Including myself) How many of them are dreaming of being the next Stephen King or JK Rowling?  Probably most, if not all of us.  But the main problem with this aside from raw talent is they are the exception, and the other 99% of us are the rule.

I recognize this, and accept this as the reality, but that doesn’t stop me from trying, nor has it stopped any of those childhood pals of mine still tooling away on their dreams.  My best friend from the eighth grade is involved in Community Theater; keeping up the tradition of our days in high school productions.  If I go back even farther, kids I knew in elementary school are still diligently rehearsing and playing shows; looking to get signed.  I don’t think our dreams haven’t come to fruition due to lack of talent; I can honestly say from an unbiased stance that the band is good, and she’s a great actress… so what is it?

I doubt I’ll be able to answer that question today, or even tomorrow.  But the fact is we’re still here, we’re still nurturing those ideals and Facebook has helped.  I’m fairly certain not a one of us is where we want to be, at least not yet, but the point is we’re still on the same roads we started to travel 20 years ago, and I’m taking that as a good sign.  For all our years, and the lessons we’ve learned and how we’ve changed, it turns out that we’re still the same kids with dreams much bigger than our own realities.  We may never be famous, but thanks to technology, we can still be each other’s biggest fans, and that’s a plus for social media in my book.

Shameless plugging: Go like Poison Politix on Facebook

 

Works Cited

He’s Just Not That into You. Dir. Ken Kwapis. 2009. Film.

 

 

 

Meeting Expectations.

This wasn’t in the brochure. 

They spoke of freedom and independence from the shackles of childhood

 Weaving hazy webs over the truth with shiny lies. 

Never mentioning that to shed one set of chains

 Was to voluntarily replace with them with another more sturdy set of chains,

 And being consciously aware of the mediocrity we’re now attached to. 

There was no warning of time clocks and deadlines and the monotony of rush hour traffic.

If this is all,

The sum of life’s meaning,

Then I wonder if perhaps letting it all go;

Giving up the security of bowing to utilities

Embracing boxcars and cardboard…

Wouldn’t be a more fulfilling alternative.

The Sky Looks Down Upon Us All.

Cast your eyes not forward, but up.

That is where the beginning and the end collide,

Forever echoing back the desperate beauty we create.

Salt stains still lingering on our cheeks from the disappointments of looking up to the heavens and witnessing no miracles;

No great love.

That is the thing, isn’t it?

That is the thing that drives man beyond the breaking point of what we say and the things we do and it’s all for naught.

Would that I be that star shooting across the sky,

 Kissing the atmosphere with the joy that was supposed to be inherent in this life;

 Found miserably lacking.

The rain breaks from the pregnant clouds and if you lift your face the drops will inevitably hit skin,

 Only to slide carelessly back down to the dirt we try so hard to forget.

It’s that indifference that pulls our hearts right from our chests with the agony of defeat.

In spite of well wishes and appeasements,

The skies will still cast down their eyes upon us and see not of us, but through us and that is the truth;

There is no truth, no great revelation waiting to be discovered and unlocked.

It is just this;

Our own arrogant petulance that from above there is no grandeur reflected back down to us,

Only the apathetic tones we taught it to sing in the first place.