“Each standing in the other’s light” – Haibun – July 4, 2015

“When does love begin or end … is it something that has a beginning or end?  What is this thing we call love.  Do the birds love?”

She sat on the rocks looking out at sea and the gulls flying overhead, the turbulence that were her emotions resonating with the waves that lapped at her feet.   She wondered if just walking away might be a solution to the problem that was her “love life” as she thought about the words she shuddered … “love life” seemed a misnomer for her relationship with him.

When they’d first met, he seemed another person, though thinking back she realized that he’d never really changed.

The problems began when his own expounded philosophy got in the way of his deeply egocentric personality.  From the first “you have to find your talent, walk your own road – be yourself!”  clashed abysmally with his real need to be followed and emulated, she should have realized that those words spoken had nothing to do with what was really being said.  Of course, he believed every word he enunciated.  The problem was that he believed them for himself alone and didn’t even realize it.

Now the blah – blah – blah of all his beautiful words echoed around her and she felt cheated.  She now realized that she’d fallen in love with his ideals, his concepts that promised that wonderful state of being oneself with another beside you … perhaps if they’d never gone beyond ideals she could still imagine that here before her was an exceptional man.  She’d never believed in the idea of melting into another to become a whole … maybe she was the defective element, maybe that’s what living with another person was all about.  Could it be true, as he’d often said, that she was too individualistic – maybe she was the egocentric after all.

“What is love?  Where does it begin, when does it end?”

She’d always detested the popular love songs that played endlessly on the radio … “I need you to need me” seemed to be at the base of all those songs.  Need … The other favourite line: “I want you to want me”. Want …. Need and Want … babies need and want she thought, isn’t there something out there for adults.  She wondered if it was possible to walk beside someone else without “each standing in the other’s light”*?

echoing waves
the tide rolls out leaving sand
without footprints

© G.s.k. ‘15

*from The Thin Red Line

Just a Note – A Confession – August 16, 2014

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My old art work

Dear World,

Some of you who have been following me for ages have probably noticed that lately I’ve been writing less than usual … and commenting and reading posts even less. I have to make a confession here, my problem is a relationship problem.

I’ve been with my husband for around thirty years and in these thirty years I’ve had many interests that irked him.  He is the sort of person who encourages others to “develope their talents” as he does but anything that is outside his control irritates him.  Although throughout the years I’ve started projects and have had success with them, the tension that grows constantly usually blocks whatever enthusiasm and energy that I have to continue along that particular path.  It’s the constant erosion of his daily laments and criticisms that eventually, for a bit of peace, makes me decide to stop whatever I’ve begun.

I wasn’t surprised then when once I started blogging to start getting flack about how much time I waste on the computer and Internet.  The bone he picks is that Internet isn’t the real world and that I’m wasting my time writing because I’ll never be able to publish anything.  Plus, I certainly shouldn’t be indulging in those “silly useless social communities” and the like.  Try as I might to explain to him that blogging isn’t Facebook has been a waste of breath.  So, I usually blog from around 4 or 5 in the morning and stop when he gets up.  Sometimes I go to the local library when it’s open or to my favorite caffè where they have given me their password so that I can write or read.

Once upon a time, he would have gotten up around 10 … so I had time to read and write without any serious problems.  Lately though he’s been getting up at 7 or max 8.  Believe me, it’s not as though I neglect anything … it’s just that he doesn’t write.  If he were to have a blog, then probably there would be less problems … except he’d probably have something to say about me writing poetry instead of something more socially moving. He thinks haiku, by the way,  is a structural straight jacket leaving no room for true creativity.

Anyway … not to go into details, I just wanted everyone to know why I’m not doing all the commenting and reading that I should, especially on those sites where I participate doing prompts.  I’ve considered not doing prompts to avoid the problem, but I do so enjoy them.

I know by the way, that I’m not alone in this particular boat.  There are many other people who have a similar problem at home. I’ve decided to keep on with this project, even if it means daily struggle and stress.  I know I’m no Hemingway but writing has so enriched me that to stop now would really leave a gaping whole in my soul.

With affection,  Georgia.

 

Father and Son (Friday Fictioneers)

Copyright -Claire Fuller

Copyright -Claire Fuller

Side by side they worked
Under the warm West Virginian sky
A father and his son,
Building a model biplane:
They felt like the brothers Wright.

Pipe dreams
Filled the workshop,
Thoughts of their fine future
Flying together through life’s sky
For all eternity.

The boy grew into a man.
He differed from his dad.
Their harmony moved into conflict,
They never stopped reflected nor wondered.
They didn’t look back once.

Time passed as time always does,
What was done was done.
Those men no longer talked,
Each walked his separate pathway.
Only the ghosts of pipe dreams still remained.

Word count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers: January 31, 2014

Go here for the links to other Friday Fictioneers!

Shards of Glass

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERABattles fought
Battles lost and won,
Observed
Through the reflections
Of the shards of broken glass.
Their spider-web
Of pain,
After each battle, grew
Another painful splinter
Embedded in their hearts,
Rapidly killing the light
Of the dimming candle dream,
That was their new love.
It languished,
Suffocated,
By the early stress
Of their fragile insecurities…
Creating a deadly tug of war
Which left nothing
for them to share,
Outside of each other’s arms.
Now, the memory,
Of that early dawn,
The wonderful promise they sought,
Speaking their names with joy,
Is gone,
dead.
There lies their love,
Over before it began…
A glimmering memory
Of a promise
In another somber
Dark suicidal dream.
On the tombstone’s written:
“Here lies the broken fragments
Of our weary hearts.”

Free Verse: First Love…

storm

storm

Free Verse

First Love

Remember the first kiss, the first caress,
The first warm surge that tingled throughout our body and soul,
The first exchange of ideas, thoughts, hopes and dreams,
That convinced you that I was all you wanted,
And me that you were all I needed?

Remember the first time we looked into each other’s eyes,
The first glimpse of the Universe’s infinite beauty,
The awareness, that only comes from common souls and minds,
How we were sure, that nothing could tear us apart,
We were sufficient unto ourselves?

Remember the gifts that we gave, to one another,
We celebrated each passing day, week, month of our unique love
Remember how we walked among the people
Before the world united, hand in hand,
No one could have separated us,
So strong and eternal was our love?

The days passed,
they became months,
they became years,
You who seemed so unique,
Somehow lost your specialness
I who was so perfect,
Somehow lost my luster,
And inside we no longer felt fulfilled or satisfied
Tarnish had set in
Blackening the silver lining of our love.

One day, we found,
The drifting had created a rift
We both knew,
But didn’t want to admit,
That our love was dying,
Fading like the sun in the west,
We tried to save it,
We wanted to save it,
But, then it was gone.

We separated.

We forgot the first kiss, the first caress
The first warm surge that tingled throughout our body and soul,
The first exchange of ideas, thoughts, hopes and dreams,
That convinced you that I was all you wanted,
And me that you were all I needed.

Only a tear remains,  a little resentment,
The disappointment, the loneliness, the sadness.
Will my heart ever mend?  will I ever love again?
Now I ask;  what is love really all about,
In the end.