New Home

The tomes of mine have finally found a new home with Wordpress. Yes, one is finally shifting there after ages of inactivity. So my dear readers, please redirect your bookmarks to Whispers of Another Moon

Nothing has changed, just the provider.

Gracias

Pretty Week

In the midst of writing another short story, while reading 2 novels (Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse and James Joyce A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man) while holding one more novel to be read (Joseph Heller's Catch-22) is going to signify the start of another week.

It's not going to be a pretty week.

Intransitive

As the music recedes so do my feelings
Rush like a waterfall down to its snowy depths
Plunging deep deep inside the unconscious
The last shred of my humanity plundered, fluttering in the lonely wind
Like the last man standing on a battlefield won, a Pyrrhic victory

Circling the skies above a hawk spies
In search of its food to delay starvation perhaps
Or to feed its young in that eyrie way up high
As it is always, to deny something, to allow something
By the force of our seeking

Searching I am too for that ultimate bliss
Like the hawk in the sky, eyes scan the world below me
Looking and looking for that sparkle who would bring me
Down back to terra firma where I would plant my two feet

I am searching yes, searching for you
The you in the shadows who I cannot see
The you that is the Other of me
The incomplete you for the incomplete me
That double of me both joy and of terror in my dreams

Ballerina No More

The sweet tinkling of the little bells
reminiscent of Innocence, lost to us
forever by the pillaging Age
rampant in his devouring rage
and what we see now is nothing
but rust and regret

(picture courtesy of www.deviantart.com)

Wonderland

And once upon a time in this fairyland
here lives a boy along this lane
who yearns for something
yet unknown to him because the only thing
he knows is that his heart has been aching, aching terribly

And one fine day, along this lane
merrily hops this little girl
a sweet seraph exuding heavenly charm which
might blind the eyes that can see and
stops the heart that can beat

Thank goodness then, you say
for that little boy who lives along the lane
cannot see since he is blind but heaven forbid!
for he feels that which cannot see, through his skin
or his heart one cannot say (for I was never him)

But I see or saw this little girl, who was skipping along this lane
offered to him her tiny little hand,
I will lead you where you want to go, she merrily says
so honeyed was her voice, melodious and inviting that
who could resist but those that canst hear? or those that canst feel?

Sadly and terribly (yes it was very sad indeed for those of you who think otherwise)
neither of these was the boy
and with a resolute yes, he speaks
I will take your hand
and you will lead me into lands unknown and pastures untrodded upon
where we will laugh and make merry in the sweet-smelling fields forever
That was what he said for so taken was he.

Last seen was he holding the girl's pale little hand
walking into the sunset yonder with nary a worry on his back
And for good or bad, we will never know for never was another word heard
from that little boy who lived along this lane.

He's back...I'm back

And he slipped back in, undetected from the sentinels of the day, welcomed by the keepers of the night. Too many things had held him back from what was to be done, too many red herrings lying in his path.

He had to settle them one by one, banish the ghosts of his horrors forever and setting those dear to eternal rest...

Apologies to the rest? He did not think so...Those of good faith would have stand by his stead and those impure banished. No apologies needed...However thanks need to be given to those who had dropped by with none but soothing words. May

But now, he was ready once more. Ready to go in and try his luck once more. No matter how battered he will be, he vowed never to stop trying unless he's dead.

To cut the long story short, he's back.

I'm back.

Night

Deep dark depths of the lonely night
this black blanket that threatens to
swallow us all, even those with
wings to fly like never before
we will exchange them for
earthly chains of desires
limiting our flights of fantasy
into the dark deep depths
of the lonely night