The Narrow Ledge

I haven't read this poem in years and well, it's not as clean as I'd like it to be, but it's still strong in how it affects me.  The story behind this is that I basically had this image in my mind while in youth group a while back and it's always stuck with me.  I hope you enjoy it and find it encouraging.

The Narrow Ledge

A man walks

But not where others are

Yet, where everyone is in its place

Here is another realm

In fact, I think the man is myself

On a Narrow Ledge

A Ledge no columns hold

There is only forward as well

Nothing is behind me
Oh, there is a couple!

No shouts will turn

Now the left sphere of vision is blue and calm

While the right,

Molten reds and yellows

Where dragon-like flames

Fly and threaten to pull me down

I know, it is an illusion

Meant to cause me to stumble

But evermore,

To take my soul

While the right is busy,

The blue left is encouraging

I cannot help

But want to jump
Oh, wait, a couple just did

Yet, the dragon swept them away

To the right,

Oh the screams of desperation

I step,

Guess there is no other way

Of joining the deep blue

Yet, the sounds there

Are beyond musical

I myself want to reach

Out to the blue on my own
But the dragons
Oh well, must go forward
After some time

I reach another phase

It seems

That both the blue and red side

Are reacting to each other

Great winds become visible

To the eye

Tornadoes roam an all sides

The Ledge stays still

I can feel the wind

But I know it won’t take me

If I don’t look at it

I look down the ledge

Again, not much to see

Though there is a star

I would say it’s white,

But each twinkle denies

That statement

Then a person stops down

Further along the narrow

I cautiously move on

Closer and closer I come

He turns and faces me

Horrifically he talks

With many mouths, only two eyes

But the mouths talk in unison

And with different voices

Some I recognize as my own

I begin to despair

I can’t go around,

It is too narrow

Falling to my knees

I begin to truly weep

After some time I stop

The demon gone

With no composure

I run and streams

Of tears flow in my wake

It must have been days

When I tripped and fell

I got up and another

Was staring at me

Only this had many faces

It could have been a man

Or demon, but much greater was he

For he took my hand

And contact unveiled my

Eyes to see his faces as one

He did not say much

Just that,

“You have been forgiven much”

I wept and embraced him

I sobbingly kissed his hands

He led me forward

And I saw the star

Again, it followed the man

We came to a door

He motioned me to go

I was scared, but knew

All would be well

I stepped through

As I opened

Lights of all colors

And songs of all forms

Bathed me with

A never-ending joy

I cried again, but

Happy tears fell

I ran with my

Welcoming song

And met all the others

So many people, even

Magical creatures I only

Saw in dreams

Bowed their welcome

Then I saw him again

He was sitting on a great throne

With the mightiest of angels

Beast and humans alike

And I began to worship

Never again did I care

About my own time

Worship became eternal

And joy became worship

©T.S. Graveline

Colonoscopy--Wrote this a few years ago

Colonoscopy

“Take three deep breaths.”

And let the hour long coma

Take place.  This is the single,

Most amazing feeling in life.

I can completely escape reality.

Don’t have to think about school,

Work, family, lack of a love life,

But for just one hour I don’t have to think.

Thinking is the worst thing I can do.

No senses are at work in this state.

Complete imagination takes over.

It’s as if I’ve found another reality,

Another dimension within my mind.

I only wish I could travel the gurney

Of midnight delight, and ride it to Ink and Write.

Who knows, perhaps this is the same sphere

The opium addict writers of the past found.

This is where I want to be. 

            Yet, I would rather not

Have to go through the process of surgery to find

Home.  I awake and the nurse tells me, “You must

Pass gas or there may be damage.”  I have license to

Fart all I want to.  Another great side-effect.

© T.S. Graveline

The Writing Block- Part 2

This is a continuous segment about Writer's Block.

Today's note is about the nature of some writers, like myself, who struggle to figure out how to make a break through.

Here is what I propose writers do.  Write something! Anything! Even if it's not relevant to your book.  The more you're writing the more engaged your brain is and thus, the more likely you'll break through to the other side of that pesky brick wall.  It doesn't matter how you get there.  Who cares if you climb it, break it, use a police tank as a battering ram, just find a way to get to the green pastures you've been dying to frolic in.

Keep at it folks and remember, just because you passed one wall, doesn't mean more won't come up again. So keep keepin' on like the Brady Bunch.

A poem for one of my favorite romances

The Shepherdess

It was so innocent.  It was pure excitement.

He kissed me and here He stays a month.

I will never forget that touch.  His eyes,

His arms, his breath, and his smell.  Him.

I see him as I pass by, I love how he looks

At me.  Oh the determination.  I hide behind

My sheep, waiting, and wishing I knew his heart.

I knew it was going to happen, I couldn’t stop it

From hurting.  He was furious. His eyes were dejected. 

He dared not look at me.  I saw his sorrow, but
He came through for me.  Why must the customs

Barge our Love? Yet a week has passed and here

We are.  I can taste his sweat, his lips, and his hands.

The joy of love, there was so much sorrow to

Overcome, but I can’t help but be lost in our promise.

His Eyes

I saw Her, and a passion so innate came over me.

I knew not myself, but I knew my other half.

Work was worth every split second of a glimpse.

Just to gaze upon Her moving so gracefully amongst

Her herd.  She is no typical woman, She is the

Shepherdess I wish to watch over my children.  I

Don’t even remember much more than a second.

My heart was torn from me when I woke after.

Leah was next to me, not Rachel.  I cried out,

For I had defaced my love for Her.  Her father

Forced me into another seven, to make fourteen

Years.  Rachel was worth the wait, She may not

Know it, but there was no one else for me.  I

Would have Her.  She is my bride, my true bride. 

© T.S. Graveline

A little news and a poem

News first: I have a friend who is going to take over editing duties on the first book.  Hopefully, this means the book gets completed sooner and in your hands.  It really should be a fun experience and will help me grow in my own writing I'm sure.  It always helps to get other perspectives on what is or isn't working.  So be excited about that.

Here is an older poem I thought I'd share that I enjoyed writing:

“Du arme Sau”

A roaring pain

Half of my mid-section is gone

All I can feel is pain

The senses have never been,

Alert like this

Next sensation comes

With warmth and sputters

I can feel it rising

All the way to my throat

Clogging my airways

Lungs gasp for air

Only to soak in the thick red

I gargle blood as if it was water

A cool hand jerks me back down

I don’t remember sitting up

The voice said something

I struggle, but my ears are ringing

So loud, my body crashes

With every second

My eyes flutter to a gray color

I see his dirty coat

No longer white

All is gray

I see her again

Her words icy and blue

“Alles wird gut,” said she

I didn’t believe her, those eyes

Then the most sensational cool came

I woke in the dark

Feeling almost weightless, yet still

Then like a slap

Everything was white

The barbaric thing took me

And caged me

Then she came again

The familiar gray

She held something so painful

I tried to get away

But my stubby fat got in the way

The cool steel punctured me

There was no cooing

She only barked,

“du arme Sau”

And I wailed with pain

Again

Second time she said that

© T. S. Graveline 

The Polyphonic Thief

The Polyphonic Thief

I loved trains, with

Their bravado-like march

But when close, there was

No chugga-chugga, just overwhelming bass

Last time I enjoyed this,

I was two years old.  I

Was on my 3-wheeling Harley,

With all the sidewalk I could ask for,

And listening to “Highway to Hell.”

On my way home from the railroad,

I met Lincoln.  A white boat, and this old lady,

I never saw her face, just gray hair and a steering wheel.

I bowed before them.  They unceremoniously lurched atop me,

Andre the Giant had on white-metallic spandex that day, black rubber gloves,

Chrome teeth, maybe braces, and gray chest hair.  Never did see his face.  I knew

It was him though.  We wrestled, till his hair was breaking out of the spandex, ripping, distorting reality.  I think I was scared.  Or is it scarred? 

Darkness took me.

My head came out with the stitchings of a baseball,

Adorned with a body carrying a black rubber sash

Given for heroism, stupidity, or just pure grace.  

                                              The Polyphonic Thief robbed me.

                                              From that moment on, I never knew true sound.

© T.S. Graveline

A poem that links some of my deafness to other areas of my childhood

Say Yellow

            1

Yeawoah.  No. Say yellow.

Yeawoah.  No, yellow!

That’s what I said…

Nevermind.

            2

My yellow magic blanket;

was in fact magic, my

comforter, always kept cool

or warm, it was what I

requested, protected, projected,

my screen of life, the tangible

wall, the wall that oppresses

till ’89, must fall.  It fell.

it was torn, thread by thread,

lost its magic hold over

me, freedom came, yet,

what is with the change?

The unraveling left me naked,

alone in the dark, no longer

cool or warm. Molten

frost became me. 

            3

Can one hear yellow?

Do colors make sound?

Sound is too mechanized,

there are no purities, nothing

tempered or refined.  Only

time has helped the aids, the

yellow ear-molds show age.

Now I need true yellow, geld,

which is gelb.  The former

now comes green, whereas

gelb is still gelb, albeit

I can’t hear the difference

auf Deutsch.

© T.S. Graveline