A Quick Update

Well, it seems my baby blog is on a diet... I've been meaning to post this week but just didn't quite get around to it. I have a test in C# next week so I'm dedicating this weekend for studies. This means, of course, mostly surfing and or playing on my computer, but I do hope to dedicate some of the time for school. By the way, I do realize I still haven't told you, my dear imaginary (?) audience, anything about myself, but I plan that to change. Honest. Starting from my next post, of course. :-)

Anyway, aside from that, I also plan to add a few of my recommendations in various topics (most noticeably music, it would seem), but that would have to wait till next week (or until I decide otherwise...).
That's it for now.

Hail the newborn

It occurred to me that this blog seems to be rather "heavy", though but a fledgling Internet creation, barely making its way in the tangled web. As this is but the beginning, and there doesn't seem to be many readers I haven't quite found the right attitude to deal with it. I mean, what do I want to do with this space?

I suppose I should have thought about that earlier, or at least could have though about it, but if we compare it to life for a moment (getting heavy again), a child born into this life has no master plans or designs what to do with her life. She may develop these things later (only to abandon them again for something else and so on), but at the beginning there are no expectations except the very basic ones: sustenance and safety. Let us get back to the screaming, wailing blog here, fresh from birth or perhaps merely at its last stages. It still doesn't know whether it shall survive the week (nor do I).

Hmm... I think I may have made a rather critical analogy between a blog (or a creation per se) to a newborn, forcing or thrusting me into the responsibility as its caretaker. Kinda scary for a moment. Anyway, I do hope to meet this responsibility with honor. p.s - In regards to safety, I do trust Blogger.Com to assist me there. As far as food for thought and feeling (ergo creation) that is up to me. Where do I get this kind of baby food? I don't remember any ads about it...

Funny, but it reminds me of a piece in Richard Bach's "One" (which I haven't read in quite a few years) where he wonders why all (or at least a seemingly significant portion) of our original, creative ideas tend to come to us when we don't have a pen or a paper handy (and for me, the right inclination to actually sit myself at the computer). I actually don't remember how he solved the problem in his book (I remember it involved a fairy or something of the sort), but I certainly hope to get past it (or at least get a pen and a piece of paper handy at all times).
Anyway, I blogged enough for now...

you guessed it... only this time, a riddle of a sort.

The rainbow forms the prism,
Stellar light is clear.
Arches form a path into gloom,
The mystery still dwell.
Among them is he,
Apart in all but blood;
Between beloved and the lock it lurks
Or was it a paper bag?

And yet...

O ancient who hath forgotten
That which you never knew;
O traveler, will thou rest tonight?
To sleep unforeseen, to escape
The missing chasers.
What have you wrought upon us,
forgetter-not-forgiver;
in blood spoiled,
a bird to call root;
The scroll to guide in light.

And yet...

All the lines are converging
Upon a heap of sand;
From seven and seven
is one.
In truth lies its doom
as is its victory.
For one is all done;
one is two,
one is past,
one is now.

And yet...

And at the end,
a question yet lingers:
Beyond such shadows of the past,
Across the mists of future,
of importance to him, it seems
for reason still unclear;
One more puzzle,
quaint and wrapped in corners-
Who Am I?

and yet, another

Though darker times may wax and wane
Though falter on we may proceed
As yet out travel may be worn
Unto deep skies and thunderous wells
It leaves little to escape

And through the years of tenderness
We miss those that followed
Illicit in their own path
Though unaware, it seems, of other things
Other nights gone by, whole moons vanished

We lament it not
For though it seems wasted
And in anger and wrath drowned
Forever shall it lend its light upon our brows

And though the road is long or short
And though our breath is hard to come
Our vision remains clear of what was
And what is and what's to come

For not in vain our life was spent
Though it seems alike often
A purpose must we find and this endure
To let our fate cross our stars

kind of a silly one but what the hell...

Two Lost Poems

Two poems I’ve lost today
Though they didn’t fall out of my pocket
Completely gone and vanished have they
And I dare not mock it

Song of creation and loss
Song of magic and waste
Though unfinished and not yet glossed
I can’t help but try and capture their taste

Gone are they and the screen is dark
A mere hard drive without access
Prevents my becoming a lark
And here experience this duress

I hope I shall find them anew
Though different their scent may be
Of my own they’ll be and that’ll do
At least as far as I can see.

and another

The Raven's Flight

Atop a sidewalk in our fair
City, the box awaits
The black messenger;
Across the violent flux
The trees hasten their
Flee for freedom.

The waiting bridge holds for
A four wheel drive
Vehicle to send the word
Needed to hear of our
Love. But lo!

My lover's gone in
The sands of our tent,
The Pier stand empty
In unison of our hearts.

The darkness fast ascending,
All hope is yet but gone.
To find it now will take tomorrow
Lest the dream be discarded today.

Her business’ lot is forfeit,
The cradle never filled;
A longing for a memory may
Yet be reached.

For a choice was made
Long ago. Light or
Darkness was the set
And not in white it is
Now bathed.

Noah’s own a seed has planted
Where it took its mighty roots;
For the darken crow is not an emissary,
In pandemonium yet the dove flies..

Another poem

Stellar light persists
Atop the fallen heads
Of rolled heroes long
Lost in attire.

Garments wrought in steel,
Flow like Icaean marble
On the floor;
O, to dream their hour
On the plains and
There to sigh:
“The Kings are dead” and, lo,
the meadow’s sad.

So sad.

Even handed in their
Smite, and not too
Hasty to entomb the
Shirts and golden lace
Of the throne room
Were they. Alas,
The banquet hall
Lies crumpled.

And you; where
Is my golden haired
Mistress of the night?
Will the ages mock my fall
For reasons of the
Spoil or mere
The grief of loss and
Love and joy?

So sad.

A poem I wrote

Where do we go when we’re wrong?

I always thought it was just across the bend,
Behind the tree stump,
Along the burnt cars pile,
Under the collapsed
Bridge and over the blood filled ditch.

Perhaps, they sigh, it was never that far
From us. Perhaps, they think, if we just
Turn and blink our eyes fast
Enough we’ll see it and squint it
Out. Perhaps, they say, we could
Listen to it, especially in those long dark
Afternoon hours of the empty summer.

Perhaps.

I dwell there still, awaiting
Their arrival.

As promised, something I wrote

The following is a portion of a short story I wrote a while back, which I certainly hope to get back to and finish someday.

Let me tell you about one of the days I was serving as a druid in my forest. On that particular forest there was a small grove of big old oak trees. Though old, the trees were large and massive, their trunks wide and their leaves green.
On that day, I was strolling through the sacred grove, consecrated to the Leaf-Lord, admiring the ancient plants. A wind was blowing through the tree tops, almost whispering half muttered words to me. I wondered what it meant - for surely it was a portent of the Great Spirits of the grove. Then, a mosquito bit my arm, causing it to itch and scratch. "Ahh", I thought. "The Spirits try to warn me of this insect - though a part of the grove and nature, it has its harmful side". And the winds blew on.
A little dizzy from the afternoon sun, I looked for the small brook I knew was streaming near by. "Left or Right of this tree?", I wondered. And the winds blew on.
Stumbling, I suddenly came upon the stream, easing the itch. "Ahh", I though. "The Spirits guided me to this brook to relieve my pain and thirst". And the winds blew on.
I looked upon the small stream and saw that on either bank were various animals and local beasts. Beside me were a great Mother-Bear and her twin cubs, while on the other side licked a red fox. "Ahh", I thought, "The Spirits wanted me to marvel at this natural harmony, to feel at ease in my grove". And the winds blew on. Just then, bandits and poachers appeared, firing angry arrows at the bears and myself, as I came to their aid. One of the cubs lay dead, while the other and I were injured. "Ahh", I thought. "The Spirits wanted me to intercede on the Bears' behalf, while showing me the courage of the Mother-Bear and how precious life is". And the winds blew on.
My dizziness grew worse as the day lengthened and I realized that the arrow which struck me was poisoned. As I lay there dying I thought "Ahh, the Spirits have seen my actions as care-taker of this grove. I am now truly a part of it". I died there, my body slowly decomposing into the grove's sacred earth. And the winds blew on and on and on....

First Entry

Well... Hello there. Don't be shy.
This is my first attempt at Blogging, in case you (who ever you may be) haven't noticed so you'll have to forgive certain things (such as constantly apologizing and using quite a lot of parenthesis). Anyway, I don't quite know at this point what precisely I want to do with er.. place(space?) but I do have some ideas.
As a first entry it would do for now, at least until my lunch is out of the oven.
P.S - I'm attaching a few things I've written earlier (much earlier) so, enjoy yourselves.

(Waiting for an idea of a cool sounding signature)