The Drive Home

the line sways
like a holiday parade
or fireworks with no need
to ever leave the ground
from up here they are slow
a tire hiss in the tangled night
the cold drapes over them
warm in the loss of light
as the mountain (and I) watch over them

Thanksgiving Wishes

I hope all of you in the States had a wonderful thanksgiving! I heard a collective sigh of relief in the forest. Not a bad life to be a wild turkey, all in all.

Enjoy a warm weekend with family and friends!

Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters

While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
Turn around and say good morning to the night
For unless they see the sky,
But they can't, and that is why
They know not if it's dark outside or light
     --Elton John, Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters

He sat in the law library. A young law clerk. Alone.

Lights fought the night pouring in the skyscraper windows, but they did not back turn the tide.

Books stacked four deep were piled at his hands. One case referenced another, which referenced another, which referenced another. The layers sank too deeply for his tired brain to handle.

He stomach squeezed to think about going back to the senior partner again. One berating in front of the smirking client was enough. Contrary to popular belief, you could NOT find a case for any proposition. Let him dig through the horrid cases.

Sometimes shit just doesn't exist. Sometimes you can't get there from here.

Or maybe he shouldn't be in law school after all.

He stood by the window high over the unfamiliar streets. Skipped dinner gnawed at him. The empty hotel room would be waiting, and more impossible tasks after four hours of sleep. He was probably too tired to cry, even if he were so disposed. But another glance at the pile of books pushed him close.

Marveling at the thousands of lights, he switched the room to dark.

So beautiful to be standing on the 65th floor. Almost worth it.

Almost.

When his head crinkled into the hotel pillow, the sparkles stayed with him for what was left of the night.

Passers-By

live where you can live
as we dig in rooted ground
trust what you can trust
as we map the traveled towns
the sidewalk can be crowded
where we hope to catch an eye
how do you make peace
when we're only passers-by?

Game Friday: Anthems and Epitaphs

If I could really choose my talent, rather than let DNA and birth take care of it, I think I would choose to really excel at music--composition and even performance. Why? Because as good as writing can be to convey thought and vision and mood, throw in music, and it blows it open in a whole fundamental way. It's a language that hard to beat.

Maybe that's why over the years I've come across songs that feel like they could be my epitaph (at that moment, of course). The fascinating thing is how they've changed a bit over the years. But this song is one that has stuck with me for a while. Maybe I'll settle on it! (Not that I'm looking to need it any time soon.) It's Dante's Prayer by Loreena McKennitt.



Do you have musical epitaph?

Or feel free to make it an anthem! Let's hear what you've got!

Un-Frabjous Night

He dared what no one ever dared.

He let the darkness snake through the Tulgey Wood without running away before it came.

If fact, no one ventured into the wood at all if they didn't have to. Even in the baking light of midday. The wood spun its own gloom, and tree tops spread wide and belligerent, like enemies of the sun.

The blade lay sheathed across his knees.

He thought about who might care if his bloodied corpse were discovered the next day. He thought about the many who would not. His confidence faded with the light, then the color, then the very shapes of things. Definitions blurred, and cut shadows bled into damp twilight.

Harder, his eyes strained to keep up.

Harder yet.

Then, he sensed it all on the verge of turning under. The edge of night. When blindness stabs at our deepest instincts, and the noises of night creatures begin to move. As he thought about the invisible scurries and the mysterious padding of feet, the wave submerged him. The blackness brought the claustrophobia of huge, empty places. It squeezed around him. Even if he chose to run, the hidden thickets would shred him.

So he grasped the hilt of the sword and closed his eyes.

Open or closed, it didn't matter anyway. If the sun was gobbled by the trees, delicate starlight would be chewed and spit back to the skies.

He ignored the rustles, the distant chirping calls until the low wheeze of a breath snapped his terror wide awake.

A predator's stare blinked impossibly close.

But too large. Tremendously large.

The Vorpal Blade sang out in his hands.

The Jabberwocky leapt. It was not expecting to be challenged by its food.

Unhindered

he could worship her
operate
micro-cellular
leap
before he looks
tune himself
to a molecular
flaming tip
and kiss
a homicide
to her
(screaming to be saved)
modesty

Raise Your Glass

I have this (probably not so unusual) weird habit of using songs to scratch at my scars. (Three hours a day on trains give me some quality digging time.)

So, it's pretty unusual for me to come across an honestly feel-good song. But one I have found! I smile every time I watch Pink's new video.



Not only is it catchy, but I have a feeling that if you've been drawn here to this blog for a long time, then you also know what Pink means by being "wrong in all the right ways." In a way, I've intended this place to be a safe harbor for people who feel a step or two off to the side of the normal flow.

You know, interesting people.

Intense people. ;)

So to the readers of The Clarity of Night, present and past alike, cheers!

I raise my glass to you.

Henry Lee

She leaned herself against a fence
just for a kiss or two
and with a little pen knife
held in her hand
well she plugged him through and through
and the wind did roll
and the wind did moan
     --Nick Cave & PJ Harvey, Henry Lee

I sang to myself. After he finally slept that weird, rubbery sleep.

I don't know why, exactly. Just a little tune I made up. I make them all up, of course.

I always thought people in my position would be more anxious. Crazed. (Except for psychopaths. You never know what psychopaths are going to do. Or what's in their head. For all you know, they could rub their nipples with mint ice cream and celebrate.) I don't like mint ice cream especially.

I just sang to myself as my pounding heartbeat faded. Just me and wind. And some pretty trees. I had wiped my hands on the grass. Making them green and the grass red. When I sing, I'm not the same kind of alone.

I understand now. That's the bottom line. Those are the secret lyrics between my melodies. Sometimes you just can't suffer a thing to happen. Plain and simple. It's a point of decision. Either you continue (and someone else does not), or someone else continues, and you do not. I'm just not the kind of person to be the loser. Yes, I shouldn't have loved him. Of course, that's the case. You would probably say that I couldn't have loved him at all. Because how can you harm someone you love? Oh, but you can. And you do. Love is a different word when it's used in the Bible.

So I understand. It was going to be me, or him. Because you know what you're prepared to suffer. If he left, the rage in me would have torn a hole in my brain. I would have turned inside and clawed the life right of me. This way, I'm calm. Very nicely calm. I sing a song of peace under these trees.

He probably doesn't like the tune.

Despite the rubbery ease on his face.

At least he'll be safe here. And I won't have to face...the horror, of hating him.


COMMENTS LINK

Clouds and Cold

drowsing brown forest
drunk on November flurries
yawning for winter

Beatitudes #4

::Blessèd are the isolated
     For they shall meet themselves::

(Photo taken at the Philadelphia Art Museum.)

Reconnaissance

someday I'll learn your weapons
I always do
so even if you don't mean to strike
you'll hit air and empty shoes

Visitors in the Night

~~~~
the two promenade
dead outshining the living
for one lovely night
~~~~


(SOME SAMHAIN FRIENDS WE MET LAST NIGHT:)