Futurelawyer

China Doll.

She seemed so delicate.

Her pure white skin

was pale against his dark arm.

He was afraid she would break

if he held her too tightly.

She spoke of secret desires,

and he understood.

He wanted her with a fire,

eternal in its power.

It lit his life,

and threatened to burn;

but, he moved closer anyway.

He wanted to feed her

with his power.

He wanted to hold her with his arms.

He wanted to seduce her with his intelligence.

His words

were tools,

to let her know

that deep inside,

he wanted to grasp her soul,

and carry it to ecstasy.

He imagined that she sat

before a quiet stream

next to a forest.

He admired her from a secret place.

He approached, unseen,,

and she leaned forward

to hear the passing water.

He knew that if she heard him coming,

she would,

deer-like,

run away to a place of safety,

thinking him to be just another hunter

looking for a meal.

How could he show her

that he was, like her,

a frightened deer,

running away from the hunters

who chased after him,

and that,

together,

they could protect each other

from the destroyers

and the breakers of china?

#PoetryFriday - When The Doorbell Rings.

I wonder what you will look like,
when you come for me.
Will you ring a bell
to announce yourself?
Will you wear a black robe
and carry a weapon?
Or, will you stealthily
come in the night,
when I am sleeping?
I wonder if you will
have a recognizable face,
or wear a mask
to hide your identity.
I know that you will come.
I know that you are coming
for me.
Will I have time
to bargain with you?
Will I be granted
the grace of a warning?
What if I still have things to do?
What if there are others
who need me?
Do you have feelings
for those you visit?
Do you bring a gift
along with your message?
I wonder whether
you will allow me
the benefit of waiting
until I have done what
I need to do?
Perhaps I will hide from you,
in a place where you do not go.
Perhaps I can avoid
your visit
for a little while.
I promise that I will not
be a problem.
I promise that I will
tell others to acknowledge you,
and I promise that I will
answer the door
when the doorbell rings.

#TBT - Spaceman.

The Stoics teach that traveling to faraway places is not a substitute for dealing with our ability to control our actions and reactions to our fates. This recalls the mountaineer who, when asked why he climbed the mountain, answered: "Because it is there". When we seek answers to our daily strife, perhaps we need to look closer to home.

SPACEMAN

He pushed the envelope

Put on a white spacesuit

Trained for years

Swam in weightless swimming pools

Took a thousand medical tests

Waited for his day to ride the candle

up to the moon

and back.

He left his family

waiting

at the altar

of professional accomplishment

Wondering whether it was worth it

To see the stars.

The spacecraft

had a million parts

complex computers

lights blinking madly

monster engines

burning fuel and gas

exploding into the darkness

of a launch pad

built with the sweat of a thousand men and women.

When he got to space

He brushed his teeth

looked into the mirror

slept eight hours

read a book

did his work

and looked out the porthole

at the same stars.

Shadowrunner.

 

 

Before he met her,

He spent his time in the shadows,

running away from scary things.

Streetlights and sunshine

were the enemy.

If he ventured into them,

he would be burned.

When someone followed him

into the dark,

their light flickered,

and their spark retreated

with him,

into dark places.

He became adept

at running in the shadows,

never risking sunburn

or discovery,

always keeping safely

under the radar

of the invisible light.

When she appeared

outside the line

between darkness and light,

he was dazzled by her brilliance.

He knew that she would never follow him

into a place without light

or sunshine.

His pale skin,

made paler by years of hiding,

would have to risk sunburn,

if he were to go with her.

His eyes would require

a period of time

to get used to the glare,

and he would have to understand

the new life

as a new reader reads a book.

He stepped into the light,

felt the warmth of it,

and knew that he would never

live in the shadows again.

#PoetryFriday - Lover.

I have grown accustomed to your body

next to mine.

I imagine its curving skin,

touched by my hands,

gently.

I am alone in my bed,

tossing and turning,

reaching out

to touch you,

grasping at the image of you.

I speak to the image

and pretend the response.

I am a child

with a peanut-butter smile,

playing cowboys and indians

in a back yard

filled with monsters

and scary things.

I fear being alone,

and I am frightened to be near you.

I love wanting you,

and being wanted by you.

Do not be

away

very long.

#PoetryFriday - What Happens When We Die?

“Daddy, what will happen when you die?”
I had not contemplated death in a while.
Was the question answerable?
If we are honest with ourselves,
does it matter?
If we believe in God,
and He exists,
our death will be a journey to the divine.
If we don’t,
and we are right,
we will still journey,
but only to oblivion.
We can’t know,
of course.
We can only smell the flowers,
immerse ourselves in happy times,
do good deeds for others,
spend times with loved ones,
find a comforting bed to sleep in,
and a comforting lover to be with.
I considered the alternatives.
If an almighty Being cared about me,
in person,
one with the universe,
why would he cause me pain?
Why would he bring me the anguish
of death?
What is the reason
for disease?
What is the reason
for war?
Why does evil exist?
If there is no God,
what is my purpose?
Can a life without purpose
be worth living?

“It’s a mystery”,
I answered,
hoping that the lack of an answer
wouldn’t spark a lifetime
of fruitless searching for meaning,
a lifetime spending time wondering,
rather than spending time living,
in a young soul
that hadn’t yet lived.

Reunion Redux.

I wrote this after one of my high school reunions a few years ago. We have shared marriages, death, sickness, happiness, joy and the rest of life's inevitable events at these rare gatherings, and the Internet has provided a central place to pray and care for each other. Shared age, shared goals, shared desire for joy and happiness, and a shared need for emotional support have been helpful to all of us. The shared human experience is augmented by our shared history. 

He sat at the table

looked around

and saw the images of his youth.

Each of the women

had been the subject of his inept fantasies

so many years ago.

He was awkward and unsure of himself then

and never asked them to dance.

His mind was elsewhere

and his face was always in a book.

He never went to the dances

or the parties.

He told himself

that he would be safe

with little human contact;

but, when he moved on to college

he had to learn those skills to get along.

He regretted that his adolescent self

missed sharing part of his life with them.

He looked around the table again.

He was happy that their radiant beauty remained

and the glow of their maturity

warmed him.

Their smiles reminded him of teenage passions

and long-lost loves.

He told them he loved them,

turned to the one he loved

and knew that his life

had meaning.

Spending Time On Planet Earfth.

He rubbed his eyes

and drank the coffee.

The room was quiet

and his books surrounded him.

He heard the hum of the fluorescent light

that didn’t seem natural.

The keyboard keys gave a satisfying click

and the sound rhythmically marked his progress

as he wrote.

He adjusted his glasses

and remembered a time long ago

when he didn’t need them.

He felt the twinge of his arthritis

which reminded him regularly

that he was old.

He was alone

in the early morning

and wondered where his wife might be.

He made a mental note

of the things he had to do today,

but knew that he wouldn’t do them all.

He would feel guilty about it tomorrow.

It felt like he was waiting for something.

He kept a routine,

because he didn’t want to worry

about what would happen next.

But, he knew

what waited for him.

He tried to imagine what was on the other side

of the door.

He realized that he no longer heard

the hum of the air conditioner.

But, as soon as that idea occurred,

the hum became louder.

No matter how much he moved the books

and other stuff around,

all of it still needed to be rearranged..

He knew that he faced endless days

of rearranging

and redistributing

and dusting everything,

until he wasn’t there to rearrange anymore.

He knew that everything dies

sooner or later.

Why was he spending his life organizing it?

#PoetryFriday - Book Fair.

The men and women walked the aisles

of the book fair.

Their gaze fell upon

ornate leather bindings,

and they moved into the booths

like Panthers on the prowl.

They peered through narrow eyes,

squinting as in the bright sun.

Their fingers lovingly moved

over the books,

with a reverence

reserved for their god.

They opened the books,

looking for marks of the firstborn,

judging their condition

like beauty pageant contestants.

Money was no object,

and rarity was a good thing.

In this contest,

antiquity was the winner,

and some collectors

cared more about depriving others

of a find,

and wanted to keep the books safe

from the destroyers of knowledge.

After their purchases,

they went home to their other books,

put the new ones

in the bookcase,

and never touched them again.

Seeking Fame Is A Fool's Errand.

In today's world, fame is fleeting, and seeking it is a useless exercise. It attracts attention, and often the attention is destructive. It magnifies faults, and overstates ability, and, while it may bring money and other things, it isn't a goal the wise man seeks. Avoid the spotlight. It is easier to find joy.

He gave tours of the house and garden.

He guided his guests

down the hallways

and into the rooms,

filled with trophies and awards.

The ribbons and medals were neatly arranged

in shadow boxes

made from wood and metal and glass.

They glowed in the morning light

that came through the windows,

made of Italian glass.

In the halls were photographs

of his conquests

and his ceremonies.

They were filled with more trophies

and awards,

testimonies to his career

and his past glory.

He loved to talk about his past,

while he spent his present

reminding everyone of what he had been.

He is dead now.

Others give the tours;

but, they do it in a graveyard,

telling all who will listen

about the great man buried here,

who once was famous

and great

and who collected medals and trophies.

The medals and trophies

sit in dusty boxes,

in pawn shops and the bedrooms of his fans.

They live their lives in his shadow.

They measure their happiness,

by his success.