Junk Man

Should one man’s trash
Be another man’s treasure
Surely I have need of
A junk man

A junk man to mend my heart
A junk man to make me whole

Should one eye’s ugly
Be another eye’s beauty
Truly I am seeking
A junk man

A junk man to heal my soul
A junk man to take me home

Pick me out of the junk pile
See me as beautiful
Love me for myself

Apology

I have a love/hate relationship with my blog right now. I know how the game is played. To be honest there have been times I have freely participated, even enjoyed the challenge . . . the rush of watching the hit count climb. Then there are the times I want to scream, “Go away. Don’t look here. There’s nothing to see. It’s mine and I don’t want you Peeping Toms looking at me, passing judgment on my work, my heart, my soul.” Then I stop myself and ask, “Why do I do it?”

Every writer wants to be read, wants their work to touch someone, anyone. I’m no different. I have a “friend” that has made a couple of references to my not being consistent about writing. Oh my dear, you couldn’t be more wrong. I’m always writing. I’m just not always posting. I have two computers each with half a dozen or more documents open all the time . . . works in progress . . . simmering . . . waiting to be released into the bloggy world. Most will get nothing more than a quick polish before being submitted for judgment. I can’t say why I hold them back. Could it be I fear rejection? Could it be I feel pressure to compete?

When I started I had no expectations. If I got a couple of hits I was thrilled. If I got a comment, I was overjoyed. Now here I am almost two years later confused as to what I’m doing in the blogoshere. I have been tortured for the past few days over the whole blogger culture. A couple of things have happened this week that have brought things to a head . . . one good and one very upsetting. They have been on my mind to the exclusion of all else and I guess I need to purge. I need to wipe the slate clean and start over.

I do not want to be ungrateful or diminish the acknowledgement both given and received and I certainly don’t want to be a “poohpooher” of peer recognition. That said, I got my first “blog award.” I don’t know how I feel about it. I never pursued one and I most assuredly didn’t expect it from the one that bestowed it. I passed it on and I am sincere in my admiration of those I “awarded” it to. They are all excellent writers that often make me feel as if I am not worthy. The reason I participated at all was in veneration of these other bloggers. In my heart I have to question what feels like a “blog chain letter.” If I was one of seven awarded and the one I got it from was one of seven awards and they were one of seven by seven by seven, etc., then shouldn’t everyone have it eventually? Maybe that’s the objective. I decided to take it as some small recognition from a fellow and an opportunity to promote blogs I enjoy reading. I still feel odd about the whole thing.

That was the good thing by the way. The truly troubling event happened under my comments. I have had a policy of approving any comment that was not vulgar. I had only strayed from that guideline three times applying to seven comments. Three were comments approaching me regarding a former association with a man I wrote about early in my blog days. Three of the comments were from a former lover that where part of an electronic campaign to hurt me and were vulgar in their own way. The other comment was on a piece written about a friend and not approved at her request. I have approved some pretty harsh words, but I don’t expect everyone to be nice or praise my work. I’m a big girl and I have put myself out there by posting my thoughts and feelings.

I now have to reassess my strategy where comments are concerned. There was a comment made in my “Bump” post this week and I should not have approved it, but I did and it lead to the blog equivalent of a catfight. It was addressed to another commenter and was not appropriate. As a result, I was obligated to post the offended party’s reply. I have since removed both comments, but still feel I owe an apology to any that might have seen it and most importantly to Raven of cherokeebydesign. Raven, I am sorry and please know your comment was appreciated. To the other, I regret I fell prey to your taunt that I would probably not approve your comment. I should not have. I was intimidated by your acumen and the thought that you were an established writer whose words carried more weight than my feelings and those of another. I was wrong.

I have considered turning my comments off. I have considered shutting this blog down. I think what I really want is a return to innocence that I know is not possible. I have never changed (except to correct typos) or deleted any entry once posted. I can’t undo what was done and the rotten taste in my mouth will probably be with me for awhile. I don’t know yet what I’ll do. I hope to simply put all this behind me and go back to posting for my original reasons . . . I like to write . . . I like having a place where my words are safe . . . I like having the opportunity to share what I write with others . . . I like the sense of community in blogland.

Although I know this is not my best work, I’m posting it anyway. I think my soul needs it.

Creative Blogger Award 2009

So, what do you know . . . a blog award.  Bindo over at Coffee Stains and Cigarette Burns has bestowed this acknowledgement and responsibility on me.  Thanks (I think).  We’ve known each other for a long time now.  I’m sure that’s as surprising to him as it is to me (I’m a nester and he’s a wanderer).  Just goes to show the power of the internet.  Check out his blog. 

The best part of getting this award is the requirement to pass it on to seven other bloggers.  So, let’s get this party started . . .

Oracle of the Pearl – Prophets reveal what is, but poets speak forth possibilities.   Pearl makes me laugh.  She makes me cry.  She makes me sing.  What can I say?  I love the girl.  She’s one of my dearest friends and one of the most gifted artists I’ve met.  Writing is just one of her many outlets.

Mirrored Reflections – Spiritual Revelations for Humans Seeking Humanity In Humans.  CordieB has such an amazing aura.  I can feel it anytime I read her work. She does these “spiritual riddles” that never fail to make me think.  I must not be very spiritual as I never guess the right answer.  Her artwork is noteworthy too!

Journals of Enreal – Poetry and Questions For Life.  Enreal’s was one of the first blogs I started reading on wordpress.  She never fails to deliver beautiful, thoughtful and well written entries. That’s saying something since I’ve been reading her blog for almost two years now and I bore easily.

HTMM -The Eye of July.  An ambidextrous, young man with a poetic gift and infectious smile, his writing reaches around the world to touch me.  Hey H, who’d have thought our meeting would lead to this?

Brainstew – Impressions Personafied – Someone drilled a hole in my head and this is what dribbled out. His tag is Imperfect Servant.  From business card poetry to fuzzy greens, his delivery is far from imperfect and always spot on. 

The Heart May Speak – Let the mind serve the heart for a moment.  Here works need no rules or sense, if only what is said might help someone to experience their heart.  Mossy lives over at Blogspot and only posts a few times a month (sometimes less), but those posts are always worth waiting for.

Unfortunate Imbalance – exposing what’s inside, one layer at a time….  “The Author” is yet another wonderful woman writing brilliantly about . . . well, everything.  Her poetry never fails to captivate me.

Aaaauuuugggghhhh!  I have more, but alas I’ve been limited to seven blogs, so there they are.  Please use the links to see what they are up to, if you aren’t already an avid reader.  You’ll be glad you did.

Now for the hard part . . . I’ve been instructed to reveal seven interesting things about myself that people might not know . . . Hmmmmmm.  This is going to be a challenge as I write about everything leaving little to tell here, but . . .

1.  I wrote and illustrated my first novella in the fourth grade.  It was overkill on an assignment to write an essay and a great literary work for an 8 year old.  I must admit I got carried away, but I got an “A+” which inspired me to pursue further artistic expression much to the chagrin of my family.
2. I graduated from high school a year early.  By contrast, I took college classes for the next ten years and never managed more than a bachelor’s degree.  I could never settle on a single course of study and flittered from major-to-major rather like a hummingbird flitters from flower-to-flower.
3.  I learned Cobol and Fortran programming languages studying for a degree in Computer Science, but am now reduced to praying my laptop works each time I open it and have a panic attack just thinking about upgrading my cell phone.  I must be getting old or something.
4. I steal wireless internet from an unwitting neighbor!  After the fire, I changed internet providers and have been too lazy (and intimidated, see 4 above) to get a router and set it up to use my own service (which I pay for every month).  An interesting point on this, I learned this trick of piggy backing on someone else’s wireless connection from Bindo.  I don’t think he’s ever paid for internet.
5. I’m a recovering Diet Coke addict.  I had a six-pack a day habit for years and now can’t drink it at all as this leads right back to excess.  As with all addictions, I can’t partake socially or casually without falling prey to mass consumption.   Believe me, Miss D jacked up on caffeine is not a situation you want to experience.
6. I write really bad, sappy love poems when I’m infatuated.  Sadly, I have posted more than a couple of those poems here.   The interesting and little known part of this is that I know it’s bad, sappy work, but do it anyway.  Love, what can I say?
7. Last, all of my domestic partners through the years have had two things in common . . . they have all been artists and they have all had facial hair (at least part of the time).  I understand the unerring attraction to the artistic temperament in the male gender, but the facial hair?  Go figure. 

So there you have it.  Strange I didn’t think I could come up with seven things.  I’m sure I could have come up things more interesting, alluring, or intriguing given time, but WTF . . . I’m just me and I’m okay with that. Oh well.  So much for my “major” award and now I pass the torch to the next seven.  Thanks again, Bindo, that was different.

Bump in the Night

I thought I knew you in the dark

Your whispers soft in my ear
Your breath warm in my hair
Your caresses gentle as I dreamt
Your hand stroking my thigh

Or was it just
Could it have been
Nothing more than
A bump in the night?

Cry, Baby, Cry

She cries.  He loves her.  She couldn’t imagine that has changed.  He’s always there for her.  Hadn’t he pledged to her his love for life?  Sure, she had broken her vow and they were no longer “together,” but things had been this way for years.  He was always available when she needed him, always at the ready, always able to make it better for her.  Why would he abandon her now?  She had done nothing different, nothing to make him treat her so carelessly.  How dare he not be there in her hour of need.

Tearful messages left unanswered.  What could he possibly be doing that was more important than her pain?  Her voicemails asking him for his help, all gone unreturned.  How could he be so heartless, uncaring?  She had no one, nothing and despite her pride she’d said so.  Still he turned a deaf ear, his indifference a stinging blow.  Why was he treating her this way?  What was it he wanted her to say?  That she needed him?  He should know that after all these years.  That she wanted him?  On this she was a bit unclear, even to herself.  She wanted him to be there for her . . . a friend, a sometimes lover, a fall back when she had nothing else.

She knew she could do better . . . have a man with all of his strengths and none of his weakness.  She had ventured in search of such, but as yet had found none.  He would never be able to provide her with the life she deserved.  She had given him plenty of time to prove that.  He didn’t understand her, how she felt, the depth of her wounds.  He didn’t really “get” her, not as others had.  Still, he had always been there when she reached for him.  He was the storm port that allowed her unfettered sailing when the weather was clear.

She briefly considered that it might be he had found another, but dismissed the possibility with little thought.  They had a bond that spanned a lifetime.  This new woman simply a tarriance, nothing compared to what they had together.  No matter what this new one offered, it couldn’t be possible that he should love any more than he loved her.  She was confident that she was his one true life’s love, so why was he being so mean?  He had withdrawn before, but always in the end he was there for her, always in the end he came back to her, always through his life he had waited on her. 

Sure, it had never lasted this long before, his holding back of the love and support due her.  Sure, he had told her over and over that he was done.  Sure, anyone that did not know him as she did would think he had finally moved on.  She knew that was not possible.  She was sure he would forever be tied to her.  He would come to her when the situation was right.  She had only to find the key, the moment, the approach to open the door to his heart and have him know again that it was she that he was meant to live his life for.  She was the love of his life and he could not escape.  It was his destiny to love her no matter the cost to him.

She cries.  She is alone.  She reaches to him and he’s not there.  She needs him to hold her and tell her its okay.  How can he treat her so badly?  How can he let her suffer?  How can he pretend he doesn’t care? Still she draws strength from the knowledge that it is only a matter of time.  He has a temporary distraction is all.  He will come to know that his life cannot be complete without her in it and then he will be there for her again.  He is simply angry with her, for what she does not know.  Still she is confident he will return to her and when he does, she will make him cry.