Happy Wife Happy Strife

We always start with good intentions,
however too many people are in different dimensions.
Too many people come to the reckoning that how they grow up is how they live,
Nothing short of the standards that their parents tried to give.
Whether it be a pool or verbal abuse,
they did their best in the obtuse.
You are a queen.
I am a fiend.

In your eyes that is, always a threat to the fog you cast.
Insecurities and negativity is the ship you sail at full mast.
His intentions are blind.
His intentions are true.
But I fucking see right through you.
No price he pays for your perfect black hole can suck him through,
You've given nothing and gained everything with a vow and constant split legged view.
Yet, everything is still all about you.
Growing up doesn't take time,
There is no direction to walk the maturity line.
It simple and it is your defeat,
I didn't believe you in our first meet and greet.

You don't love the physical or emotional,
You've grown up a princess kept away, abused and astray.
You feel like you're damaged goods and he's a tool.
Everyone who's a friend of you and him is a fool.
They don't see the tantrums or turns,
They only see a man who yearns.
In their mind they see a one day  happy family,
Not the broken houses both came from and act as if they are a survivor of tragedies.

One is aware and one is not,
but the blind keep their grasp taught.
Life is not hard with money and control,
For when you grow up under both there is learning within the damaged soul.
Tears and a show of the wild leave you worse than Brittany,
As she was a girl would take only herself to her own litany.
Instead there is only loss with you,
And those that see it are very few.

I on the other hand will wait and sit,
Waiting, fit after fit after fit.
To take him away and show him there is a line,
For he has been limited to a single word:
Mine.

Won't You Be My Neighbor

I ain't waiting around here no longer.

My patience is run into too many cloudy skies,

my stares to the stars and beyond hasn't come through. 

Am I wrong for looking past lies,

thinking that every friend I have hasn't lied for their own care.

The only brother I had died to someone so unwise,

Now I live with what I thought was more a friend than dare.

I sit jobless and pulled back at my inner plight,

why should I sit in filth and silence,

when you talk everyday showing that you're becoming the opposite of bright.

The wedding that's coming will become nothing more than a sentence,

an abyss of isolation I've lived and carried to your delight,

will be cast upon you like white wash over our friendship of a fence.

I don't know if I'll wave or just ignore you when everything goes through,

maybe it's better for me to tend to my own cares and shut out the world,

lord knows that I won't listen to her incessant boo-hoo.

This isn't living this is strife. I can't wait to mix it with some Hennesy and sprite.

Why the world is better without friends.

People need to find comforters in their lives. They want to be able to warm themselves with the jubilation or companionship that surrounds them in people. However, it's not those people that produces that feeling. Blankets are not made warm by themselves. It's the heat from their own body, not the blanket itself. That's why the security of friendship is never guaranteed. That's why it's so hard to find the perfect blanket to keep all the toes, arms, and legs under it. Otherwise there's always a sense of coldness. Loneliness that creeps into them. You.  And it's that loneliness that so many seek when they want to rest. No one to worry about. No one to keep them up at night. Nothing to worry about because they have their blanket to keep them warm.

Sometimes people don't like how their blanket makes them feel. It may be the smell or there might be a stain. so, they'll wash it and get that fresh feeling when it comes out smelling like new. And too many people are blind to the fact that they've been washed and rewashed, that they've become tattered and worn down. They keep going through life doing their best to cover their bodies in the warmth of friendship instead of adding layers to themselves. Making themselves warmer instead of relying on others to do it. 

Be strong for yourself, no one else can be for very long. Blankets are not strong, they can only stretch so far. If you add layers to yourself, you'll find that less of a blanket is needed. It can be used to cover parts of you that still need it. Until, at some point, you become too warm with the layers you've added to yourself and you don't need a blanket anymore.

Then maybe you can get out of the bed and handle yourself on your own and find those that still need someone to cover for them.

Buddy System

            A flush of taps filled the room. A flurry of words appeared at the bottom of an advertisement on the computer screen. The man rubbed his wrist. He knew he could do better. Hastily, he erased what he just wrote and mashed out a new line of copy into the word document. Perfectly in tune with finishing it he tapped the delete key until the words disappeared again. A scowl crossed his face as he stroked his nonexistent goatee.[1]

            A spark flashed in eyes—they light up as he bombarded the keyboard again before slowly reaching hitting the period key with a satisfying tap. He scratched his head carefully, keeping his blonde hair in its gelled bedhead spikes.

            “Cal!” A voice quipped from outside his office.
            He glanced at the door, nothing, and turned back to his project and saved it.

            “Psst,” the voice hissed, quieter again.

This time he caught a flash of gold disappear from behind the doorway, however the pen he threw sailed out and bashed against the wall.

            “Gees Cal, one of these days you're actually going to get me, haha.” The man stepped into the frame of the door.

            “And if my aim is any good, I'll nail ya between the eyes,” Cal threatened before he kicked away from the desk and asked, “What ya want Thomas?”

            “Just wanted to see how the copy was going for our ad, it’s due tomorrow.” Thomas looked past Cal at the computer screen.

            “Dead and done, finished the last line just now.”

            “Lemme see,” He slipped by Cal and read over the letters on the, “You know Cal, this is why we have nice things, I think you killed it again!”

            Cal matched Thomas's high-five offer with a violent swing. The snap that followed made both of them grimace.

            Both of them grinned in satisfaction as the sting of success prickled through their fingers.

            “Best high-fives, ever.” Thomas joked shaking out his hand.

            “Yup,” Cal turned back to his computer and put all the files into an email and sent to the higher ups.

            A final click closed out his computer and he printed off his sample. Together they left Cal's office and went to turn it into their boss.

            Their boss approved the work, like usual, he loved it at first glance.

            The pair left the room with smiles as they walked back to their offices.

            “What are you doing later?” Cal asked as he stopped at the door to his office.

            “Gonna get out and play some football before the weekend.” Thomas replied.

            “Alright, well, I'll let you know if I go out later.”

            “Okay!”

            “See ya!”

            “Later.”

۞

            Cal left work for lunch; his project done early, he cut across the street in front of his building and into the park where he walked up to the hot dog stand and got a loaded dog drenched in buttered onions and sauerkraut. It was an abomination of flavor and a breath destroyer. Cal loved how disgusting it was. However, there was no place to sit for him to enjoy it. Due to its massive amount of condiments he couldn't multitask and walk while enjoying it without fear of dropping it. He walked through the park balancing it and looking for a place to sit. The unsuccessful search left him more frustrated before he spotted the swing set in the playground.

            Cal snagged a swing as a quick compensation. He looked around as he sat down, the playground barren in midday. A second later he had chomped a bite of the hot dog and devoured the unique blend of the meaty tartness that tickled the sides of his cheeks. Each bite on the swing filled him with an energy everyone felt once at the park. The feeling of fullness only encouraged the urge to start utilizing the swing. He hadn't had any fun like this for a while.

            He kicked himself backwards in the swing. The wind bristled through his hair, picking up random pieces from its matted and slick spiked appearance. He lurched forward.

            Higher and higher he kicked, swinging further off the ground. He felt full, his excitement filling him more than that hot dog ever could. His instincts swelled. The excitement shot through him. Focused on kicking his legs back and forth grew stronger and he began to whip back and forth. He felt a rush of adrenaline swell through his body when he caught onto the thought that flashed in his mind.

Jump.

            Each successive push forward he positioned himself for launch. His excitement returned with a passion. The wind roared in his ears as he swung back and forth. He moved his hand to the front of the chains and leaned forward as he hit the peak of the back-swing before shooting forward. He propelled himself with all his strength. The wind destroyed whatever professional appearance he had as he slammed skyward. His body weightless, he soared off the swing. He felt like he was a kid again, soaring through the air without a care. Suddenly, his foot snagged the seat of the swing and reality punched him in the face as he toppled to the ground.

            Cal's head bounced off the wood chips unconscious.

۞

            “Hey, buddy, wake up!”

            Cal groaned once he regained consciousness. A sense of control was lost within him. He pressed himself up to his knees, his balance wavered as blood rushed from his face.

            “I think I have a concussion.”

            “What? That little bump did nothing, you're fine!”

            Cal looked up and saw Thomas kneeling next to him. He checked his watch and slowly got to his feet.

            “How long have you been out here?”

            “I...I don't know. I think I better go home.”

            “Aww, okay.”

            “What—what are you doing here?”

            Cal struggled to walk but quickly gained his balance with the help of Thomas.

            “Came here to play football on the knoll.”

            “Oh, that's—that's right.” Calvin said before stumbling over the space between grass and pavement.

            “Okay Cal, I think I better follow you home.”

            Together the two walked out of the park and to the bus stop located just outside it.

            Cal looked at the skyscrapers that bordered the park while he waited with Thomas. They pierced into the sky as if they came from another world.

            Cal let out a sigh. His eyes felt the fatigue that suddenly swept through him. The screech of the bus snapped his attention.

            “Alright buddy, think you can get back from here?” Thomas asked.

He guided Cal up the steps.

            “Yeah, I should be fine.” He replied.

            A small wave and both of them turned their separate ways. Cal picked a window seat and flopped into. He saw himself for the first time in the reflection.

            He didn't see the well groomed, rested, man that he was that morning. His golden hair disheveled and violent, a wood chip stuck in it. His eyes were black and filled with the world in front of him. He looked like a kid with the scrapes around his eye and on his forehead.

            Sleep crept into his eyelids, weighing them down. He slowly disappeared before himself.

            The lurch of the bus snapped his head and eyes back awake. He looked out into the city, his mirror counterpart piercing through him with a childish stare. He saw the bus turn to his stop and struggled to his feet.

            Cal burst through the door when he finally succeeded in unlocking it. He set his keys on the small dinner table in the kitchen living room combo, dropped his clothes over his cleats and ball, and crashed onto his bed.

۞

            Cal woke up on Sunday just before noon. He had slept an entire day after his accident on the swing. A renewed energy awoke inside him as he got out of bed. He felt wired and ready to go. He walked down the short hallway into the kitchen and made a sandwich. He peaked into the fridge for meat and pulled out a bag of prepackaged tuna and spread it over his bread.

            Best described as an inhale, Cal's sandwich disappeared immediately. He wiped his hands and went back to his room and changed before he left the apartment. He headed over to the bus station clothed in an old shirt and gym shorts. He felt refreshed and excited. It was time to go for a jogging adventure.

            Cal saw himself in windows of the door before they opened and smiled. He looked half-crazy with his hair so messed up.

            “Hey Cal!”

            “Oh, hey Thomas,” Cal greeted as he sat next to him.

            Thomas had his black hair slicked back and a gym bag that he put on his lap from the seat that Calvin sat in.

            “How ya feeling bud?” He asked once Calvin was situated.

            “I'm not your bud, pal.” Cal replied.

            Thomas grew a grin as he cleared his throat, “I'm not your pal, guy!” He said slightly louder than necessary and drew the ire of another passenger on the bus.

            They both stopped momentarily before the person looked away and they both broke into laughter.

The bus came to a stop in front of the park they were at on Friday.

            “I am Spaceman Spiff!” Cal yelled as he marched off the bus, shaking a random passenger's hand before he stomped off the bus and onto the sidewalk.

            “He's a nutcase is what he is,” Thomas said to the shaken passenger eyeing Cal.

۞

            Cal just barely stopped in time before he collided with an old gentleman. The old man stopped in front of him, visibly distressed.

            “Excuse me young man, have you seen my dog?” His bald head and large ears distracted Calvin immediately.

            “No sir, I have not seen one, but I can help look if you want.”

            “Oh, splendid, well, he's a Beagle, and we got separated on the road a while back.”

            “You think he came to the park?”

            “Yes, I saw him shoot over here when we were separated.”

            “Okay, well I'll look for him for a while. I'll do my best!” Cal pledged before Thomas wrapped his arm around Cal's shoulder and looked at the man before him.

            “He's the right superhero for the job!”

            Calvin pushed Thomas off with a grin and looked back at the old man who stared between both of them.

            The old man fumbled his fingers before Cal asked what his name was.

            “Oh, my apologies, my name is Wallace, and who might you be?” he replied.

            “Hello Wallace, I am Cal and this idiot is Thomas,” Cal said before dodging a punch and asking, “Are you going to stay within the park or search the city too?”

            “He's in the park, I saw him go behind those trees,” Wallace said pointing to the small forest guarding the far side of the open grass fields.

            “Well, I suggest the hotdog stand and a swing to help soothe your nerves.” Cal said with a chuckle at the end.

            Thomas laughed behind him cynically before cutting in, “Just don't put the two together, right Calvin?”

            “Get lost,” Cal said sarcastically before shaking Wallace's hand and heading towards the open fields.

            Cal trotted through the random activities happening in the fields as he made his way to the tree line. Thomas was close behind him as they broke into the civilian jungle of trees and small rivers inside the park.

            “I said I would find him!” Cal said as the two of them negotiated their way down slopes and over tree roots.

            “I know, I want to help!” Thomas replied as they both stumbled down a steep section of an embankment.

            “Now this, is a jungle.” Cal said as he moved around shrubs that attacked his calves.

            “This is a perfect job for Spaceman Spiff!” Taunting Cal.

            “Ha, you're such a loser.” Cal replied before he tripped over a fallen branch, “Whoa!”

            Cal popped his hands out to catch his fall and landed on soft fresh dug dirt.

            “Careful there!” Thomas said as he caught up to Cal and stopped suddenly once he broke through the plants.

            “Stupid root,” Calvin muttered as he got back up and slapped his hands on his shorts.

            “Dude,” Thomas said as he poked Cal in the shoulder.

            “What?” Cal asked before he looked up.

            Both of them followed a path of fresh dark brown dirt. Plants were ripped from their place in a line before it fell off an embankment further down from where they stood. Cal looked the other way as Thomas followed the trail to the side of the hill. Cal saw a gash in the tree branches above them that exposed the clear blue sky.

            “What did this?” Thomas asked bewildered.

            “Isn't it obvious?” Cal looked around and opened his arms, “Aliens!”

            Thomas frowned back.

            “No really!” Thomas turned away from Calvin and stepped to the top of the hill where the trail disappeared, “CALVIN!”

            Calvin ran over to Thomas and looked down in the ravine.

            “Is, that a—plane?” Thomas asked.

            “Yes, maybe, no, I don't know!” Calvin replied, amazed at the scene.

            They saw pieces of red shattered and scattered about. Some pieces dug into the ground while a main mass of them resembled the shape of a cockpit.

            Cal looked around the wreckage before, “There!” He maneuvered his way down the embankment.

            Dirt covered fur of a dog was curled up against the side of the embankment. Itss chest heaved up and down, panting slightly as it laid there. Cal saw the head and recognized the Beagle breed with its droopy ears and extended snout. He cautiously walked over.

            “Is that a dog?!” Thomas asked once he saw where Calvin was headed.

            “I think so—hey fella.” He approached the animal, “Are you okay?”

            “I don't think a dog can understand English, Cal.”

            The dog raised its head and looked at them. Its brow furrowed and nodded slowly.

            “Okay, I give up, this doesn't make any sense.” Thomas dropped a piece of debris to the dirt.

            Cal couldn't look away from the dog's eyes. He felt a connection, a communication through the way the dog stared back.

            “This is definitely that old man's dog.”

            The dog slowly got to its feet, brow raised along with its ears perked up at the mention of an old man.

            “What! How is that—this doesn't even make sense!” Thomas complained as he looked around the pieces of whatever crashed.

             “Alright...” Calvin reached for the collar and found that there was no tag on it, “I guess we just walk out. Like heroes.”

            Calvin stood and walked back to Thomas, “Let’s get out of here before we get in trouble for this.”

            “Whatever, this can't be real,” Thomas said before he gave up looking at the wreckage and turned to Calvin and the dog, “or maybe it can, Cal look at the dog.”

            Calvin turned and saw the dog by his side standing on its back legs. If it didn't keep his hands at the sides he’d appear to be begging.

            “Oh my god Thomas, this is just awesome. I don't even know.”

            Together Calvin, Thomas, and the dog walked back the way they came. They made their way through the shrubs and over up the hill of trees towards the grassy knoll. Their walk was silent. Imagination wasn't the only thing at work for both of them as they watched the Beagle on all fours walking slightly ahead of them. The Beagle stood once it reached the last tree before re-entering the park. The two guys walked ahead and the dog dropped to all fours and followed closely.

            They made their way through the crowds of people. Together they padded along and weaved their way towards the hotdog stand. The old man was nowhere to be seen.

            “He must be at the swings.”

۞

            “There he is, haha, he's on the swings,” Thomas pointed at the old man swaying on the swings.

            His overbite became increasingly visible as they got closure.

            “Okay, let’s go get Wallace!” Calvin said at the dog.

            A look of thanks was shot back at Calvin before the dog trotted ahead of the two.

            Wallace safely hopped off the swing with a teeth clad smile. He clasped his hands together excitedly.

            “Gromit! There you are pup!” He said as he patted him gently on the head. Gromit's tail wagged excitedly. He took his place next to his owner.

            Both men stood there quietly, a weight of depression slowly sank in they watched the owner pet his dog.

            Wallace moved over to Calvin and shook his hand, “Quite the hero aren't ya, lad? I can't thank you enough for helping find my dog.”

            “Spaceman spiff to the rescue yet again.” Thomas said quiet for just Cal to hear.

            Cal smiled and shook Wallace's hand saying, “It wasn't a problem, and please call me Calvin.”

            “As a boy I used to swing on swings all the time,” Wallace said as he kept his hand on the head of Gromit, “I'd launch myself off like a rocket. Crashed like one too, haha.”

            Both Thomas and Cal looked at each other.

            “Well, boys, I can't say thank you enough. Here's my address and phone number, the least you could do is come over sometime for Tea and a slice of Wensleydale[2].”

            Gromit raised his ears in attention as both of them waited for their answer.

            A slight silence passed before Cal replied, “That’d be great.”

            “It's the least I could do. I knew you were the right two that could find my dog.” Wallace said before motioning for them to walk with him.

            Together the foursome walked out of the park and stopped at the bus stop. They waited for the bus in silence and shook hands before splitting off.

            Cal walked down the aisle and watched Wallace walk away, Gromit nowhere in sight. Cal sat down in his same seat next to the window and looked out. He saw Thomas in the reflection staring back at him, a grin pursed on his.

            “Quite the adventure, eh pal?”

            “You know it buddy.”

۞

            Calvin came up to work the next day with his hair styled foolishly. He walked into his office and opened to the windows to the tree line to the park.

            Calvin took a seat at his desk. Threw about some papers, picked up a pen, and waited; his pen at the tips of his fingers—ready.

---

[1]. Calvin works at an Advertising firm because it is the only thing that keeps his attention and utilizes his expansive imagination. Copy is a term used for the words that are place within ads that either describe or do a call to action.

[2]. Wallace and Gromit is an animated clay series made in Britain. The duo have four thirty minute shorts.  One full length movie(made in 2008). Gromit is a super intelligent dog who is as much an inventor as his owner Wallace. Wallace has an immense affection for cheese, especially Wensleydale. 

Communion

11-6-2011

            One part in this book caught me off guard. Well, it changed the way I read the rest of the book the instant I saw it. I don't know what religion you follow, believe, or associate yourself with but I was raised Lutheran and this style of paper will be based around it. In addition to being a Lutheran, I am also a preacher's kid, an escaped preacher's kid. In a way, I ran from it by paying to go to college in Lincoln versus my hometown of Kearney, Nebraska where I had a supportive family.

             Reading, The Coffins of Little Hope, by Timothy Schaffert, I was hit with a sense of homesickness. It has been a few years since I've been back to Kearney. A surprise hit with how quick an emotional reaction I had only a couple chapters in. I almost stopped reading it all together a few pages later. This response is more about how a few words can build and destroy the reader. They can help a damaged conscious bask in pain and rest the effort to heal something from the past. How it can make you homesick and sick of home.

            For starters, I grew up in a church that introduced me to world just as my dad got there to take over. My dad succeeded in adapting to the congregation of about seventy people, a small church by any standard under Christian morals. He took the reins two months after I was born, so I grew with it. Everyone became family for me. They pampered me as an infant. I loved it, my mom told me. Teased me as a child, telling me how handsome I was for being five years old. I loathed it.

            Sadly, I continued to grow older with that resentment, I avoided God because of the people under him. I hated the attention that my real family received versus the others within the congregation. We saw everyone once a week where we were the perfect family under a house of God. We worshiped, lived and sang together, and everything was fine for the day. Outside of the one day where every family sacrificed their free time to repent, everything went back to normal. Their jobs returned on Mondays and family time was unimpeded with dinner or a movie night. If they had any problems of some sort they would call their pastor. Or if it was a more private matter they might show up at his house to ask for help. It was his job after all.

            I was raised to think that it was selfish to complain about not getting to play with my dad. So I grew up silent—waiting for him to be able to play. Sitting here, three hundred miles away, I can only love him for the dedication he has shown for his family.

            Schaffert hit this nerve of mine in a small segment. I stopped reading and stared at it. It stood out like an evil figure in the storyline. My nostrils flared at one point. It was Abby Most and her migraine. The significance so miniscule, I practically dropped the book. Another character, Daisy, had shown up at the church. She was torn emotionally and physically to pieces. She needed help and she would receive it,

            “I'm up here because I have a migraine,” Abby said. As she reached up to rub her temples, she hesitated, wondering if that gesture was just a touch too much. The devil's in the details. “I have to keep...well, I'm up here because I have to keep elevated.”

            “The elders are all in the church, but we need a woman right now,” the secretary said.

            “You're a woman,” Abby said.

            The secretary sighed. “Mrs. Most,” she said. She shrugged her shoulders and took off her glasses to clean them with the cuff of her blouse. “You and your husband have run roughshod over this church since the second you darkened our doorstep. Now you have a chance to redeem yourself, and I'm trying to help you.” (51).

A few paragraphs above this incident and into the quote shows the adversity of being related to a pastor, it's a pressure that each sibling feels. The secretary exposes several things in addition to this small attack on the wife's job of being a wife to the pastor.

            She has no privacy. They have no privacy, especially in a parish house. There is no luxury of hiding. No time to let down your guard and be somewhat intimate. The house is bought and paid for by the church—the congregation—and therefore there is nothing unethical, immoral, or unjust of walking into it and asking for attention. It is for their use. Daisy is brought into it after Abby takes her under her forced care and before her husband, the secretary, and the elders of the church she is forced to do her job. It is a job that she doesn't know how to do and everyone expects her to do it—even her husband, “Her husband had never called her Mrs. Most, and on his tongue the name sounded like a scolding. Abby blushed. She hated his tone and the unspoken condescension of the old men in her house.”(53). Move the situation to a house that the pastor does own, and it becomes a bombing of phone calls and door bells at any time, day or night. Everything takes priority to a pastor when a member of the church goes out of their way to come and receive counseling. Every. Time. So I waited.

            Also, as previously mentioned, it is a job to be: married to, child of, or siblings with the pastor. You are held in a different light and it isn't Holy. There is no right or wrong that can be done, only moral or immoral in a follower’s eyes. The religious ethical judgment allows free shots at judging another human is seen in the secretary's attack on the pastor. From a business side, that's in short, busting into the boss's house and verbally assaulting his wife or significant other. Christianity preaches to 'turn the other cheek' when it comes to situations like this and Abby perfects it. There is no skin tougher than a pastor’s family. She lets sting of the words subside as her duty, her job, takes priority to how she feels. Her migraine will have to wait.

            Turning the tables a bit, I was also touched by the previous chapter. Schaffert's small summary of the Lutheran-Nebraskans was spot on from the many churches that I have seen. The placid style of how they keep their passion in a polite manner hit home. He describes the perfect appearance of the audience on Sundays, “The members of the choirs not only don't dance, they don't sway. That's not to say no on is ever smacked hard with God's love or filled up to the eyeballs with the Holy Spirit, but when you are, you keep it to yourself.” (48). Their concealed experiences are what keep them coming back. That power of God within them that sparks their courage to come, before and after Sunday to seek further enlightenment. They don’t seek forgiveness but instead a connection to the apparent innocent holy man. A connection of family to the pastor and his communication of everything you’ve done is okay as long as you’re here. Not his own nor his family's.

            And so I watched and waited. I waited for them to have their words, communion, to have their fill of the spirit; whether it be Holy or that facade of making them feel better after family squabble. I feel bad writing it, I was raised to bury these feelings and not disclose them. It was devilish to allow them inside. Hide them away, away from the rest of the family and show a cheeky smile or affection. Finally, I moved away and never looked back. I showed no cheek, I didn't burn any bridges in my escape. I just turned away and left with more luggage than I thought.

Comparison Poems

A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

A Plane within a Plane by this something or other writer

Fasten your belts and pop your ears!

It's time to release travel hardened fears,

They kick in with takeoff--

Reality gone, a blur from speed

Till I am too high for weed

To fear my death from the fall;

My emotions vibrate, they call

My heart with tremors I feel,

This new heat within me is revealed,

I have to shake my personal bane

To cool off within the plane.

I see a new try

Clouds blanket my clean sky

A canvas of uncolored color,

A site quite duller--

No builds and no scrapes,

Only vast beautiful blue drapes,

Soothe the vigilant emotion that rapes!

I lose my balmy touch,

My cheeks unclench from their clutch!

Much as the sky's complexion,

Fear becomes a reflection,

I see myself, just me, plain

I'm flying within a plane.

Puppy

Her fireman's fur too long for Cruella,

Too wired unlike a baked Calie,

She bordered me like Babe,

Her fur shed like a mist on my legs

I felt home with her at my side.

I felt home beside salt and pepper dotted fur,

Her black head cut white between brown eyes,

It ran like a shadow behind her ears,

My hands covered it as Abe's hand and his chair,

justified to claim myself home.

Her tail curled wherever she stepped

Wagging with power to knock on a door

Bouncing with youth fifteen years old

Once her tongue stopped I knew I was home.