The Dreaded Block

Three different notebooks and not one phrase
a writer dreads these types of days
Before too long your heart is racing
From the mundane future you could be facing
You curse at songs and shun your books
The trees are barren, that you once shook
But then a seed or maybe half
You start to write, you start to laugh
and with relief you're off and running
to show the world your heart and cunning

When We Began to Roar

The idea of her was whispers
told in boxy chambers
The conclusion unavoidable
and who could really blame her

Once power killed compassion
and the weak were left to languish
and towering bleached statues
smirked upon their anguish

She rose from scalding fires
she brushed away the ash
refusing mere perceptions
such as apron, gown or sash

Her heart gave her the bravery
but her mind gave her a sword
No more could she allow
the future we were moving toward

So the fight was started quietly
and grew into a din
For only those who led with love
could ever hope to win

Opening

The slightest of bending
the softness of mercy
a heart inching open
words uttered less tersely

Showing up now as human
be it ever so subtle
Listening with ears open
not just forming rebuttals

Not a pouring emotion
just a blossoming fairness
Choosing words with a purpose
not dismissive and careless

With the stiffness of hinges
that crackle with rust
We can open that fortress
and build a new trust

Though our differences stand
let our barrier be rended
for this battle is known
for the joy it has ended

Yes You Now

When you had those sweet moments all to yourself
what did your soul try to tell you today
The journey your mind took to its shagri-la
The sweet revelation you sent on its way

You said to yourself it was only a dream
Though blissful it seemed unbelievable
Your life couldn’t handle that much of a change
Twas a glory that seemed unachievable

Still now you can feel it inside of yourself
Don’t deny that it’s still ruminating
It grows deep within like a joy or a pain
A passion that’s real, unabating

So what’s wrong with grabbing it, use both your hands
March with it, see where it could take you
Ply it with work and effort and love
Try to see if those wishes can come true

You may not believe that it’s what you need most
So then why does it fill you with aching
What good does it do to just sit around
And ponder the chance you’re not taking

Perfect

You are not perfect and why should you be
but more importantly why would you be
who was it that told you that it was expected
Someone you know whose shortcomings projected
A movie you saw, or a hot TV show
do they decide or do they just know
Life is more fun when we are unique
it adds something more charisma, mystique
Be bold in your differences, show them with pride
Let all the hidden things in you outside
Leave people gasping, let their mouths hang
Try not to tiptoe, come in with a bang
Redefine beauty with your joyful spirit
Sing your song loud so everyone hears it

History

The aged hand hath writ
a history restarted
full of goons and twits
who exploit the brokenhearted

The paper turns to dust
but the watchful ones remember
when our justice set to rust
and our quiet meant surrender

So spill forth with your words
Wail them if it warrants
so that change can now be culled
from these innundating torrents

Warrior Woman

The warrior woman emerges each day
stepping her toes to the line
armed with a heart that is open and free
and a wisdom that reaches through time
She never attacks but stonelike she stands
advancing with boldly made steps
She leaves her impression in day dreams and smiles
fueled by the tears she has wept
She loves unabashedly, helps with abandon
and heals with uncowering spirit
Her words work like magic on souls once thought lost
with a truth for those willing to hear it
Queen, witch, or sorceress she pays no mind
to the names that so many have called her
She knows who she is and what she must do
no matter what fate may befall her

In The Deep Woods

In the deep woods
she hatches and cries
and crawls for the very first time
In the deep woods
she is honed from the dirt
she is wrapped in the leaves and the vines
In the deep woods
her voice how it bellows
her spine, how it seems to unbend
In the deep woods
she is cleansed by the rainfall
her fear blows away in the wind
In the deep woods
her words grow the flowers
her spirit runs wild as the wolves
In the deep woods
her will is the oak
and her heart is the pounding of hooves
In the deep woods
she is rooted so deeply
she flies to the tops of the trees
In the deep woods
her soul is reborn
she is beautiful, mighty and free

Seek

Embody the magic within you
Go conquer and conjure and fly
There isn't a thing that you can't do
Except for the things you don't try
Go travel the ways of your spirit
Find it's freedom and make it your own
It's calling you now can't you hear it?
and if you must go it alone
Don't be the size others make you
Instead be the size of your dreams
It's not up to others to take you
For we each swim within our own streams
So go find your way to the river
The place where you truly feel whole
Til your there you may stumble and shiver
but the finish is where lies your soul

Conquer

Kick in the door
Enter with purpose
Ready yourself
Ring up the circus
You know what to do
Let’s get this thing going
Hold tightly to you
Resist to and fro-ing
Excise all the doubters
No need to abide
Know that the pouters
Only stand with their pride

Becoming

The mask has slipped
The covering torn
so tightly gripped
so avidly worn
but then a breeze
a patch of light
it's shed with ease
no more a fight
The costume falls
the bareness felt
A new form calls
No clasp no belt
Free and flowing
Wild and strong
A look of knowing
A magic song
A step toward power
So unashamed
Feel them glower
then step again

Self Inflicted

Its a normal day
so they like to say
but the memories come
and they cause dismay

All the moments lost
hold a greater cost
like a magic lamp
that was found then tossed

So the tears they verge
but I don't deserve
the release that's felt
from a cleansing purge

So I breath most deep
so the sobs will keep
and the slippery slope
grows so starkly steep

Now the light that falls
kind of creeps and crawls
Maybe someday soon
it won't hurt at all

Destination

A peak so high there seemed no top
and yet he still would climb
He never showed a need to stop
He never had the time
The clouds that ringed the precipice
Were ones he could see through
His arms would ache, his aim would miss
Yet his distance grew and grew
The path he used would peter out
He'd pause just for a minute
And with an effort and a shout
He'd find his footing in it
Though slips occurred he never fell
We'd watch him as he rose
His hands would bleed, his feet would swell
But his eyes would never close
He knew one day with certainty
The peak was his to claim
And at the zenith he would see
The peak did bear his name

The Creaking Wheel Part 2

Her feet pounded up the stairs, ringing with each step on the metal. She wore a wheelmen’s uniform that had been altered to fit her small frame and topped it off with an expression of determination. Her teeth sat tightly clenched in her cheeks, squaring her jawline. Her hands were balled into white knuckled fists and moved rigidly at her sides as she walked. She pushed the door open, and it banged loudly against the wall. A chorus of men chuckled and shouted, “New Guy!” and the chorus carried throughout the workroom. As the second round of jeers began, they turned to see the boss’s daughter standing there slowly pinking in the face. They stopped heckling, some mid-syllable, and the room fell silent except for the moaning of the machinery. She surveyed the work room and was met with darting glances and some sneers below the goggles on the men’s faces. She heard everyone clear their throat at least once and wondered if this was some kind of secret code the workers had to communicate dissatisfaction amongst each other. She lowered her eyes and made her way to the office to meet her father and husband. The heavy door swung open, creaking a warning to the workers. Her father stepped out the door of the office and looked at each worker, face by face. Most of them turned back to their work when he made eye contact, some did so after a very audible gulp. If she didn’t know better she would think that they were trying to be funny. Her father was well revered among the workers but also feared. She had seen him fly off the handle when a worker made a nearly fatal mistake; she had never seen the color that was upon his face that day anywhere else in nature before or since. She stepped in the office, and the door creaked shut behind her. “Are you sure you want to do this honey?” her father asked. He took a breath to say more, but she held up her hand and simply said, “I’m sure.” They spent the rest of the work day going over the schematics of the wheel, vital safety measures, and how the wheel was operated. After they were done, they made their way out of the office. Most of the workers had already left for the day, and the rest were in the lockers packing up. Her father led her to the wheel. He asked her to name off the safety rules with the exact wording and in the exact order in which he had taught them to her. She made it three-quarters of the way down the list and started to flounder. “You’re not ready,” he said sternly. She nodded dejectedly. Her husband tried to plead with her father for another chance. “Don’t worry darling, tomorrow morning I will be correcting him on the rules,” she said winking. “I don’t doubt it for a second honey,” her father said nodding. “If that’s the case,” he continued, “then tomorrow, you work the wheel.”

The Creaking Wheel

What once churned was now stagnant. It's rusted facade hinted at the decrepit innards it magnitude kept hidden. Even a torrential wind could not move the wheel. Giant and rotting it was a representation of the life that it once supported. A thriving town, full of young hopeful minds and strong breakable bodies. The mill that pumped the blood of the town turning it from a shell of dried skin to something viable and supple. The wheel turned, the town prospered. It was a simple metaphor much like life in this young town. The mill seemed to provide them all they needed, food, water, money, even energy to run the things in the town that needed running. Families came and grew and lived happily in proximity of the great wheel. 

A dark secret would soon rumble within the town however. The men who were in charge of the wheel had always seemed kind and fatherly. They loved the town and were happy that their wheel had brought them so much success at the good life. The town had schools, doctors, markets, churches and even a hall where they would hold great dances and socials for the townsfolk. It was a tight knit community and the men and woman of the town would defend it to the death. The men who owned the wheel knew this and at first felt a sense of fatherly pride for the townsfolk and their loyalty. Being a great success and supporting so many with their wheel began to tax them greatly. The responsibility like an anchor around their necks. Soon they began to make mistakes and these mistakes would prove to be deadly. 

A young man had come up in the ranks as a wheel worker and showed great promise. He was a fast worker and a hard worker. One of the wheelmen thought him a good chap so he introduced him to his daughter. He had never had a son and was looking for someone to take his place as a wheelman when he became too old. The daughter seemed to fancy the young man and soon it was set. They would be married and he would begin training the young man for the wheelman job he may soon possess. There were many men however who had worked the wheel for much longer and were unhappy that they were not chosen to take his place.

An unrest spread among the masses of men around the town. The wheelmen were dismayed that so many were unhappy and tried to think of a solution. They held a townhall meeting in which every man would have a chance to voice his concerns about the recent turn of events. The young man however was upset that so many were questioning his abilities for as far as he could tell he was the best man for the job. The wheelmen wanted to appease the people of the town before it became heated so they held the meeting. The young man entered last with his wife and  they stood next to his father-in-law rather then being seated with the other townsfolk. The resentment sprung from the crowd quickly and voices rattled the hall. 

The wheelmen raised their hands up to quell the raucous noise that emanated from the crowd. The wheelman whose daughter was in attendance told the crowd that if they were in his shoes they would do the same thing to make sure the wheel would keep going, and that they town would keep going. The taste for power however had been tempted in the men and they rose their voices once more. A shrill word silenced the men in the room. The daughter of the wheelman looked out onto the crowd and announced that rather then her husband taking over it would be she that would take over. There were immediate murmurs of disagreement but noone would come forth to challenge it for they knew the meaning of family and tradition.

So it stood, tommorrow the wheelman's daughter would learn how to work the wheel.

To Be Continued...