Pard

Years ago, I saw her sit nearby

Poised with such an elegance and grace 

A perfect laugh that sparkled in each eye

Soft in manner, laugh lines in her face.

 

Giving my best effort not to stare

I urged myself to keep from hidden glances

Or saying something foolish with her there

(Or anything that may have hurt my chances).

 

Finally, after weeks of conversation,

A meeting sealed with love's first gentle kiss,

Relationship endured a transformation,

and what was once a crush gave way to bliss.

 

And this, the tale of how we found each other,

Is how, my son, I came to meet your mother.

Atrophy (Achy Leg Blues)

another night of lyin' here

staring at the black

no sound but my own breathing

and I'm whisperin' to the night

as the shadows whisper back

and I ain't been good for sleepin'

since before I can recall

got to get my head examined

'cause my maind keeps asking me

if we'll ever sleep at all

thoughts gone gooey

my mind's all screwy

and I don't know what to do

to get my mind off of you

my spirit's gone to hell, baby

slow and deadly atrophy

ain't no use in empty prayin'

'cause there ain't nobody there

to take away my agony

please forgive me, baby

I'm doin' what I can

And I know I did you wrong

I'm sorry that you're hurtin'

Wish I'd been a better man

thoughts gone gooey

my mind's all screwy

and I don't know what to do

to get my mind off of you

-J

Haunted on the Peak

Amidst the mists and coldest frosts,
With stoutest wrists and loudest boasts,
He thrusts his fists against the posts
And still insists he sees the ghosts.

And though a friend of gentle mind

Might rest a hand most soft and kind,  

Upon his brow to ease his pain,

He sees them now, and shall again.

But is he mad, this weeping soul?

For having had his sleeping stole

By restless shades, forgotten, cold,

Ravenous for years untold?

Or shall we fear a man so haunted,

By the jeers of ghosts unwanted,

Awake and doomed to wander dim

In desperate gloom, through nightmares grim?

He can't outrun them, nor can we,

But do we shun him, leave him be?

Inhuman choice, it is, I know,

His wailing voice, we hate it so.

Our mission here, through frozen hell

We persevere, and those we tell

Of our adventure shall be spared

The detail of the choice we shared.

They warned us when we took the work

That many men were shook berserk; 

Over time their minds unwound

From the climb so far from ground

And mad we are, and most afraid

Of howling cur, if trap we laid

Should fail, and we'll be fit to hear

His raving wail on frostbit ear.

We've climbed so far, so close to done;

I'll cut the line that holds the one

Who's tortured us from ground to summit,

And silently, we'll watch him plummet.

But when it's done, I fear his cancer

Shall be mine, a sneering answer

Cursing me to shambling, daunted,

Madly rambling, likewise haunted,

Amidst the mists and coldest frosts,
With stoutest wrists and loudest boasts,
I'll thrust my fists against the posts
And still insist I see the ghosts.

-J

-------

Note: The first stanza of this piece is credited to Curt Simodiak, in his 1942 novel, "Donovan's Brain".

Falling

I keep falling

screaming

the ground rushing

hurtling toward me

I want it

I crave impact

the sudden

finality of silence

but it won't 

come

I'm not afraid

to die

I'm afraid

the falling

will never

ever

end

falling

always falling

screaming 

horror blooming

panic chewing

my nerves

like a rat

I have to go 

I have to claw

scrape

climb back up

but I'm

falling

too fast

it's too

fast

cold

I can't 

breathe

my hair 

lashing my face

stabbing my eyes

I'm choking 

screaming 

tears trailing

my body

twisting, flailing

scraping the walls

my fingernails

torn and broken

knuckles

flayed open

please

hear me

anyone

if you're there

catch me

I'm terrified

this falling

will never end

my throat raw

screaming

calling

falling

falling

...

-- Julie Clarke & JL Williams

Wake-Up Time

Early this morning, curled up in a ball,

Judah is sleeping, not snoring at all.

With a big fuzzy blanket and a hot, sweaty head,

And all of his toys scattered over his bed.

 

Sometimes he is grumpy, and sometimes he's not,

But early this morning, he's grumpy a lot.

He makes his face angry and says with a shout,

I don't want to get up! This is my room! Get out!

 

So Mommy asks, "Is Judah grouchy today?"

And Judah says, "No I am not. Go away!"

He pulls up his blanket, up over his head,

And with a big "NO", Judah goes back to bed.

 

But who should arrive, but Jackson the dog,

Who jumps in the bed like a big, furry frog!

He snuffs and he sniffs, with a sniff and a snuff,

And when Judah gets up, Jackson has sniffed enough.

 

Judah leaps from his bed and says, "It's time to wake up!"

And gives everyone hugs (even Jackson the Pup).

Awake and excited, Judah does his best,

To keep himself calm while he gets himself dressed.

 

He takes off his PJs, picks out a clean shirt,

(The one from last night's smeared with last night's dessert.)

And puts on his jeans and some Spider-Man socks,

Then downstairs (while using the railing) he walks.

 

He runs to the dining room, climbs in his chair,

And eats all the breakfast that Daddy put there.

Sometimes it's oatmeal, and sometimes it's not,

But whatever it is, Judah likes it (a LOT).

 

Then he puts on his shoes ("They light up, guys! You see?"),

And he climbs in the car, just like climbing a tree,

He's all buckled in, and as morning ends,

Jude goes to daycare, to see all of his friends.

-J.

Away

I feel my darkness coming and it mocks me as I run,

It taunts that I am losing, that it's finally over, done,

It teases -- says my time is gone, but that I'll be okay,

And I can watch my light go out while in dark arms I lay,

 

I know the shadow wants me, and I realize I want it,

I finally run no more, conceding that our pieces fit,

Please, my gentle reader, promise not to cry, nor tremble,

Just let me bid goodbye -- let me to my darkness crumble.

- Julie Clarke & JL Williams

Home

Home is of a quiet, peaceful mind, 

Though chaos and disorder oft prevail,

Such is the life of families of our kind,

With yappy dogs, and toddlers prone to wail, 

We measure time in laundry still unclean,

And days before the mornings we'll sleep through,

But there are quiet spaces still, between

The car trips back and forth, and things to do.

And whyfor, some may ask, would we endure

Such tiring daily grind? What could there be

In compensation? Little, to be sure,

But stress, exhaustion, and anxiety?

It's true, the things they say -- I won't deny

That oft the days are difficult and long,

But all these things will serve to satisfy

The knowing that this home's where I belong.

-J.

Insomnia - A Dirge

I am in Hell.

 

So many nights she eludes me - taunts and haunts me as I lie in bed, ever awake. Always awake. Her soft, mocking laugh chases my every toss and turn, narrowing her half-lidded eyes and writhing her seductive dance with spectral, moonlit grace. Touching me just enough to keep me from tipping over the edge into madness, only to coax me back to this accursed nightly torment. She is the sole object of my truest, deepest desire, and I covet her with the single-minded instinct of a starving reptile -- but she is also the target of my undying, smouldering hatred, and there are nights when I pray she will finally give in and let me have my rest, if only to choke the life from her so as to achieve an evening's peace (and perhaps the cold satisfaction of long-plotted revenge).

 

But is it not my soul, my being? Am I not the master of my own fate, architect of my own peace, on my own terms? Surely a score ago, I believed myself immune to such trivial things as rest or age. My body an impenetrable fortress, unconquered by substance or schedule, free of vice or any real mortality. Rest was for the unwicked, after all -- and I was wicked, I assure you; steeped in sin with no regard for consequence. Surely some ember still exists of the young man who laughingly spit in the face of sleep, and carried on unpunished by time. Perhaps the flame still burns, and I can escape my captor by refusing her empty advances.

 

Unrelenting demon witch! Just a little closer, ghostly succubus, so that my hands may close about your throat. What price must I pay for your reward? How must I earn the right to close my bloodshot eyes and trust they will remain shut? Should my wrath boil over into my days and scald those I care for? Shall I, in a fit of pique, dive into assured self-destruction of drugs, isolation and madness for you, until my body withers and I am left with only my weakening heartbeat and dessicated sanity to keep me company? What more can I sacrifice?

 

Tell me, spirit -- please. What must be done? Tell me what toll I must pay, even if it is only the final coins on my weary eyes for the Ferryman, for at least then I will know a final peace. Please, I beg you -- share with me the secret to rest. Whisper it in my ear, and let it be a secret between us alone. Give me back my dreams, my captor, and all is forgiven. Give me this one thing that you have taken, and I will swear loyalty -- I will give you whatever you ask. Any prize, any cost -- just turn back to face me, love. I was ill-tempered with you, and I am ashamed. Forgive me. Dry your tears and talk to me. Please.

 

But why should you? What spirit would abide the rudeness of a deranged, unreasoned fool? My carefree negligence has decided my fate, and perhaps you are my punishment, yes? If you are the debt I must pay, this nightly agony of staring bleakly into the darkness while others dream, then it is a debt I have earned. Decades of indiscriminate sin, filling my 'fortress' with delicious poisons and toxic vices, railing against my body's vulnerability by refusing to admit it was fragile. I am architect of nothing, save for my own sleepless prison.

 

This is my hell, and I have doomed myself to it. You are right, my love -- this is where I belong: lying here in the dead of night, staring at nothing, trying desperately to think of nothing, fantasizing about a tranquility that I have prevented myself from ever achieving. I have chained myself to the wall of this place, and like the ever-loyal Renfrew, I will wait for my ultimate reward. Even as the fog of madness closes in around me, devouring my faculties as it comes, I will embrace the gloom and trust that peace will come. I will have faith that my Goddess will see how well I have served Her, and will finally grant me her final kiss.

 

-J.