Eccentricity

Raven: One

// December 18th, 2009 // 2 Comments » // Prose

Slowly do I regain myself. Slowly become my thoughts again unat­tached. Slowly do I remem­ber my challenge.

Those of the day think me unbound. Those of the night think me free. And, while among them, look­ing down upon the labyrinth in which they all par­tic­i­pate, I for­get that I, too, have a maze of my own.

Some­how I have become a mes­sen­ger from the one to the other and back again, the trav­eler between what they see as two sep­a­rate worlds. They antic­i­pate my return with another mes­sage, another poem to fuel the day­dreams or night­mares of that which they do not know. Whether they react with hor­ror, delight, con­tempt, they all crave it. It is in the nature of one to always want its oppo­site.
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Voices

// November 2nd, 2009 // No Comments » // Prose

Oh, the silence, I can­not stand the silence, the silence which has seeped into my brain and dri­ven me to do what I nor­mally would not—no—what I nor­mally can’t do and I must keep it away before it over­comes me again, yes;

but they are gone, all of them gone because I wanted them gone ever since I was younger, but I don’t want them gone now, no, because I need them, oh, how I need them, those voices that remind me that I am not insane, that I am a nor­mal person;

although maybe that’s why Derek cheated on me because I was nor­mal, so painfully aver­age in every­thing I did—never “great,” not even “good,” just nor­mal, a C stu­dent; could be pret­tier, not quite over­weight, okay in bed; aver­age cook, kept house fairly enough, had middle-of-the-line things; did only fine at my job, made a median salary, did not really stand out;

but with Derek gone I real­ized that I needed to change, and the voices, those voices in my head that I ignored for so long that told me to do this and that—they grew louder until it became hard to block them out:
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Beer Buddies

// October 22nd, 2009 // No Comments » // Poetry

Glow­ing cheeks,
shin­ing eyes,
heavy tongues,
spir­ited words,
infec­tious joy–
these are
beau­ti­ful,
drunken men.

Ode to Granite

// October 22nd, 2009 // No Comments » // Poetry

A park­ing lot and a gen­eral store,
a restau­rant slash pub and lit­tle more.
A sin­gle street just pass­ing through–
given all of this who knew
I would find respect for this pit
of a town known sim­ply as Granite?

Flight

// October 22nd, 2009 // No Comments » // Poetry

Eagle, fal­con, kestrel, or kite
slides through the sky
undis­turbed by the
glid­ers below.