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Saturday
April 25, 2015
12:15am EDT


Rated: 13+ | Book | Personal | #1300042
Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life and what goes on...
  Trying make sense of life is maddening. Why do I need to know, when truth may not actually exist? Learning to accept would be a better pursuit. Flailing about in mediocrity, hoping to bust out.


Follow me on Twitter:
https://mobile.twitter.com/glaedrfly
ASIN: B006PUZY78
Such Longing: Poetry Of Nature Love
Product Type: eBooks
Amazon's Price: Price N/A


Journalist turned blogger.
http://glaedrfly.tumblr.com

Read me, don't read me. I'm going to dare you to read anyway.

I update my portfolio page as often as possible. glaedrfly Go there to see new messages. You will always see me. I am visible. You can put a face with a name. I would like other writers to crawl out from under their rocks and post their pics on main pages. Fiction is what you write, not who you are.

I also encourage you to read my notebook, biography and more. I'm always updating, because I am restless.

THANK YOU alfred booth, wanbli ska for the ribbon and continuous support!




My blogging days at Writing.Com began here >>>
 
My Journal  [13+]
This is my pulpit. I'm no preacher, just long to be heard like the rest of us.
by glaedrfly


Where I hide most of my poetry [FOR MEMBERS]. Warts and all, where I bare my chest and try to make sense of my craft.
 
BOOK
ID: 1177939 (13+)
Such Longing For A Blind Dreamer 
A journey through my life from early poetry to the present.
by glaedrfly


Previous ... -1- 2 3 4 5 6 ... Next
April 19, 2015 at 7:14pm
April 19, 2015 at 7:14pm
Tweeter
Perhaps, I write because I need an alibi...

https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/589848688018731012

https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/589714445171064832

Am I in your head, yet? Let me know when you get inside, because I'm locked in here.

glaedrfly
April 13, 2015 at 3:35pm
April 13, 2015 at 3:35pm
Poem: The Snowy Owl
I hear a lonesome sound
when the wind rustles the trees,
And it's in me.
I sense the giant pines unrest
where birds hunker down;
quiet for more than an hour now.
The snowy owl hunts.
I buried the rabbit's fur
in the dark, silent bed;
spared from my her innocence
She'd hate the feathered visitor,
if she knew of his lust to live.
Why do we have to grow up?
Can we just have our rain;
get it over with?
I could tend to my garden.
I don't like the pines anymore.
They stir something within me
that I cannot silence.



 
 ~
April 10, 2015 at 2:54pm
April 10, 2015 at 2:54pm
Slam Poet, I'm Not
Reading about a slam poetry event at Barnes & Noble later this month and imagined taking the mike live to improvise something. As the words formed in my noggin I used talk to text on iPad to spill it out, with minor edits I share here...


Pain
arbitrary word
what is it that I feel that others don't see?
is it real or do I pretend?
They don't seem to acknowledge what I go through
alone
Pain

What has fooled my brain into believing that I suffer?
why the drama?
Can anybody see me?
Invisible
I frown
Downward eyes
beg the ground for answers
The cracks of time
Winding
Laid out beneath my feet
Reveal
Pain

Is it stress?
What pressure can fool this heart?
Throbbing
Empty
Aching for fulfillment
That immeasurable constant
Pain
Sinks deep

I look up to the heavens
My eyes more crystal blue
Breaking on the surface
Searching light
Ceding rain
And harsh pain
Heaven will not be witnessed today
As I ramble on in misery
Aching for the cure to this mysterious illness
Lacking an anti-dote.


Blah, is all I say. Could edit. I make up songs for my kids all time. Why not slam?

April 2, 2015 at 8:55am
April 2, 2015 at 8:55am
Poetry Hasher Hashing
Hashing out poems with little potential here...

Insulated, numb
Can't feel you
Can't feel
My arrogance
Full, yet
I need
I need you

Across this desert
Dead
Can't drink life
Can't drink
Dry
Bones ache, cold
Yet, sweat

Visions, delusions
Are all I have
An empty gut
needs meat
Needs to eat
Yet, no hunger
Can't feel
Numb


Another...

My heart is a metronome
Steady
Beating
Always repeating
Echoing
It's unrelenting
Love

OR somehow haiku?


My heart is a metronome
Steady, beating
Echoing unrelenting love


More...

Just Love Me Back

You feel the laughter
Hot on your ears
veins thick
With the humility
Hands forming
Defeated fists
While concealing eyes
Wanton intent
burning for a lifetime
Because of one moment
innocence, ignorance
Can't take back
publicly professed love
Poor Juliet
Had no intention
Was in no position
To echo back
Or
Was it not love?
Infatuation
put you in that square
On the empty soap box
Where a part of you still remains.
Who am I trying to convince here?
Just love me back.
Maybe, I'll know.



One more, even more depressing...hashing out still and may never finish these...

Let me inhale the sweet gas
Fill these hungering lungs
Savor a (black, vile) mixture (that rolls down)
Beneath the gums

Then, send your (harsh, brutal) lips
So it will numb
Every fear of losing you
When we're done

My fantasy is your suicide
For one so young
To send sweet greetings
From your tongue

Deeper down I will go
Before I'm hung
On this poisoned remedy
I'm that dumb.



Why does rhyme either punctuate or kill the mood, message? So hard to know when to run to or from the desire to create these appetizing sounds that beg to be heard, implore an answer.
March 13, 2015 at 11:24am
March 13, 2015 at 11:24am
Plough Horse Dreams of Carrots
Though I love them, feel like telling my family as I walk out the door, "I feel my work here is done." Feels like they don't need me unless it is to have someone to dump on. I feel like I would be more productive as a writer if I had more than five minutes alone at a time in my head when inspiration to pick up a pen or keyboard strikes me again. So much negativity. Glad there's a break in weather. Couldn't come sooner.

Of course, I say, 'I feel like' because I cannot grasp this situation. Too many details to dissect but it is the same old stories about parenting growing children with a spouse who does not think like me, not on same page. And I don't rule in my roost without her final say. Mix in my idiosyncrasies that put me at a disadvantage and you've got the makings for another run-of-the-mill unfunny sitcom.

Blah. Don't feel like blogging more. Want 2014 back when I was full of hope like the plough horse after that dangled carrot. Field plowed, nothing sown. What could have gone wrong begs the reaper?

Is there a magic bag of seeds somewhere with the label, 'Never plant these' ??
January 30, 2015 at 8:11am
January 30, 2015 at 8:11am
“Hope” is the thing with feathers

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.


EMILY DICKINSON
Source: The Poems of Emily Dickinson Edited by R. W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999){/times}
January 22, 2015 at 10:05am
January 22, 2015 at 10:05am
Identity and Maturation
When I was a kid, my dad was telling a fabricated story to other adults in the room. And it was one of those moments where I wanted to cajole with rest of them and comment on the outlandish tale with a bit of knowing. My inability to grasp for the word 'fibbing' forced me to replace it with 'lying' in the middle of my utterance. He roared back at me and I choked so hard I couldn't explain that I was trying to find that word I meant to say.

For years, I was locked on that moment where I couldn't be like one of the adults. I was relegated to being quiet and aloof whenever we had company because I thought no one would ever understand my meaning. The ability to communicate would be my weakness for some time and I would act more like my father to get his approval than going with my gut, because I self-edited, fearing the words that would come out of my mouth.

Understand that even well meaning adults could be misunderstood because of our upbringing and experiences. But, if it is a child who is trying to search for their identity, you have to be patient, as trying as it may be.
December 5, 2014 at 9:06am
December 5, 2014 at 9:06am
Don't know where I'm going with this...
A wise friend recently imparted some logic that I now pause to remember, when needed:
Memories are often flawed, but they do help keep us going during difficult times.

To separate fact from fiction, one may never be sure where the truth lies. I have so many fond memories that I look back on whistfully. Perhaps, kind acts that nourished this soul fade from faulty memory. I hold on to moments and reconstruct the associated feelings. Living a lie? Blissful ignorance? What else do I have to hold on to but to think she could have loved me?

More than a generation later, we still don't know. I just want to keep these memories alive to fool me to my grave. Perhaps, my life is perpetually in crisis, because the projections in my head feel like they're on a non-stop loop.

November 19, 2014 at 12:45pm
November 19, 2014 at 12:45pm
Surrounding Myself/For The Man I Am
Surrounding Myself

Instead of surrounding myself with others who could lift me up, encourage me, I've surrounded myself with me. Everyone is at arm's length in my personal and internet life. I'll laugh and joke, but won't open up about my personal goals and dreams. So, I create a false persona to insulate myself from prying eyes, surrounded by walls of faceless names and one-dimensional sorts who are only good enough for a few moments discussion of the weather.

I met someone beautiful who I could get to know on a deeper, more personal level and let them slip through my fingers because I let myself get in the way. I desire companionship on the most unaffected, unconditional level to purge these demons that tear apart the rooms inside. The daily damage makes it more difficult to rise and search for the sun out my window. I am only compelled by commitment to family. Nothing left for myself but regret that I don't just walk out that door and journey to look for me.

I'm candid now. Fifteen minutes later and I might find distraction in a repetitive video game, latest Netflix or Hulu series, or reveries of a boy that dreamed a much better life for the man I am. I regret that I never approached you, reached for your hand and begged your eyes to look deep inside where I hide something beautiful that doesn't dare to come out without your skillful, nourishing light.

I'll flail some more in this darkness hoping I'll find you without effort. God, I don't want any more rejection. The little boy has had enough from the man.

Quiet, seek softness, while time wrinkles any hope for a future now becoming past. My midpoint, January, 2014. Sorry, for being obtuse. I'm slipping away again. 15 minutes...up.
October 3, 2014 at 11:18am
October 3, 2014 at 11:18am
Hello, maybe Goodbye
It's not like the old days anymore. Not like we can meet for lunch at the Szechuan place on Third Street, where you educated me on Asian cuisine. And, not far from the University where we spent most of our hours either in class or working at the public radio and television studios, keeping in touch through the campus phone system.

It seemed like not a day would go by without a word for one another. And then you found somebody to "date." And when he would travel for his job, which was frequent, then we found time for each other again. When he was around, I was out of sight. But, one day I failed and it all came apart. I needed help and you brought him along to rescue me. And I did not offer my thanks. The words got stuck in my throat. He pointed it out to you, as you said. And I realized I was a threat, in his eyes.

So you were upset and I stayed away. Eventually we became friends again. But it was never the same. And then I had to move away and then you had to move away and we grew farther and further apart. I sent the last unresponded letters. I sent the last unresponded emails.

I saw something in you. You left me hanging. For years I have not been able to put together the puzzle of the last time we were together and I thought you had extended your hand touching mine on your daybed on accident. But now I wonder, was there a purpose? You did not let me know if you were still in a relationship. I sensed something in you I hadn't seen since the first time I thought there was an attraction and you managed to confuse me. So I did not respond. And now I have regrets to this day that I did not find out.

Over 20 years later, I found you and contacted you. And from the emails it seems like you're still the girl I used to know. You are married now. I am married now. And yet, the thing dogs me still, stuck in my brain. It should be harmless to ask. I cannot, should not, open that door, even though I stare at it every day wondering what lies beyond, wondering what I left inside.

Just know, whenever I dreamed of you, I felt I could be or do anything I wanted. Without you, I wonder if I'll ever realize my potential.

Goodbye again, LuAnne

Brian

Written long ago, though I could not share with you, he said wistfully, alone to the sky...

 
STATIC
ID: 1172766 (E)
To Share In Your Garden 
What could have been, if she had not been tempted by the fruit of another.
by glaedrfly


October 3, 2014 at 8:28am
October 3, 2014 at 8:28am
Aging reforms the narcissist not the hopeless dreamer
Been taking personality tests at Psychcentral.com to learn if suspected traits exist and not liking some results. Self diagnosis is cheap, painful and just as subjective, but not overseen by a paid professional who can drag out sessions for years, feeling no wiser for the experience.

I'm just going to tweet insights, adding whatever passes for wisdom here and in Notebook, as the psyche turns over each stone obsessively, finding no discernible clue to explain this vain existence.

September 27, 2014 at 9:32pm
September 27, 2014 at 9:32pm
Seasonal Poetry Highlights Part II
"Giving In [E]

Grounded
upon a cement path
leaves lie
like words
scrambled and scattered
by the wind

You chase them
down the walk
but their wonder
is swept away
before the eager
can grab hold
to find no meaning

Too far away
for the mind
to reach
your venture ends
with a visit
to a vacant bench
And a leaf
floats down
beside you

All your life
spent chasing
obstacles
on unseen strings
and the prize
you win
is for giving in.

September 24, 2014 at 8:42am
September 24, 2014 at 8:42am
Seasonal Poetry highlights
Fall is one of my favorite seasons that inspire my writing:

"A Better Love Tomorrow [E] written 24 years ago

A blissful sky bleeds dry its color.
Wet but crisp leaves
lie scattered to rot and brown,
in the fading light, cloy
at the soggy ground.

You reach for my hand.
Still cold, we huddle closer.
We walk with no destination
toward some horizon,
sending away our sun.

You nuzzle my neck,
touch my hair and whisper,
"I love you dear."
I know you are near,
but it seems so far away.

There was a time
when I wanted you close,
tighter, inside me whole;
but time washes away the memory
these aged eyes foggily see.

The woman who buttons my coat,
scratches my tender back
and looks forlornly into my eyes.
Must see something I don’t,
something that I won’t.

The sun will rise again,
three quarters of the way home.
Tomorrow, I will love better.
These leaves tug at my shoes,
as the sky washes to black.


More features from Autumn coming

September 19, 2014 at 9:16am
September 19, 2014 at 9:16am
July 11, 2014 at 2:56pm
July 11, 2014 at 2:56pm
What Is It About Life...
Something I would like to expand upon one day. Want to share this for now:

What is it about life that makes us want to live? Is it the color and shape of things, the beauty of nature, the food that we crave to eat? Is it the love of a good mate, to share some dark secret? Is it the desire to own expensive, beautiful things? What is it about life that makes us want to live?

Are we vexed by some puzzle we must solve before going to our grave? Have we not learned from others the thirst unquenched on dying lips? Might we wield social power that make others envious, weak in their knees to be in our presence? What is about life that makes us want to live?

Are you waiting for an answer? Unsure what mystery could there possibly be yet unknown that could make life worth living? Innocence. We yearn to be young again, to be tempted by all that we desire, and fantasy. Perhaps, we could, just read. There are millions of lives in books yet undiscovered with many truths yet uncovered that could shape our minds with true vision and purpose.

What is it about life that fuels our desire to live: fiction.
July 10, 2014 at 6:03pm
July 10, 2014 at 6:03pm
glaedrfly@twitter
I've been quiet. Good for me. Find me on twitter for latest.
June 15, 2014 at 3:06pm
June 15, 2014 at 3:06pm
Special Father's Day
The most discriminating person one could expect to have in their life is a mother-in-law. I have had my differences with my wife's mom, a retired elementary school teacher. But she sees right through me sometimes and never ceases to flatter me, especially on the occasion of Father's Day. Written in a card I received:

"Dear Brian,

I want to wish you a very happy Father's Day! You have such a wonderful family and we thank you for the wonderful Grandchildren you have given us.

You do so many things with them that makes Alex's and Maddie's lives special. You especially make books come alive for them as you create so many characters in your reading. What a wonderful gift you have for this. It's given them wonderful ability to become characters as well in reading and drama.

All of your playing with them has given them so many wonderful memories to treasure throughout their lives. You have been such a good example to them for enjoying life and the love you have for them has shown through in all you do for them.

May God continue to guide you, walk beside you and bless you always."



I cannot accept too much credit because I am paying it forward from a 'wonderful' teacher in my mother who shared her love of books and life with me. Hearing these words helps me warmly remember a woman who will walk beside me throughout life.





June 15, 2014 at 2:49am
June 15, 2014 at 2:49am
The Audacity of Hope
"There has been much emphasis on the audacity of hope, and hope as the energizer of dreams and visions, the warm glow, the bright ray. ... Perhaps it is time to also reflect on the atrocity of hope. I have come to see it as wasteful and unproductive. ... It intervenes in the process of reckoning with the present with clarity about things as they are; it presents itself as a companion of the "miracle," where we expect outcomes without our play/agency. It keeps us wedded to our particular hypothesis. It asks of us to put our faith in specific possibilities regardless of probability."

Very long, sad, but illuminating story:

http://www.cnn.com/2014/06/14/world/asia/malaysia-airlines-families-narendran/in...


June 9, 2014 at 9:15am
June 9, 2014 at 9:15am
Peony, I'm your ant
Let me crawl over your face
Our love could blossom.
May 28, 2014 at 12:06pm
May 28, 2014 at 12:06pm
RIP Maya Angelou
My comments on Maya Angelou today:

Https://www.twitter.com/glaedrfly


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