Relationships: A Puzzle
Consider:
A puzzle piece sits on a table, disconnected from all others, stranded in solitude. It knows that it is a part of something larger, something more whole than itself.
The piece is not alone. There are others swirling around with very similar thoughts in mind, as a result, connections are attempted. Most will not first. In fact, the vast majority with not fit, by design, can’t fit, though some will look very much like they should. In some sad cases pieces will attempt to overlook their conflicting edges and press themselves together, bruising, bending, and breaking each other to align angles and curves. Pain is the result, and the whole picture, the picture outside of themselves, is compromised as well. The picture is askew.
The piece has multiple sides, ports onto which different pieces can dock. There is potential for any of those perfectly fitting pieces to find their rightful place, though (in the limited way of analogy and metaphor) only one will have a place of prominence: only one pairing will be recognized as primary. Perhaps this primary pairing is found through the careful consideration of a creative hand. Perhaps it is simply a matter of whoever gets their first. Perhaps these pieces truly have free will and their previous choices have led to their position on the table. Regardless, the primary pairing will be remarkable.
Together those piece help complete the bigger picture outside themselves. They give glory to each other, and to their complicated context. And the viewers can tell at a glance how well they fit.
Novel Romance - Magnetic Poetry 7/18/08
Click picture for larger image.
“novel romance”
you ask for some vivid voice
another open truth. loud
laughing, empty of language.
an epic, strange but easy to tell
short, with more device than plot.
i long to escape from here, skim
this sad, haunting fiction and begin
a new mystery; whisper an ancient desire
speak in full spirit our every
beautiful drama. fill pages
my soul can judge, paragraphs
between you and me.
come. discover the story, the only tome
that curls like an old spine beneath
a volume of fear. write each word
then sentence – mark how they turn,
wander, though grow by chapter.
~ MEH
First typed draft always subject to serious change.
Bert And Ernie Try Gangsta Rap
I don’t know why this is so funny to me, but I just about crapped myself from beginning to end.
Whoever made this spent a lot of time with being concerned with beat and scene change detail. Bravo!
Man And Wife
“man and wife”
she blames him, at the last, for
backing away from his bones
and his woman, from the life
he promised her was worth
cold sheets. she blames him
for being unable to see
the tears in her eyes, the birds
hovered by the window, for love being
not enough, for leaving.
he blames her, at the last, for
holding him back with her eyes
beyond when the pain was more
than he was prepared to bear,
for the tears he could neither
end nor ignore, for believing
that love could be enough,
for the birds, for the life
so difficult to leave.
~ Lucille Clifton
Back In Denver For A Bit
So I got off the plane.
I got picked up by a friend.
Got to my apartment complex.
The car was still there, no windows broken, no tires missing, no apparent damage.
Found my keys. Got into my building.
Got to my door . . . why is my door unlocked? Why are my lights on? Why is there a half finished can of Coke on my counter instead of full and in my fridge? Why are all the things from under my kitchen sink on my stove?
There is no note from management about repairs. No phone call had come in previously to inform me of work being done.
I don’t freak out, yet.
Only in to change my clothes, freshen up, and drop my bags so I can go back outside to my friend so we can get some food.
I enter the bathroom . . . why is my package of toilet paper behind the door? Why is the air freshener on the floor? Why is the trashcan on its side? Why is everything that was on top of the toilet back now in/on the sink?
Seriously? Wtf?
I scope out the rest of the apt, and everything else looks in order, I think, but I can’t remember how much order/disorder I left things in.
Whatever, I’m not in Wisconsin anymore.
I’ll sleep on the bed I have slept on since I moved out of my crib, with the same pillow.
I can walk around naked here.
I can record music here.
I have internet whenever I want.
Good enough.