The Knitting Journeyman

Gathering Up One Thread At A Time As I Weave This Web Of Mine.....
Showing posts with label texty ladies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label texty ladies. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

I Wrote It Yesterday!

I swear I wrote this yesterday...but for some reason left it on the laptop instead of transferring it over and uploading it...I try to keep the laptop offline when I am writing so I am not tempted by email or surfing or anything at all .....
But I did write this yesterday, and before 11a as well....anyway...here you go, my
Talkative Tuesday
piece.....






He’s out there again, brooding around in the dark, with the mist and the dark of the moon. He’s snooping around that lake again. Never tells a soul what he’s after, what he’s up to down there. You do have to wonder what the appeal is, out there, with that soupy fishy smell that leeches into your hair and your clothes.
No one is sure where this fellow came from either. He just showed up, picking through the trash outside Darla’s house. He seems mostly harmless. The kids avoid him like the plague, but the neighborhood dogs are always all over him, wanting to play and whatnot. He can’t be all bad if the hounds keep after him all the time.
Wonder what he’s looking for there. Fred told me the boy once told him he’d lost something when he got here and he’s trying to find something important. He can’t go home til he finds whatever it is. That young man must really like Fred, as he barely raises his eyes up to look at anyone human around here, much less speak to them.
I’ve seen him pick up baby birds and stick them right back in the nest and the mama bird never minds him a bit. The lad is a wonder. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, mind you. Those icy blue eyes of his, so pale they are almost colorless. He doesn’t always seem to be all there. Always something shifty going on there.
Out there in the night, all them vapors pouring up around him. It just doesn’t seem right. He never takes a flash light. We know he sometimes dives into the lake, because sometimes we see him walking around dripping water from all his pores, trailing marsh grasses along in his pockets.
He’s not all that bad. Just a strange one. I really do hope he finds what he’s looking for out there. I hope he doesn’t get hurt while he’s finding it either.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Catching Up With The Texty Ladies





If I were to follow my heart…where would I go?
If I were to step inside my mind, take the spiral stairs down, deep deep way down into the dungeon that is my heart, what would I find there?
I know all too well the oceans and rivers of tears I have cried, and the tears I have kept inside…the ones that ever burn and collide, breaking through raw scabs and never allowing the healing to get by….
I know the dangerous jagged edges to the rocks that have formed, scaling far into the sky of my soul, peeling down into the earthen roots of my spirit.
I have long watched as one wound appears, volcanic mush and ash shoot forth, spewing ragged ichor everywhere, pushing out any new growth, burning it to the ground, forcing me back to ground zero, compelling me to seek other surer footing on my journey.
I have flown through those stormy skies, weeping in wonder at the pain and the sheer lucidity of so many unheard dreams languishing powerlessly from within the corral, behind the stone walls, far back behind the moat, these things I built in order to protect myself from the cruelest of cruel, those who claim to care, to love me, to hold my best interests in their hearts….
I can turn my face away for as long as I can stop my ears from absorbing the noise. I can burrow my head in the sand, pretend no one of it exists, laugh and play and pretend to trust and to believe…but it never really touches the dead zone in me, where the things that should have been still hang from trees with insects sucking juices from their eyes, murdered in the name of love, slaughtered in the name of good intentions…there is no way to avoid the echo of my screams, of my please, as I seek to free me from this quagmire past, as I yearn to break out, fill the moat, scale the walls, fly and fly and fly some more…..
How do you let go of a lifetime of misery when it is the only thing you know?


Prompt Found With the TextyLadies here

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Playing What If

We’re going to play “what If”…a game I sometimes really hate.

“””What would be different in your life right now if you’d chosen a different path?
For instance, what if you’d chosen a different career? What if you’d married your childhood sweetheart? What if you’d moved away, or if you did move away, what if you’d stayed in your home town? Or it can be as simple as, what if you’d taken the day off work? What if you’d taken a road trip last weekend instead of hanging out at home? What might have happened?”””
(questions from tectyladies.com prompt)

Sometimes I wonder why I do these things to myself. I must be the Queen of Bad Mistakes In The Past. I am working very hard these days to make better decisions.
Let’s play, shall we?

So, if I had stayed with J, left school when I was fourteen and run off to England with him…where would I be?
That one is simple. I’d be dead. I’d have either OD’ed or he would have quite literally beaten me to death. Not a happy thought.

And, what about the other J? What if I had taken him up on things? Married him, quit school at sixteen? That might have lasted longer than most would expect. He was a decent guy. I am sure he wouldn’t have amounted to much; I am fairly certain he didn’t amount to much. But I’d have been married, with children. He would have kept us safe. It may not have been the happiest of places all the time, but there are things much worse.

What if I hadn’t just left when I was sixteen? No. I would have slit my wrists again and succeeded. I hated those people and that place so. Death was preferable.
What if I had gone elsewhere instead of MA? I don’t really know. I am a magnet for trouble. But I would have survived. I’d have found a couch to sleep on til I could survive on my own.

Which is what I did after MA anyway. But, wish I hadn’t gone to C. Wish I hadn’t listened. Should have married any number of those guys there. Should have dropped D, and C. Should have gone with B instead. He was a great guy. Me. A military wife. That could have been such an incredibly good thing.

Should not have gone the nanny route. Glad I did. Should have found a way to the other side of the country, rather than getting stuck in the middle. Should never have returned to the East Coast. Nor gone back out to the middle.

Should never have allowed T access. Should have gotten out of the car, on that dirt road in the middle of the woods. Should never have looked back ever. Would have found that nice guy to marry me. Play house and have a family.

Seeing a trend here, are we?

Always after the Barbie life. The house, the car, the family. Me, all I wanted was a farm and a family. That’s where I am heading now.

We are playing what if, right? So, what if C had gotten a divorce, and then married me? Instant family. Three kids. And he was fixed, so there’d be no more. That wasn’t the right thing for me. I know. I would have destroyed him after a year or two, I would have been so bored.

So, what about D, if I’d married him? Some hillbilly from KY, living in a trailer on his parents’ property, doing what my mother-in-law told me to do? I don’t think so. That wouldn’t have lasted. Not at all.

What about V or G or B? B, I could have married and been happy with, I’m sure. He was such a good guy. Another time as a military wife. I could handle that. I have the right mind.

Should have stayed in NJ. Should have hooked up with that Greek guy. We’d have beautiful kids. And he was in construction, so the money was good. And, oh boy, was he a dream to touch…and stare at….and …well…

Should have stayed off the beach. Should have chosen a different career.

Notice, I am not saying at all that I should have gone back to school. Organized education is too much like organized religion…it serves no purpose except to spread lies and misinformation. Let me follow my own brand of anarchy.

See, if I got out of that car with T, then I probably would have ended up living with M, not K. At least we had similar attitudes, although I don’t pee in the sink and would rather not know that he did. That could have worked for awhile, because we’d have pushed each other to move forward. Until it was time for me to move on.

I would have become a stripper. The money is good. I would have done that for a couple years. Enough to set myself up somewhere in the country, just a little farm.
Eventually there would have come a man decent enough to keep and to marry. Someone to help along the way. There would have been children. There would have been animals, farming, trees. It could have been a good life.

But here I am now. I’m not in the same mindset I was then. Stripping for strangers just won’t do. I have two kids now, and two losers lost in the past. Well, one isn’t all that lost yet. Not til my son is older anyway.

I think, despite the pain, the misery, despite all the bad things, the bad choices, the bad people, I don’t think I’d change much in the end. I would change the R/M thing in ’94, but if I had gotten out of that darned car with T, that would never have happened. I’d have kept my soul too; I would never have died. And yet, here I am. I am closing in on 40, but this is the best time of my life.

Now, I have a good solid man in my life. And he is a Keeper. I have my house. Ok, so I want to sell it and get farther out in the country, but still…
Good man. Marriage prospects in the future. He is cool with my Rescue Ranch idea. I think he is by far the best suited person for me that I have ever known. And better yet, we’ve been friends for nine years now. So, he knows how screwed up I am. He’s already prepared. At least, mostly, anyway.

I like where I am. Still learning. Still looking, But not forcing. Writing again for the first time, steady, in years. Drawing, which I never thought I’d do again after I was a kid. I know I’d quit before I was ten, more or less. Squashed by the well-meaning who told me I had no imagination. All these things I do. All my friends. My children. My future….Things are good here. I wouldn’t want to lose them by taking any chance and going back to reverse anything.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Chance

What if the Moon let down Her Guard?
I might learn to fly….
What if I learned to Trust?
I could fly away on the Wind…
What if the River offered up Her Gifts to me?
I would swim a long way off…
What could I not do, if given half the chance?

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Playful Poetry Thursday

I write free-style poetry. The textyladies posted a renga prompt. I am not in the mindset to count today-nor to rhyme nor to work on my iambic pentameter. Or anything else for that matter. So I took the basic structure of the renga form and I adapted it to my own quirky wants and needs.

And one of these days, you, I will be able to look you in the eye, without looking as if I am about to cry, and say the words--and include one more that I as yet have not: IN. I can't say it to you yet--even though I can't stop thinking it.



In


In
One small word
Counting high

Breaking through
To another side

Touching me
Where no man could
Blinding me

Softly grazing
Never phasing

Holding tight
Coiled in a ball
Alive at last

After so long
Now to stand tall

Faltering
Halting
Uneasy in faith

Must believe
Learning to trust

Broken inside
Shoved aside
Just so lost

Struck now by your eyes
And their embrace

If I close mine
To step inside
Who holds my hand

While busy
Holding on to yours


The fragile state
Like floating breath
Glassine butterflies

My heart is there
Too scared to be frozen

Love is a simple thing
You open your heart
That is the thing

Soul depths
No hiding

Stepping in
Inside my brain
Inside my night

My hearts burns there
Just for you

Touching me
Holding me
Falling in too