|Writer. News Junkie. Believer in Free Speech. Science and History Buff. Reenactor. Semi-activist. Torturer of Photographs. InuYasha Fan. Horribly curious about how everything works.|
Calling Up the WordsWords, words, who has the words?Calling Up the Words by knittingknots
flitting here, flitting there, silver voiced birds.
Get back here! I want to spin you into a thread,
Sound and image, blue green and red,
Heroes and cowards, passion and fate,
true love's first blooming, the conquest of hate -
Words let me find you - don't run away,
Now it's our time to come out and play
The New DemonsWhen our grandchildrenThe New Demons by knittingknots
prostate from heat
the bombed out
of our remains,
scramble for the crumbs of our waste
and profligate squandering,
will our children give them?
Will they talk about
about how we used
fear and greed
our own modern tower of Babel,
and will they curse our name,
curse our ghosts
across a ruined land,
the new demons
of our great-grandchildren's nightmares?
Unholy HolinessThe winds of righteousnessUnholy Holiness by knittingknots
the games we play
to get our own way,
attributed to the rules of God
or the market
that harden our hearts
and allow us to say
you are less.
Doing evil in the name of good
The Great Sea of RighteousnessOur worldThe Great Sea of Righteousness by knittingknots
being destroyed in the name of
and in righteous indignation,
and in greed disguised as righteous income
and in heartlessness
disguised in righteous love,
and in hate
disguised as righteous lawmaking.
Every mouth that hungers
testifies against you,
Every tear wept in pain
tells against you,
Every battered soul
preaches the reality,
witnesses against you.
in your holy books,
and when the world goes up
it will be you,
hiders behind the righteous mask
who brought in
One Autumn SunsetThe wind was just strong enough to let the chill seep into her. and she rubbed her hands over her upper arms.One Autumn Sunset by knittingknots
"Autumn," she said. Her voice was ambivalent, not exactly sad, but not happy, either.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "I thought you loved the fall, and sunset, both."
"I used to," she said, leaning against him. He cooperated by wrapping an arm around her and snugging her close. "That was before...before..."
"It's all right," he said. "You don't have to say it."
She looked up at him. His grey eyes were sincere, not mocking or patronizing her. "But I need to. It's been how long now?"
"Two years," he replied.
"Two years. Two years since he ran off. I looked everywhere. You were with me. We posted bulletins and signs everywhere. I haunted Craigslist. It makes me wonder if someone stole him."
"I guess," he said, kissing the top of her head. "That's the most likely answer."
"But who would steal a yar
The View from Planet EarthAh, humanity,The View from Planet Earth by knittingknots
I watch you dance across time
stride out of Africa,
tame your landscapes,
learn to measure
plumb the secrets of time and space
in your heart,
you belong to those same small bands
fighting over crumbs,
you clever creature
the monsters of your mythology,
and when you plummet
into the realms
where once dominant lifeforms go,
the echo of your passing
will prove the fact
that life is tenacious,
but technological intelligence
is not required.
We All Build WallsWe all build walls, it seems, she said.We All Build Walls by knittingknots
the rose he handed her
scattering its petals
like leaves in an autumn breeze
until nothing is left but a dry leaf
and a bit of stem
and a memory
of something once beautiful gone forever.
We all build walls, it seems, she said.
Then and NowBetween the earache,Then and Now by knittingknots
and the throat ache,
and the headache
of this tonsillitis day
I remember, once again,
My old Remington standard office typewriter,
bought for my last $50,
with a pic of Conan the Barbarian
He of a lovely big sword and broad muscle
taped to its case.
There was one bright tonsillitis day
when wrapped in fiction writer's dreams
I created a whole world.
Those were the days
when I had great fun dreaming.
Thirty five years
separate me from that girl
who dreamed of big swords and adventure,
eldritch and wild,
of wizards and Faerie and mystical lore
and although I stand weary and wiser,
and know more names for more things,
and have long since done away with manual typewriters,
I still dream of heroes
with big swords and high adventure,
and I find
that in all the important ways, deep in my heart,
I have not changed that much at all.
Secret RegretLittle girl who was not meant to be,Secret Regret by knittingknots
never a chance to be conceived,
but always wanted,
I offer you this flower,
I see you in my mind's eye,
Redheaded and freckled,
The child who I would have passed down
all those things passed down to me,
mother to daughter,
who would have understood
the sound of my heartbeat,
the touch of my hand
in that way only mothers and daughters do.
But you were the victim
of a love found too late,
of my needing to care for others,
and all those other people
who pulled on me.
You were sacrificed on the altar
of college and career,
being needed to care for other's children,
of feeling called to do the right thing.
And yet, there are moments like now
that I feel your loss,
Daughter who was not meant to be,
and in that sad echoing emptiness in my heart
reserved just for you
I bear the secret wish,
unspoken to husband, parent, brother
that things had been different enough
that I could have held you in my arm
Conserve of RosesConserve of RosesConserve of Roses by knittingknots
An unexpected taste, this,
reminding me of Jordan almonds
and Saturday afternoon matinees,
chase scenes and faked gun fights,
and heros with white hats,
Perfumy, bringing memories
of walking through the Rose Gardens at City Park,
in the hot humidity of a July afternoon,
sunlit flowerbeds surrounded by trees,
ancient Live Oaks,
The fragrant jelly sits redly in the spoon,
like so many syrups of lesser quality --
red like fake cherry or strawberry,
yet steeped in centuries of lore,
good for cough,
good for pain,
good for love.
I vaguely wonder if he'd like it on his ice cream
then put the jar away.
A MeditationLife is the changing wheelA Meditation by knittingknots
where one moment,
nothing the same as the next,
but next, nothing is different, really.
Here I am,
and under a achingly blue sky
I will sit and knit.
Autumn EveningAutumn evening fallsAutumn Evening by knittingknots
and there among the wild pinks
and in the kudzu,
I ask what he thinks,
the little insect chirping.
In the bush clover
they gather to sing their song,
In the pampas grass
they call there so long,
in the ague weed sweetly.
Throughout the twilight
dancing in the bellflower,
in the golden lace
singing the hour
As the darkness gathers in.
And yet their chirping
will pale into the background
when my eye sees you
a flash of light found
firefly silent in the night.
Beneath the Full MoonI wait anxiously,Beneath the Full Moon by knittingknots
sleep escapes me now tonight,
In that place between
true peace and tomorrow's light,
caught by the full moon,
my mind drifts off into a daze.
Your voice touches me --
memory of all the ways
you wounded my heart.
My pillow listens
as I long for you to be
here beside me now,
my words poured out hopelessly--
how wet are my sleeves
from the tears that fall tonight
beneath the cold moon
my heart shattered in its light
until you return.
I Heard the SeagullsI heard the seagulls,I Heard the Seagulls by knittingknots
I heard the seagulls crying
I heard them calling
as I walked the winding road,
Looking up I saw
White snow upon the mountain,
Tall the white mountain
The land of the cold country.
Beyond the mountain,
Past the cold country so white,
My love waits by night
By the seashore just for me.