The Urge To Move

I don’t care where.

The night is falling and I want to go.

Just take me anywhere.

Driving Home At Sunset–by Eric Alder

Through His Pain

Fenceline by Eric Alder

She lays a hand on each post. It slows her advance, but she doesn’t mind. The tall grasses are hissing against the knees of her jeans. The fence line goes on forever to her eyes, but she knows after the tree…after the tree he will be there. There will be no stopping him, there never has been. Through his pain is the only way home.

The Divide

You see me there,

waiting.

And I know you do.

Fly. Fly away.

Your God demands it…

Stone Roof~by Eric Alder

The Threshing

Where Worlds Collide~by Eric Alder

Impossible meshing, you’ll have to leave the threshing to me to see though.once, me and you, explored and ignored as the world grew polluted with scorned and scorched time and money, but there will be organic reclamation.Our rhetoric is weak magic indeed.

Back To Being Dead Behind the Eyes

I can barely muster the energy to continue this climb. How dramatic of me, right? I feel exceedingly tired, like I am carrying the largest of burdens and the saddest of futures is waiting on a bloody horizon of my own design.

Big Daddy always said I demanded rescue of him.

Is that a bad thing? I’ve been strong an awful long
time.

Just What Am I Obsessing Over Right Now

This time last year, I was probably checking on more than 80 blogs a day. That’s the way I do stuff, I get toooootally obsessed and immersed, then drunkenly emerge from the obsession. Sometimes my husband has to kindly ask me to emerge a little early, if things got a BIT too intense. Sometimes he doesn’t know what the obsession is, but recognizes all the signs. OR at least I think he does. I’m not him. I just maybe wonder if he wouldn’t, sometimes I feel like my skin burns and blazes with the betrayal such obsessions amount to…

I’m reading Horns, by Joe Hill and I think it’s fucking me up. He is an incredible writer who only resembles his father, Stephen King, in the way that I CANT PUT THE BOOK DOWN.

So, big surprise, still obsessing over Mr. Alder’s lovely photos. I know I haven’t done the Buddha Rocks Project in a while, but its not due to a lack of new photos. That man is a machine. I just don’t have it in me. The flow of words is much slower lately. Sometimes the riverbed is exposed and bone dry.

DVerse Poetry is my only hold on the blogging community right now and I remain grateful that each week I can post, read and be read by such a diverse collection of poets and writers, including Orangeuapoet.

Libby has been writing her love/life story for a while now. Each post cuts and kisses.

Lastly, Steve Schultz. Otherwise known as Fractured Phrases. People? Rise up and demand he publish. He remains the only blog/blogs I read on a daily basis since forever. And his kids are so damn cute. He takes amazing photographs and isn’t afraid to be himself.

That’s all.  Because I will certainly not admit to playing Castleville rather than anything else right now. I am certainly not some geek, definitely not some Survivor-watching loser. I’m always being creative and mysterious and shit.

Love.

Provident

The tracks thrummed with energy as she raised her arms to feel the sun. Roderick was behind her, trembling like the gravel, but Vanessa held her ground.

“Nessa?” His voice was frightened. She tasted his doubt and in her head, pronounced it delicious.  What she would do? Slowly she lowered her limbs and turned to him.

“Rod, calm yourself.” She said with cold calculation. The hurt look that crossed like cloud winking sunrays gave her more burn, more fury.

“Let’s go. I’ll take you to Patterson’s for shaved ice, my treat.” Cotton ball puffs appeared first, happy puffs that made Vanessa scrunch her toes up in a clinging gesture, as if to defy gravity.

“I am going to do it.” She hated the plaintive tone in her voice, hated to sound like a pouting child. “You don’t believe me either.”

“I don’t WANT to believe you, Vanessa. I want to go home.” She decided to calm his fears, sensing she was pushing him too far. She needed him to witness, Craig and Trey wouldn’t just take her word for it. But they think Rod is a sniveling baby, she thought, and not above lying for her. She felt weakness, like an animal wrapping its round, warm body around her brain

The train blew its whistle to indicate its approach to the station just over the hill behind Vanessa. No faces filled the early evening windows, the surrounding mostly rent-a-rooms and boarding houses. A knot of doubt started to tighten in her belly.

 “Rod, it will be fine. I promise. “Rod glared at her with wet eyes, then turned and started to walk away. Then he surprised Vanessa by sitting on the rocky ground.

“Fine. Do it then.” A new look, one of defiance filled Rod’s whole persona. Her stomach dropped. Bottom floor, time to get off. She turned back towards the approaching train, her heart thudding in her throat. The glass bid a final farewell to the reflecting sunset. Silhouettes of mild slopes and tucks, clapboard dresses on classic America cookie-cutter domiciles; she hated the finality of it.

“Okay then, let’s go.” She stepped off the tracks and reached out her hand to help Rod up. He was kind and said nothing.

At Patterson’s, she got lemon and he got watermelon. On him, as promised.

Dearborn’s Backyard by Eric Alder

Mini-Rant

Monday Morning Photo Prompt from/by Eric Alder

…empty yourself, go ahead and pour, when I promise you no more, you wont agree, you wont even see me, look in my eyes and see me, don’t echo, don’t call the Bunnymen, I only need silenceful noise, fanciful thrill, moist, sheer fun…

“There is a crack, a crack in everything, thats how the light gets in”

~Leonard Cohen

Skittish

why

do

I see

only scenes

suspicious terror

in the most tranquil of places?

On High

no longer grand standing wonder
broken yellow line
me closer to the
choicer of two
one old
one new
yolk or stem
difference between the cured and the still
a significant journey
a pallet of roses
a murder of crows
perfection poacher
at communion
with knowing
I think you can’t know
I know you can’t know
although maybe I will be comfortable alone
once I am on top of the mountain.