Idle hours

Night falls
And the door of
Loneliness
Opens once more

Wandering thoughts
Leading deeper
Endless hours
Pass by idle

Tears born of
Frustration
Wanting so much
To believe

While truths falsities
Ebb and flow
Raging as the sea

To shed tears of happiness
Heart swollen with joy
From the gift of truth
Another should bestow

But what illusions spring
From a bounty of words
While reading the pages
Of one’s very soul

A beacon in the darkness
Wrapping round the heart
Come to life on a virtual page

Where freedom is found
Chained spirits do soar
And the abyss calls you
By name

Stop, Pause, Rewind

It had been a week since they buried their eldest son; something that no parent should ever have to do. She sat alone in the den, her husband having long since gone to bed. There wasn’t much communication; it seemed there was nothing left to say; only grief, sadness and deafening silence hung between them.

She emptied the wine bottle into her glass, pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, picked up the remote and pressed play; and there he was, alive in her eyes once more. Running across the lawn with their old dog Dixie, splashing in the bathtub, bubbles flying everywhere, as he giggled and smiled into the camera. She sobbed into her glass and reached for a tissue; images, memories and a life that was no more, flashing across the screen, illuminating the darkened room.

Then she heard her husband’s voice calling out from across the room; “Tommy, get daddy a beer,” he said, as the little boy, just barely two, ran in front of the camera, bare feet slapping across the tile, his diaper sagging as he stopped and took the empty can from his father’s hand.

The camera followed as he made his way up the step into the dining room and on into the kitchen, where he stopped at the trash to dispose of the beer can, but not before he raised it to his lips, tipped his little head back, emptying the remaining contents into his mouth; his parent’s laughter, captured forever, as they delighted in his shenanigans. A moment later the refrigerator door opened, the light came on and back into view he came, all smiles, holding out the cold, full can, “Here, dada.”

She didn’t dwell on why her son was dead, the cause and effect of actions all his own. All she saw was her precious child, taken too soon, lost to her forever. And she didn’t stop to think about the mother on the other side of the city, who was grieving the death of her own child, whose life was snuffed out by the drunk driver who crossed the yellow line and hit them head on; begging for just one more moment to hold her baby in her arms, driving herself insane wondering what she had done to deserve such cruel fate.

Into the Storm

0into the storm

She stood in the doorway of the veranda, the moon shining through the branches, casting eerie shadows over the lawn. She watched as he pulled out of the circular drive, his taillights disappearing into the night; remembering his last words, wondering if she’d ever see him again, knowing full well she didn’t want to live without him, not certain at this point if she even could.

The music and laughter from the house full of guests below wafted up on the breeze and assaulted her; when all she wanted was to be alone. She was torn between two worlds; the one it seemed she had always known, was safe, comfortable and accustomed to; and the one unknown, where she dared to tread.

She hadn’t meant for it to happen, didn’t even know such a thing was possible; but there she was, center of the circle, completely in love with two different men. And though the last thing she wanted was for anyone to be hurt, the pain she now felt she was certain would kill her.

Dante hadn’t flinched when he walked in and found her in Alexander’s arms; her back against the wall, Alex’s hand under her dress exposing her bare naked thigh, as they stole a forbidden kiss at the party she was hosting, where Alexander was an invited guest. Dante spoke not a word, but the look in his eyes revealed all she needed to know. He loved her completely, unconditionally, and if she chose to stay and end this now, she was certain he would do everything within his power to make certain she never regretted it. That’s just the kind of husband he was.

Alexander had demanded a choice. He was not willing to share her any longer. He loved her and wanted to make a life with her. He begged her to leave with him right then and there, was furious and hurt when she hesitated in her response. He told her he was leaving for home on a morning flight to Tuscany; where there would be a ticket for her waiting at the gate, should she choose to join him.

She was a fool to believe it could continue as it was; her having the best of both worlds. In her heart she knew it would one day come to this, but still she was not prepared to make a choice, to give either one of them up. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She kicked off her heels and stripped out of her dress, leaving it where it fell on the floor. Thunder crashed outside as she made her way to the closet, the wind whipping the lace curtains of the veranda doors, causing her to shiver as it licked at her naked flesh.

She stepped inside and turned on the light, pulling on a pair of jeans, a sweater and her favorite leather boots. She took off her wedding rings and the crucifix Alex had given her and placed them on the bedside table. She stopped when she reached the door, turned back and looked at the room one last time, before she made her way down the servant’s stairs and out into the garage.

Lightening streaked across the sky, illuminating the treetops, as she put the Jag in reverse and pulled out of the garage. She put the windows down then pushed the overhead button and the sunroof fell back into place, exposing the night sky that was dotted with black clouds; the moon disappearing then coming back into view.

She drove for miles on those winding country roads, ones she knew so well she could maneuver with her eyes closed; something she did often, to ease her worried mind, but did absolutely nothing for her on this particular night.

She was almost to the marsh when the sky opened up and the rain pelted down upon her, but she did nothing to protect herself against it. The bridge over the Intracoastal was just a few miles ahead and so she began to accelerate on the wet, slippery road. She put on her bright lights so as to better see through the rain, but it was only a brief downpour that didn’t last.

She maintained her speed as the sign came into view, warning drivers to slow over the bridge that was just up ahead. She set the cruise control, then reached down and pushed the button at the side of her seat, holding the wheel as it reclined. It wasn’t until she was lying all the way down that she let go of the wheel and in a loving gesture, cradled her arms over her belly, as if to somehow protect the child that grew in her womb from what was to come; a child created from absolute love, whose father she would never be certain. She took a deep breath and gazed up through the roof into the night sky, the moon showing itself to her one last time.

WARNING: MAJOR VENTING AHEAD

Cole was out sick first of the week and didn’t catch the homework assignment posted on the day he went back, but did get for the two days he missed. Teacher gets a tude today when he turned in the make-up work but not yesterday’s assignment; wants to know how he thinks he’s going to pass the test she’s preparing to hand out. When he just looked at her, not really knowing what he was expected to say, she cocked her head and said, “Good luck with that!”

He said he gave her the same smirk right back when she passed out the graded tests at the end of class and his was a big fat A, then proceeded to tell him that she was giving him a zero on the assignment. His question to me, “Why does a teacher who teaches advanced math treat kids like their idiots?!”

Good question…

My immediate response is to fire off an email requesting an impromptu tête-à-tête; and had this been elementary school, I would have done just that. However, we’re in middle school now and everything has changed. He asked that I please just let it go because it’s not worth her excluding him from class and taking it out on him because she’s mad at me for confronting her.

I want to respect his wishes, but the thought of that uppity witch giving my son grief for no good reason and getting away with it, is gnawing at my insides! That’s the one thing I’ve always done; make certain that his teachers know me, and know that his academic career is something I [we] take very seriously. He’s been an honor roll student since first grade, and the thought of him having to put up with nonsensical bullshit from someone whose job it is to educate and prepare him for college, for whatever reason, absolutely chaps my ass!

It’s almost as if they look at middle-school aged kids as a bunch of rowdy heathens that have no interest whatsoever in learning, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth in our case. Cole loves learning; reads anything non-fiction he can get his hands on, filling himself with all the knowledge and information he can contain. And just because he wears the same size shoe as his father doesn’t mean he has an adult sized mind! He’s still a child and while I certainly don’t expect him to be coddled and pampered, I do expect him to be treated with the respect his age and intelligence warrants.

Thought I would feel better after venting, but all I’ve managed to do is raise my blood pressure. Must meditate….

Subtle Slips

babylove

I feel him pulling
Moving away
Gently he slips
In directions
Opposite me

Testing his wings
Determined and courageous
The look in his eyes
Reveals fear of
Full flight

No longer
My little boy
Always my baby

No matter how
Far from me
The universe
Takes him

Of typical concern
My own human flaws
Hoping my guidance
Has properly prepared him

Richard II

GrimReaper

They don’t all float down here, as his mantra would have you believe. Some wrap themselves intentionally, in the dispirited darkness; fighting natures buoyancy that would raise them toward the light. He thrived on being the outcast, for he knew not how to fit; emitted false illusion, so as to sway opinion and perceptions. But had he ever met the Sage, in the abyss which I have faced, he would have fallen to his knees and in prayer he would have begged.

Depthless

A night out with the girls, after a tumultuous week at the office; heads turning as they were led to their table; the waiter taking a quick inventory of Blackberry’s, designer bags and bling; calculating his tip even before introducing himself. Once seated and situated, they immediately began bitching about co-workers and letting off steam, then somewhere between appetizers and the second round of margaritas things took an awkward turn.

Shana was the drama queen of the group; pampered, posh and completely plastic. There wasn’t a single person in the office that wasn’t aware of the fact that she didn’t have to work, she chose to; for walking around money. Whenever there was reason for an occasion, she made it a point to play hostess, then downplayed the maid and gourmet chef who not only worked the soiree, but were full time employees.

They had three children, with a live-in nanny who raised them rather than tended them. Ponte Vedra Beach is where they resided; in a sprawling 8,000 square foot oceanfront mansion with their own private stretch of beach; a showplace to be certain, just as Shana was a show piece to her husband.

Sure, she thrived on the attention her looks afforded her, but in truth she loathed the amount of time she was made to spend on her appearance. Yes, “made to.”

Her husband was the most sought after plastic surgeon in northeast Florida and had invested tens of thousands of dollars of his time and talent, on breast implants, tummy tuck and lipo after their last child was born and they were certain they wanted no more.

He hired a personal trainer, which came five mornings a week, to make certain she worked out, because quite frankly, he didn’t trust her to do it on her own; and the chef was to prepare all her meals and keep track of what she ate on a daily basis, so that at the end of the week he could assess her caloric intake and adjust her workout accordingly.

He put her on a routine Botox schedule, which just so happened to coincide with her Mercedes maintenance. Three thousand mile oil change, tire rotation and Botox injections, all in the same day, which she swore was just a coincidence.

As she drained the last of her third margarita, she confessed that he’d recently hinted that for her 43rd birthday he might be giving her a facelift, then burst into tears; professing how miserable she was, and that at the end of the day, all the money, clothes, jewelry, memberships and trips abroad did nothing to ease her loneliness.

Then in the very next breath she turned to me and asked if I knew how many calories were in a margarita. I told her I didn’t know and what difference did it make. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Are you kidding me? It makes ALL the difference! I don’t have the luxury you do, of having a husband who loves me unconditionally. Richard is surrounded by young, beautiful women every single day and the last thing in the world I want, is to be forty-three and single, with three kids and forced to take care of myself!”

“CHECK PLEASE…”

Escape

Forced to acknowledge
Her earthbound
Vessel

The inner-workings
The stretch of its
Limits

The one within
She’s traveled
The whole of
This life

The receiver of
Its cause
She’s always been

Unspeakable pleasure
Unbearable pain
Forgivable sin

Linked now
With a manmade machine

Round the clock
Tic-tock
Tic-tock

Casts her circle
Recounts blessings
Patiently waits
For night to fall

Closes her eyes
Empties her mind
Effortlessly slips
To that place of
No time

Where souls do swirl
In their beguiling ethereal
Dance

Abysmal realm
Released from earthly bonds
Where all are welcome
Escapism is free

From this material world

Where nothing
Is as it seems
Exactly
As it should be

In our natural state
Wild
Untamed
Pure Energy

As all things living are
As was meant to be

Threshold

abyss

You know you’ve reached the threshold, when you start thinking about your “things” and imagining what will become of them after you’re gone. All your personal little mementos that you’ve collected over the course of your life; meaning absolutely nothing to anyone who happens across them, but holds significance to you; even if that significance is nothing more than a shred of memory; carefully placed in a sacred place, bearing witness to a time, a place, a person, who was once part of you world; a faint buzz of energy and emotion lingering, from the time when you placed it there.

You picture in your mind, people sifting through journals and old writings; trying to read between your lines, believing they’ve found all the pieces and finally figured out who you really were and what made you tick; why you were the way you were, and chose the path you walked to the end.

When all that comes to mind and you realize you really don’t give a shit…that’s when you know you’ve reached the threshold. That’s when you have but two choices.

You can roll over and close your eyes, languidly disappearing into the unknown abyss, or you can find that inner light, gather your will and strength and fight against the enviable that each of us must one day face. Realizing that you’re just not quite through and you’ve still too much living to do.

Thank you, Joney, for realing against the abyss.