my seaglass i'll not find on these sands

my seaglass i'll not find on these sands
just rocks of many hues:
some are bland
some are pretty
but none compare with you.
my seaglass i'll not find on these sands
for mine is a brilliant blue
and though i have found
some red, green and brown,
still none of them are you.
my seaglass i'll not find on these sands
for here is naught but rubble.
the shores from our past
wash away as I walk;
they cannot bring me you.
my seaglass i'll not find on these sands
but behold, far off in the distance,
there's a blue softened shard
the waves of time sculpted
and that one, yes that one, is you.

-D.B.
8/28/2013

7/2013

like a rainstorm
it hits me
in the cold of the night
with a chill wind
this sadness
takes me down
for the count
and my heart
yearns to see you
to hear you
to feel you
my palms feel so lonesome
without your fingers' touch
and your arms
how they surround me
that protection
i do miss
their warmth and silent comfort
lend assurance to my soul
that there's love that can embrace me
as i embrace it back
nothing's quite like your warmth
as it radiates to my chill
when your hands hold mine gently
oh my dear
i miss you still.

-7/2013

7/15-16/2013

if we pretend that shooting stars
are airplanes just for us
do you think they'll let me fly to you
at the speed of light?
you think that if i ask them to
they'll drop from their heavenly homes
and let me ride their glorious tales
in the light of the summer sun?
if i cry sincere enough
perhaps they'll envelope me whole,
comforting me with their glowing warmth
until side by side we stand.

-D.B.
7/15-16/2013

fuel

i feel a power as i write
it fuels me
it is my energy
overcoming all my senses
in the most indescribable way
it courses through my fingertips

love

it fuels my body
i'm suddenly enraptured
by goodness flowing into me
love itself
makes a home in me.

-D.B.
6/2013

5/28/2013

a squeezing

or a crushing

like a wall

or several

pushing upon my heart

crushing it with the weight of 

grief.

compression

strangulation

cut off from my supply of blood

your love 

gone from my presence

too long will it be so.

-D.B.
5/28/2013

parting

this pain

i've never felt

such pain

it hurts

like waves

of grief

they crush

my heart

my soul

it cries

with tears

of water

salt

disbelief.

leave me

now 

you leave me

cold my heart

but warm

somehow

it radiates

with love

but still

with love

is bitterness

and cold

so cold

i'm frozen

how to freeze

the time?

as hearts

that part

are frozen

why not

time?

-D.B.

5/28/2013

A series of writings that might actually become something someday....[1]

This land is the devil's trophy case, his pride and glory, his finest work put on display for all the world to see. His trophies are the distorted ideals held by the natives: so trapped are they inside a world of false security that they would deny their satanic ties to the death, unknowingly making martyrs of their souls in the name of the demons that inhabit them.
Abandoned shopping carts clutter the otherwise open spots of our supermarket parking lots. They have been left there by the overworked, those who wear out their body and soul for the greater good while the greater good sits back and demands more.
Bright and obtrusive neon signs announce that which cannot be sold on its own, due to the unnatural and grotesque nature of His beauty distorted. They are put up by gluttonous corporations run by those who are willing to kill their fellow man by slow means, using foods that will slowly block life giving blood to vital organs, or lustful enticements to keep the mind and the heart from protecting the soul they have been entrusted with.

[so that's the first tidbit....we'll see how much more I can come up with.]

-D.B.

Throwback #16

if you see a rain storm

don't stay inside

run out with joy 

and dance

laugh

cry.

-D.B.

?

the unraveling of me, part 1

please excuse me for a second
i just need to clear my head
so there's no more expectations,
yes, i think they'll soon be dead.
stay a while, please, do help me
with this clearing of my mind,
all i need is your attention,
yes, i think that should be fine!
first let's start with reputation,
i've a nasty one for sure,
always doing as i'm told,
i would never cause a stir.
i would never be disgruntled
nope, just smile all the day,
life is happy and i know it
or at least that's what they say.
i'm naive as my face makes me
and as childish as my size,
i couldn't think a mean thought,
nope, not even if i tried.
i've a cheery disposition
drenched in colors oh so bright
i've a temperament so peaceful
i could never pick a fight.
i'm a cute one, just adorable!
you can't match this childish charm!
and for that, i need protection
so i never can be harmed.
well the truth is i've been hurting
from the undercover me,
i am hiding ugly demons
with this this innocent facade
demons steeped in opposition
to my every wholesome whim,
i love colors of the gloom,
dreary fog gives peace within.
i can utter spiteful words
though i try to hold my tongue
and i know more than i'll tell you,
i just like to play along.
life is more than simply happy,
there's dimension, it's not flat,
it is filled with joy and sorrow,
and mediocrity at that.
true, I am not one for conflict,
but the thought of fighting back
can grow strong enough to make me
launch an introvert's attack.

-D.B.
5/6/2013

5/6/2013

hollowed out
no spike in my blood
no punch in my words
no spark in my eyes.
all i have for the world
is a mind full of spite
that's all i can share
i just cannot fight.
there's nothing i do
that can bring back the vigor
i'm trying, i swear,
but i just can't succeed.
there is only one
who can carry me through this
i asked Him to help
and he reached out His hand.
i wanted to grab it;
by then, i'd been poisoned
to believe i was hopeless
so i all but ignored it.
now enmity creeps
between me and my demons,
it's always been there
but i see it more clearly:
when you give into them
and they all but control you,
they leave your heart hollow
and your soul ever lonely.

-D.B.
5/6/2013

Throwback #15: 3/26/2011

there's a storm in the making,
i don't know what kind
but it blew out the other
and it's blowing my mind.
it could just be nothing,
a chill winter breeze,
with barely a whisper
to wrap 'round the trees.
it might be a sun storm,
confused in its ways,
raindrops of love fall
alongside the suns's rays.
it could be a downpour
that soaks through our skin
with liquid emotion
to drench us within.
or perhaps light and thunder
with crashes sustained
and images flashing,
telling us, "stay."
or maybe a hurricane,
with passion it blows,
it washes our world out
so a new one can grow.
i don't know right now
the kind of storm coming
i just know that it scares me
and i just feel like running,
running away from it,
hiding from fear,
fear i might love you,
oh do i, my dear?

-D.B.
3/26/2011

Throwback #14: self-proclaimed martyr

sometimes i think you do things
just to seem the martyr
you sigh
and cry
and carry on
like no one else's life is harder.
you say you're stressed,
no wonder why,
just look at all you do!
turning molehills into mountains
can take so much out of you!
I mean, how can we be so selfish
or EVER have such fun
when you're constantly reminding us
of all that you have done!
out of love for us, you say,
from the depths of your big heart!
but of course that's only half true;
weaving words can be an art.
it's hard
I know,
I understand,
to suffer and be silent.
but, my friend,
your pain to us
is never less than violent.
so
STOP
with all the guilt tripping
and exaggerating truths!
for God's sake,
try to be yourself
and I'll be there for you.

-D.B.
4/2012

missing sunsets

i've missed another sunset.
should i live another day,
i should not hope to do that
for it brings me too much pain.
to be left behind by sunset
is more than just a shame.
nothing left but soulful remnants,
fading colors of God's paints.
in missing just one sunset,
i have missed the rainbow flames:
they come forth from the distance
from a land that can't be claimed.
'i will never miss a sunset'
has become the false refrain
of my mind so drenched in sorrow
from the storm of sinful rain.
oh i wish i'd seen the sunset,
i've missed more than i can say.
like repetition of this rhyme
is repetition of this pain.

-D.B.
4/22-26/2013

Steve (Part 1)

So this started out as a poem and then I decided to change it around a bit and make it a short story, which I have never written before. It's not done by any means, but I've been really busy lately and I'm not sure when I'll get around to finishing it so I figured I'll put it up just for the heck of it. So, without further adieu here's the start of my story...
      I met Steve at the Irving gas station, just standing there smoking a butt beneath his fading green hat in the mid April drizzle, an Adam's Tree Service truck just behind and the air pump in front.
       My tires thrive on air pumps and I feed them through Sunoco's at least once a week because old rubber on a rusty, fading car gets hungry fast.
       Today, my favorite pump was blocked by road work and the people that come with it. I grudgingly crawled along the torn up, one lane stretch while avoiding the cones that cut me off from my tires' life line, all the while cursing each bump in the road that added insult to my injured tires. And I know that air is cheap anywhere, or at least it is for now. It's just that cheap air that's set off from the world, and all the people that are in it, comes from Sunoco, so they get at least a dollar a week out of me.
       Irving, on the other hand, digs deeper into the wallet of this broke college kid: upwards of 20 bucks a week and a rewards member, though I have yet to reap the benefits of the latter. Even still, Irving is my vendor of choice for the fossil fuels. Their cheap gas is the main course for ol' BessyRu because if she dies on my way back to school, she can die knowing that less of my money has been wasted in her hypothetically useless tank. A few months back, I did notice an air pump there but until today, I had dismissed the idea. Irving may have cheap gas but its strategic location is not my favorite: multiple lanes of traffic next to a four way intersection that's right off a highway, and let's not forget all the people that come with that mess.
       But one of my front tires is down to 10 and two of the others were grumbling on my way to church this morning so I'm forced to rattle on over to Irving instead of letting the poor things starve. I pull into one of the parking spots next to the Irving air machine, being careful not to hit the guy with the green baseball hat that just ran to his truck with a gas container.
       This pump is an island. It's situated between the diesel pumps and the regular pumps, which are book ended on one side by my favorite spot, the one that's furthest away from the other cars and the people that are in them. As I'm digging around for quarters, a couple of these people pull up on the other side of the unfamiliar machine and, rather than make obligatory small talk ending in some socially expected graciousness, I decide to wait it out in the car.
       That's when I notice him.
       It seemed he had already noticed me, though I'm not sure why. It might have been my unusually small stature that doesn't quite belong on the ground between a tire and an air pump. It might have been that I resembled someone he once knew and cared about. It might have even been my plates, which identify me as being originally from Massachusetts.
       Massachusetts.
       The great state whose name and troubles have been splattered all over the news since some sick yet pitiable person decided to bring about horrifying explosions and war-like chaos during the marathon that draws multitudes every year.  Driving around with Massachusetts plates this week has been like walking around school with a post it on my forehead saying that a relative died: The sorry eyes, the patronizing smiles, the encouraging looks, and knowing what's going on in the minds of the people that go with all of that.
       But no matter why he noticed me, there he was. Standing in front of the car, but just a bit off to my right so it wasn't completely awkward. Just for good measure, I stare out the left window while making faces as if I was trying to remember something important. As for what could be so important in the life of a college kid that she can't even step out of her car, which been parked for two minutes at this point, I really couldn't tell you.
       This is when I realize that the people next to me are just using the other air machine space as a parking spot, probably so they can go in and get a pack of cigarettes or some lotto tickets or a donut. I dismiss the non-existent thoughts that, just moments ago, were causing my theatrical anxiety as I grab four quarters to feed the machine with.

*This is based on a true story, some names and situations have been changed/altered/enhanced with creative license or whatnot.

throat, eyes, heart, mind

white sliding down my throat
tears sliding from my eyes
rage pouring in my heart
thought pouring from my mind.
sick say they of my mind
good say they in my heart
words trapped before my eyes
words trapped inside my throat.

-D.B.
4/22/2013