I got the urge to write today. An urge that I have not had in many months. An urge, that honestly, I thought had been decimated in the chaotic cyclonic conflagration that was my world for most of last year.

As with most of what remains in the aftermath of destruction it does not seem to resemble its old self. So distorted is the appearance that I am not even sure it is what it appears to be. Maybe I am merely caught in the delusion of the eye’s calm beguile and not truly through to the other side. I have that feeling, that sinking one that we get in the very pit of our being, the one that warns of something, something coming, something bad coming.

Am I being overly dramatic? Am I being paranoid? Am I being self-destructive? Am I letting old scars overwhelm me?

This urge, while it has the tool….writing…..it resembles nothing else.

That is not my normal method. I am not a born writer. Writing is not the URGE! Sharing, knowledge, learning, thinking, questioning….that is the URGE. Writing has just become the means by which to exercise the urge. Discourse, dialogue, speaking, listening, conversing could just as easily be the means and even a more desirable one for its intimacy, intensity, immediacy, mobility and emotionality.  But, writing is the one that only requires me and no one else, while the other means requires the attendance and participation of at least somebody or anybody but cannot be accomplished with nobody.

Thus, I wonder, why the urge to write and why today? And what am I supposed to write about?  The about has always been my urge before. It is the topic or subject matter or message that has always created the urge in the past. It was the about that screamed to be told that created the urge that became the writing; not, the writing that created the urge to find an about.

So here I sit trying to figure out  why I have an urge without the about and how to discover the about so that the urge can be relieved and I feel as foreboding as the gray clouds covering the sky in the chill that is so rare for this little town on the river.

Never Good Enough

Tennyson, Byron, Keats
Now they had the beats,
Shelley, Woodsworth, Blake
More than icing on the cake.

Poe, they say, was madd
or was he just sad,
Austen was full of pride
and all lovers she put aside.

Words full of longing pleas
declarations of things to be,
All the things you to me
At night the stars to see.

When you came into me
Not yet blind, lost at sea,
Then you guide me in
Gave harbor, no more sin.

Needing, pleading for more
One, two, three, four
What, when, where, who
Yes, I do love you.


Alone without another
It comes midnight
Not even the moonlight
Still it searches.

Sun rises Sun sets
Beyond the reach
Sheltered by the clouds
Still it searches.

New Moon to Full Moon
Winter to Winter
Sleepless dreamless
Still it searches.

Torrents of rain
Gales of wind
Flashes of lightening
Still it searches.

Air biting cold
Frost to ice
Snow of blizzards
Still it searches.

Mountain summit bluster
Scorching desert sands
Roar river rapids
Still it searches

River Styx
Coin for the feryman
Firey cold of Hades
Still it searches.

Still it searches


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He Asked

What do you want for Christmas?

She answered:  I only want you.
You are the best gift in the world.
You are all that I want and all that I need.
I love you more than I love life itself.
You are all my hopes.
All my wishes.
All my dreams.
You are everything to me.
You inspire me.
You motivate me.
You encourage me.
You protect me.
You give me love.
You give me guidance.
You are my best friend.
You are my lover.
You are my partner.
You are my confidant.
You are my teacher.
You are my council.
You are my muse.
You are my dream.
You are my fantasy.
You are my reality.

You are all that I want for Christmas.


A nice thing you asked for this Christmas… but Santa is going to be late this year. One of his elks is in my back yard and seems that he enjoys it… quite a bit actually. (19.12.13)

Quality Instead of Quantity

I prefer quality over quantity,
I must love that fatal injury,
When you have quantity –
You have so much of little impact,
A loss while initially stinging –
Is only momentarily felt,
For tomorrow it is replaced by another.

Ah! But quality lost is fatal,
Without death.
When you find something worthy,
Something that shines and sparkles,
And the glow blinds you,
When you treasure it,
Admire it, desire it-
It becomes a part of you.

If your treasure is damaged,
You are equally injured.
If your treasure is out of sight,
You are alone and adrift.

When your treasure leaves,
It isn’t just a flesh wound.
No, when you lose your treasure,
You are eviserated.
You are torn open with gaping gashes,
The bleeding is immense.
Your whole being is submerged,
Yet, you will not drown.

You go blind, you are deaf,
You starve, you thirst.
You wander alone lost
In the dark.
You beg, scream, cry
For the end, that never comes.

That is quality.

I Wish For You

I wish for you joy
and happiness,
I wish for you peace
and contentment,
I wish for you ease
and comfort.

I wish for you rainbows
and dreams coming true,
I wish for you success
and sense of fulfillment,
I wish for you love
and complete loyalty.

I wish for you everything,
I wish for you all things,
I wish for you best things,
I wish for you your thing.