Snow

It should really be the title of a story, that, but since I'm too lazy and distracted to tell proper stories anymore, I'll tell 'em in verse instead. These prompts struck me odd, so you get two stories - the same question, with two different answers.

Funny thing about the word. It was going to be the word I submitted for this round of Word & Question, but I was afraid someone might find it too cheap, so I gave instead a word that Dylan handled wonderfully. In return, I got the word I actually wanted, and was immediately excited about the possibilities.

The answers, though, were harder to find than I at first thought. Still, I found them. And here are the stories, in the order I'd like you to remember them.

Word: Snow
Question: Is this not something more than fantasy?

The First Story
Crunch, crunch, crunch
Virgin snow defiled
Purest white destroyed
Innocence beguiled

Darkness falls
Barren, dirty lands
All around is death
Bleak, the fate of man

Blackness burns
Fantasies to ash
Lost beneath the weight
Beauty turned to trash

Spring arrives
Snow dissolves away
Has no memory
Life fades into day

Hope, hope, hope
To find redemption
In love's glowing embers
I, I remember

The Second Story
Alone he sits and waits
Thinks of her, and oceans
Lying past the gates
Somewhere in between them
Waves that stir like words unspoken
Words yet understood
That rise, fall, dip and swell
A gently rolling token
Of the dreams they've yet to dream
Of stories yet to tell
And softly blowing fairytales
That swirl and whisper in his ear
The warmth of fires hid in winter
Hidden from the driving snow
Hidden, burning ever quicker
Leaping flames that long to go
Across the air, across the sea
To find the arms of which he dreams
At last to rest, at last to be
Alone at home, and love to know
As something more than fantasy

W & Q Teaser

Quite by accident, this old poem of mine happens to do a decent job of using my word and answering my question (of course, it only answers the question if you know the poems history... and the question). I will, of course, post an actual Word & Question original poem some time in the next week (I'm hoping for inspiration on my caving trip this weekend). Until then, enjoy this little throwback to my college days of versified romance. Cheers.

Snow

Falling snow, fall softly down

And sparkle in her raven hair

Winter wind, slip carefully

Across her face so fair

And bring a rosy glow

Into those cheeks as white as snow

Stars above, look tenderly

Upon this pretty lass of mine

White moonlight, glisten now

Shine in her kind green eyes

Oh show me nothing lovelier

Than this soft and glowing sight

Falling snow, fall softly down

And warm this chilly, winter night.

Word and Question 6

Okay, I just had a perfect, happy little line spring into my head not too long ago, but I'm gonna develop the idea that occurred to me on the drive home, and see where it leads. As usual, I'm shooting offhand...

Word: Apologia
Question (answered obliquely): On what altar do you place your hopes and dreams?


The Altar of the Traveler
"Ramp" the sign says
Nothing more
He takes it
He has to go somewhere

Innocent, she was
Then a whore
Now she runs
To someone, anywhere

Broken, shattered glass
On the floor
Art is there
Mosaics made aware

Cross of splinters
Shards of wood
Dig at skin
Another cross to bear

Altar standing
Marble door
Come from far
Find shelter on its stair

Apologia
For a life
Never made
Laid upon the altar

Of the traveler

I like this one, in a strange way. It is my first attempt at keeping some sort of form (though a syllable got misplaced  here and there, and a rhyme scheme dropped along the way). I still prefer free verse, if only because I find it easier to play with words in ways that amuse me when I'm not trying to fit them in a puzzle. Still, I hope you like it.

Blues from San Jose

I'm late, I'm tired, no clever header. This is word and question.

I really, really hate the word plenitude. It's one of my reactionary habits.

My question is probably obvious.

On my way from San Jose
My mind on blues and sin
I met an ass with much to say
Of what he'd done and where he'd been
He sought "a plenitude of drink and lights
And debauchery in San Jose"
And asked me, whether left or right
To send him on his merry way
I thought it odd, this prating ass
And the city of lights, or death
Was, I suppose, his way to pass
For something human, something with breath
Though from his tales he seemed
A dark and wicked, violent thing
With little air of kindness, and in his eye a gleam
I thought he'd gladly tear me, and all the while sing
Of thirty-twos and twenties,
And break my back in two.
But he'd not seen the dark behind me
And in a fit of orn'ry, loathing blues
I spit upon the ass's face
And prayed to San Jose
A good death to die, in grace
For I'd not show the way.

Word and Question 4

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Welcome to Word and Question, and to Crosses and Cradles, if this is your first time here. Please, look around, I haven't written as much as I'd like, especially lately, but perhaps you'll run across something you like. For more information see one of my previous W&Q entries, or go to Shredded Cheddar. If you're playing, post a link or a poem in the comments. If you aren't, please go read the poems that others have written as well. They're always fun.

As usual, I'll be awarding phantom points if you can guess the question (the word would be nearly impossible with this one). I'll reveal it in the comments later. I think it's more fun that way. Here goes:

The Litany of Apathy
Upon the fields of war it stands
Walks beside a lover, hand in hand.
It kneels on cold, cathedral floors
And dances on the open moor.
Beside a stream, it sleeps
In peace lies down, in sorrow, weeps
But the lonely ones, the tired
Sit upon a stone. The souls no longer fired
With intensity or love of beauty
In despair, or apathy await
The fealty they've sworn to fate
They find no joy, no sense of duty
Nothing but the patter of the rain upon the rock
Soaked and broken, no heroes, they
Solitary souls they sit, and say
The litany of apathy, "No good has come to me
No good of me shall come, but waiting
I shall stay, upon the rock, beneath the rain
And let the souls more brave than mine
Carry on their show, for they but feign
To smile on those stone cold floors
And dance upon the barren moors
And hand in hand they're all cut down
In fire they burn, in blood they drown
And whence their joy, their hope?"
So, bent and alone, without a care
No gentle touch this soul can stir
For he alone may foreswear
A foolish oath, and stand a man
To be, and hold, and dance, and kneel
The truth to seek, the sun to feel
And love to know at last, and understand

Word and Question 2

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SELECT Wish FROM tblWishes
WHERE Depth='Deepest'

Time for the second round of Word & Question via Shredded Cheddar. This time I will tell you the word and the question... well, I sort of already did. But read the poem first, then you can get your geek on.

The Caverns of the Soul
Many deeply planted longings
Overshadowed day to day
Struggle oft to reach the surface
Struggle 'neath a pressing weight
Of cynical routine
And apathetic waste
The complex that bear not speaking
The simple found in but one word
I've known them all and plummed their depths
Some have sprouted seedling hopes
Others laid to rest
But down within the recesses
Beyond the simple and complex
Beyond the arm around a waist
The breath of sea and whispering leaves
The sunset burning hills that grieve
For the souls that fall from grace
Deep within the caverns
Lies a seed of hope
To see and feel and know and be
Beyond the hills, beyond the sea
Drowned in love and ecstasy
To embrace, and be embraced

Word and Question

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I came across this little game on my friend Enbrethiliel's blog (well, I seem to remember she prayed for me at least once, which makes us friends, even if that mostly consists of me stalking her on her blog :P). The rules and original post are here, and the latest round was posted last week.

The general idea is that each participant puts a word and a question into a virtual hat, and then gets one of each in return. Then, everyone writes a poem that uses the word and answers the question.

So, without further fanfare and adieu (yes, yes, I know), I give you:

Matrix Analysis

Always planning everything

Chasing notions round

Never doing anything

Staring at the ground

Thinking through the angles

Rhymes and imagery

And decision matrices

Trying to untangle

Every little signal

That I'm sending with a word

Plotting looks and tones

And drowning out the drone

Of voices saying "overthinking

Is all you ever do"

But know that simpler, pretty verses

Spring from moments unrehearsed

And in an hour, maybe two

Thought fades into beauty

And ponderous soliloquies

Of what is, and ought to be

Are tossed aside for hope, and you

Did you know it's social protocol to tell me it's wonderful and you can't wait to read more of my poetry? Really, it's what you do when you have a friend who's proud of something they really suck at!

I will award points for the first person to correctly identify: what that last paragraph was a reference to; what my word was; what my question was. These are fiat points, and like cloth money, they have no intrinsic value, but they're fun.

Not Even a Mother

Daddy never knew.  She thought he wouldn’t like it.  Daddy wasn’t around very often, though, so she was happy with me.

When I was little, I didn’t know, either.  Then I went to school.  The teachers knew.  The other kids knew.  Sometimes the teachers let me play games with the boys.  They didn’t like me, so I didn’t ask very often.  I didn’t like dolls, though.  They were for sissies.  Maybe I was a sissy.  I don’t know.  I didn’t understand.  I just didn’t like being called names.

I tried to play outside sometimes, but she always caught me.  She yelled at me – said I wasn’t supposed to be like this.  I didn’t know what I wasn’t supposed to be like.

She and daddy fought a lot.  They fought every time he was home, I think.  I didn’t like it when daddy was home.  She made me put on different clothes.  Mostly I lay on my bed and cried.  I was a sissy.  She yelled at daddy.  She thought I didn’t hear, but I did.  Ugly things, names and bad words, and things I didn’t understand.

I learned to be quiet.  Once, daddy asked me if I wanted to play baseball.  I said yes.  Later, she told me that I would tell him I didn’t want to.  Otherwise I would “get it.”  I didn’t know what she meant.  She looked upset, so I told daddy I changed my mind.  I didn’t like baseball.

On my eighth birthday, daddy had to leave.  He didn’t come back.  I was sad, but she shushed me and brushed my hair.  She said she loved me, that I was her good little girl.  She said that daddy didn’t understand, that he didn’t like me, and that was why he left.  That made me cry.  She brushed my hair and whispered, “Shhhhhhhh. Hush baby; don’t cry.”

After daddy left, I never had to change clothes.  She was much happier.  I thought I should be happy, but I wasn’t.  I was sad, but I did not say anything.  I didn’t not want to upset her.  I tried to be happy.  Things started changing.  I was different.  I didn’t know why.  I was getting older.  The girls began to giggle about the boys.  I did not understand.  I tried to giggle, but I didn’t want to.  The boys did not pay attention to us.

Then we started to change in other ways, but I was broken.  The girls were getting pretty, and funny things were happening to them.  Funny things were happening to me, too, but I wasn’t getting pretty.  The girls stopped giggling around me.  The boys whispered about the girls, but they did not whisper about me.  They called me names.  I was still a sissy.

She was sad.  I asked her why I was broken.  Why did the other girls get pretty?  Why did they start looking like grown up women while I was still the same?  She told me not to ask stupid questions, that I was pretty and just didn’t know it.  I didn’t think so.  The boys didn’t think so.  I didn’t care what the boys thought, though.

When I was twelve I ran away. Mommy had hit me again, but this time she screamed something she’d never said. She screamed, “Dammit Jackie, you were supposed to be a girl! Damn you!”

I didn’t know what she meant. I thought I was a girl. I felt feelings, confused feelings. She just turned away and wouldn’t look at me. I tried to ask what she meant, but she didn’t answer.

I left home then. Away I ran, far away to another world. I don’t know where I went, but here I am. They looked at me funny when they found me. Later I understood, but only later, after they bought me new clothes and burned my dress, and after they told me I would be called Jack.

I don’t know why mother tried to make me something else. I think she wanted a little girl. I think she was sad when I was born. So sad that she got crazy. I never saw her again.

The Kite in the Sky

Way back my freshman year, back when people still used aim to talk to one another, when xanga was cool, in the days when facebook was just a little sprat trying to insinuate its way into all the colleges across the nation, I had a conversation with a friend about a writing assignment she'd been given. That conversation led to this little bit of a piece. It's raw, but I kind of like it.

A long time ago there lived a strange people. They were strange in many ways, but our story is only concerned with a certain tradition they had regarding kites. Every spring the young men of the land would fly a kite with the colors of their house. They would stay outside every day from sunrise to sunset flying their kites, and the young ladies would visit with them all.

Now as spring began to draw to a close they would spend more and more time with the same person every day, until on the last day of spring each young man would go to a chosen place to wait. While they waited they would fly their kites to guide their beloved to where they were. Meanwhile the young ladies would spend the morning inside, preparing for their wedding. At noon, each young lady would set off to find the kite of her betrothed.

One year it chanced that a virtuous young man of modest descent was awaiting a very special girl. She was all that he could dream. Her smile shattered and consumed him, and the day before she had told him what none of the others thought would ever be – that she would be his wife.

And so he waited through the morning, flying the colors of his house with pride and gazing at the wonder that lay around him.
When noon came his heart began to race. Soon he would see her floating across the plain. Then together they would return to the city, where they would be joined in the holy bonds of matrimony.

As the afternoon progressed he began to be worried. He could not believe she would betray him, but she should have arrived long ago. He could not have known what was happening in the town, where the girl’s family, outraged at her humble choice, had locked her in her room.

Through the night he waited; she did not come. Five days later his heart sank inside him, for he knew he would never see her again. Whether or not he knew of her death is not mine to tell. She did die, though – locked in a room far from his love she died, lonely and afraid.

The young man then made a vow to never again set foot in his homeland. He ran off to the mountains where it is always winter. There he waited for his love, sleeping in the day and flying his kite in the dark hours, when his heart was coldest. He is there still, and if you look to the north you can see his kite in the sky, where it guides all travelers except the one that he most longs to see.

Bridge of Sighs

Back in higschool, I dreamed I was a political writer. This is a blatant ripoff of Roller Ball with some Red Dawn thrown in for good measure. Read it slowly while listening to Albinoni's Adagio in G Minor.

I suppose I should tell you who I am and why I am here, but I don’t see how it matters; for who I am will soon be irrelevant, and as to why I am here, well, perhaps I should explain that, but I simply can’t. All I can think about is Her. Well, after all, she is the reason I’m here. Wait, my name. Well, what does it matter? Nothing! But I already told you that.

If only I could forget, then all would be right; if only I did not see her face constantly before me, her bright eyes glistening with love and sorrow. If only her voice did not haunt me so. But no, over and over I hear her telling me that she loves me, that she won’t forget, and I see her slender fingers stretched out, reaching for a vision that they could not hold. I see her, clawing frantically at the empty air in a vain attempt to recapture the past, and finally collapsing helplessly in the arms of her captors as the tears stream down her face and leave a glistening stain on her beautiful features.

Oh! Dear God why did I ever love her? Why did I ever think they would not care? I’ll tell you why, because she was poor, and I was poor, and The Three don’t notice the poor. But they noticed her. Oh! They noticed her. I thought we were safe in our love – that nothing could come between us. Safe! Yes, until one of Them cast his eyes in her direction…just a glimpse of her beauty, and all this.

All this – wet, cold, dark, the rats scurrying about the cell much as my thoughts scuffle through my mind, flitting to and fro – the water dripping monotonously on the stone floor, driving me slowly, ever so slowly, into insanity. Why, why, why? But it’s too late.

She is gone, forever gone from me. If only she had not loved me then I could have born it. If she had never been kind to me, or shown any care toward me, then I would not miss her so. But now all I see is her face, kind and sweet, like a brook that ripples quietly by; her tiny little mouth that could break into the widest and most beautiful smiles; her black hair cascading gracefully down over her shoulders, its velvet sheen a rich frame for the creamy white of her skin. And her eyes – they were blue, as bright and clear as the summer sky. Oh, blue, blue, so wonderfully blue that every time I saw her I gazed deep into her eyes and could not look away. She loved me. I knew that; I could see it in her eyes. When she smiled, I had no need of heaven, and if she ever frowned I knew that I would prefer hell, but for the one thing, that even when she was angry her eyes were still the most beautiful in the world. Nothing could separate us, nothing but the jealousy of The Three.

This is our freedom; this is the Republic. At least we’re safe, that’s what they say. Safe! Am I safe? Is she safe? Tell me that. You can’t can you? She is with Him because he wanted her. I am here because I loved her. Oh, she is very safe…for that matter so am I. Nothing can reach me, except these rats. I’m safe all right, safe until they take me across the bridge. And then I’ll be safe too, for who would dare to harm me? Yes, I begin to see it. I will be safe, all the way up the scaffold, until they tie the noose around my neck. Then I’ll drop safely into space, kicking safely at our safe air, as I yank frantically at the rope, that assurance and sign of my eternal safety. And at last I will die, and then I will be safe forever. Ah yes, this is the great safety of our Republic.

Oh! Have you ever felt it, have you ever known what it’s like to have someone care so much about you, to hold on to her and know that all is right because she is there, and she always will be? Have you? No you haven’t. You can’t know how it feels until it’s gone. You can’t understand what it is to love and be loved until the one person dearer to you than anything on this earth, dearer than life itself, is ripped from your arms and dragged away while you watch, helpless. Have you ever heard her cry out that she loved you as the hands of her captors cut her words off like a sharp knife? Have you seen her eyes, those beautiful eyes, locked with yours in love for that last eternal moment before she disappears forever? When you have done all this, then you can come crawling to me with your words of safety. And you can tell me how much better I have it, now that I must die for my love, because The Three care for our safety. Then I will listen as you say that love and freedom are false happiness, and that the only true joy can be found in complying with what The Three say is best. Oh go your way, and may it be to the devil for all I care. You have never lived, never loved as I have loved. You have never suffered as I have suffered. Go your way and don’t insult me with your words of safety. Yes, go to the devil and tell him that it is best for men to lose all they hold dear at the hands of those great guardians of our safety, The Three. Surely he will nod his head wisely and say that you have learned well. And he will show you your appointed place, and when you ask what your sin is he will tell you that your sin is that of a man who mocked the innocent suffering of his brothers. Then he will laugh and tell you to bear your tortures in safety, for you shall never need fear death again.

Soon they will come for me and lead me across the bridge. They may be coming now. Yes! I hear footsteps in the hall. They are coming. At least it will be finished. No more memories, no more pain, no more of these visions that torment me out of my mind, nothing but darkness.

Oh my God, avenge me. Avenge me and let them reap the horror of their wicked ways. May they live and die as tormented in mind as I am now. Oh God! I see her before me now. Punish them for her sake. Avenge her Lord. Oh! her face, her eyes. She is crying. I can’t comfort her, I can’t reach her. Oh my sweet dear, hear me. I love you. With every fiber of my being I love you. Do not forget me, even when I am gone do not forget me. Oh God, avenge me!

They are coming; they are here at the door. I hear the key in the lock. I can see the bridge and hear the murmur of the canals. It’s over…over…