Others (A Poem)

poetry logo for others poem

It will be okay.
It will be alright,
just hold on tight.
Don’t be hurt,
there is no reason to cry.
Just let go
and know this darkness is just the night.

Morning is coming.
It must be near.
Daylight should be journeying here,
but even if it is not,
even if this friendship continues its sleep,
others are waking.
Others are walking,
some close by,
some far.

Others will help.
Others will hold.
Others think of you as dear.
Whether this is night before dawn
or an endless sleep of might-have-beens
others hold you tight
and others will bring your dawn.

 

Others is a poem that was originally written in October 2013 and only lighting edited when I found it in a journal.

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Musical Romance (Short Story)

Musical Romance short story

Your best friend, Beth, invites you to an open mic night at a local coffeehouse. It the first time Beth will sing one of her original songs in front of people, besides you and her cat, Meowers.

It thrills you to support your friend.

After you finish your shift at the call center for a tech company, you rush home to get ready. Your clothes are changed and you redo your hair. This is in record time and you meet Beth at the cozy coffeehouse.

At The Coffee House

You can smell the beans roasting and the coffee brewing from outside the door. As you enter the coffeehouse, you look around the warmly decorated room. It has two large couches facing a makeshift stage area and wood tables that are only large enough to seat four people each. 

Beth finds you and greets you with a great enormous hug, the way she does when she is nervous. As she is still squeezing you Beth stated, “You made it.” When the hug is released she tells you, “The first person is about to start. I’m fifth in line.” She straightens her red and brown floral dress that flows over her slender body.

“Of course, I made it. I wouldn’t miss this.” You look at your friend and ask, “How are you doing? Nervous?”

Beth tried to smile. “Nah, no, no. I’m fine.”

You look blankly at her and her face drops, fully revealing her nerves. “Yes, I am. I shouldn’t be, the crowd isn’t that big, but it’s my song. What if they hate it? I could mess up. What if I can’t really sing?”

“Don’t be silly. You’ll do great. Meowers and I love the song. Plus you’ve sung in front of bigger crowds than this.”

Confused, Beth asked, “When?”

“Our middle school recitals and karaoke.”

Beth shakes her head as she states, “Those don’t count. Karaoke isn’t performing and middle school ended like half a lifetime ago.”

“Still, you’ll do great.”

The Open Mic Starts

Just then the first performer takes the stage and taps on the mic. It is a sizeable round man with little hair on the top of his head, but plenty of white hair coming from his chin. He sings an old blues song as he strums on a guitar. This musician is talented and the crowd applauds him when he finishes. The next performer is a woman with pigtails and a banjo. She can’t seem to play and sing together, but struggles through the full song, anyway. The following two performers get progressively worse and the audience hardly even claps for the last man, who leaves almost in tears. His nerves won.

Beth’s Turn

It is Beth’s turn. She is nervous and starts by fumbling the first notes on her simple acoustic guitar.

You mouth, “Breathe,” to her. She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. She starts again and plays her song perfectly. It is beautiful. The crowd cheers for her at the end. They are very thankful that she was a wonderful singer and the song was beautiful.

Beth makes her way back to the table where you are sitting with a giant smile on her face.

As she sits, the next act gets on stage. It is a male musician who has perfectly curly brown hair and sits on the stool, but keeps one leg on the ground. He smiles a nervous yet cute smile as he places his guitar on his lap. Once he clears his throat he says, “This is my first time here too, and I also have an original song.”

Another New Musician Sings

He sings and your eyes meet his sparkling hazel eyes. You hold eye contact with him and smile. It feels as though the room melts away and he is singing only to you. Towards the end of his song, he looks down to make sure he is playing the right notes, but is grinning widely.

At the end of the song he thanks the audience, but is looking at you when he does so. The crowd applauds him as he leaves the little platform that makes up the stage.

He walks directly to you. “Hi, I’m Matt.” He says with his hand out.

You shake his hand as you tell him, “Hi Matt, I’m Lucy. You were great.”

“Thanks. I don’t mean to be too forward, but can I join you two lovely ladies?”

Before you can answer, Beth does. “Of course, we would love that.”

The conversation quickly dies down as the last performer takes the stage. She resembles a jazz singer with her hair pinned in curls and a black fit and flare dress on. She sings a slow and soft song. It is a very loving, sweet jazz song. After she finishes, the audience claps, but starts to leave.

Matt, Beth, and you continue to talk. After half an hour Matt buys both of you cups of tea and you help him carry them over to the table.

You do not realize the time passing. As the coffee house closes, Matt asks for your number. Smiling, you give him your phone number and he sends you a quick smiley text, so you have his.

When The Coffeehouse Closes

This is the start of something new, but after a long day at work you are ready for bed.

You say goodnight to Matt at the coffee house and walk with Beth to your car, which is outside of Beth’s apartment. You say goodnight to your best friend and get in your car.

When you get home, you see that you have an unread text message from Matt. It says, “I’m glad I went to the open mic night, tonight.”

You smile as you respond with, “Me too. Goodnight.”

As you get ready for bed, another text from Matt pops up on your phone. “Goodnight.”

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If you would like to read more short stories please check out my Portfolio or perhaps you would enjoy watching readings of my work on YouTube.

Guarding The Ladder.

guarding the ladder short story

Do not let the picture above fool you. Otis is not an ordinary cat.  He is a fierce feline focused on protecting the one who feeds him. He is like a soldier and takes on this role every night. What is this hero of a cat protecting me from? Well, I am not sure, but it may be from falling off my bed, or it could be the window. Whatever the danger, he protects me from it every single night.

Let me explain how he protects me. His heroism entails walking the perimeter of my bed, making sure that the only exit from the loft bed is still the ladder. He then makes sure that I am safe by sniffing my face. Finally, he is ready to buckle down in his post. He stretches out as he lies down right at the opening for the ladder. With courage, he will stay at his post, keeping watch unless he falls asleep until my morning alarm goes off. Most days he will even stay pass the alarm going off and it will take me nearly throwing him down the ladder for him to move.

Now, since I am the one being protected, I cannot be the first one out of the bed. He cannot and will not simply move aside. This cat needs to clear the area, or at least the ladder. He makes his safety check by climbing down part way, stopping at the window for a moment, and going out the window onto the roof.

His reward for protecting me all night is his breakfast that I pour him, while I am still asleep.

At least, that is what I am telling myself. In all honesty, he most likely is just being a butt and blocking the ladder, because he knows it annoys me. I will keep trying to convince myself that he is protecting me because murdering a cat is frowned upon.

Want More?

If you would like to read more short stories please check out my Portfolio or perhaps you would enjoy watching readings of my work on YouTube.

My Monday Night (Sort Of A Short Story)

writing

Hello and welcome to my Monday night. It was amazing and now I feel slightly broken. I am energized even though I am exhausted. I want to sleep now that my night is over, but too excited to even think of fully ending the night. You see I was wonderfully hurt and carefully punched. I was stressed, pushed, and rolled. I learned what hurts and how to hurt, but never trying to hurt the other.

Hello and welcome to my Monday night. I got to class early and started to prepare. I did not have a pen and there was no paper. I did not sit at a desk and no books would be found. I got to class early and changed into my warrior’s clothing. I put on the pants that match the top. I tied my belt as tight as it could go and I prepared for class.

Hello and welcome to my Monday night. I ran among men and pushed myself to do what they do. I pushed myself hard as deep voices counted the numbers of the challenge. I struggled to prove myself to myself as the advanced classmates pushed on  stronger. Still I pushed on alongside them.

Hello and welcome to my Monday night. It’s a night where I introduce myself to different men, well some are boys. I introduce myself to them all the same. I give them a fist bump before the fun starts. I push when they pull or pull when they push. If I stop to think they either help and tell me what to do or the show me how stopping is the enemy. I do not know most of these partners, but still we roll and tug at each other struggling to win the round. The first round could be easy with only clothes touching clothes. The first round could be a small lesson with my partner telling me how to win. Or the first round could be personal and trusting with a face full of your partner’s sweaty  torso. Any way the first rounds start they start, I learn, they end.

Hello and welcome to my Monday night. Join me on this adventure of life and lessons. All the pain and sweat is worth it.

To The Beach

writing

I took a walk today to give myself time to think. I walked down to  the beach, thinking inspiration will find me with my feet in the sand. Yet, even before I stood on the shore I was reminded of my mind and a muse came whispering in my ear. He said, “feel your feet on the rough ground below. The asphalt hurts the soles of your feet, right?” Yes, the road below me was rough and hard to walk on without any shoes being worn. Still, I walked on knowing that the rough road would make the soft sand feel that much better.

I got to the stairs that led to my destination of cooling sand on this wonderfully peaceful evening to find that the night had long-held claim over the steps. The darkness of this alley way was caused by the two homes that blocked any moonlight or street light from entering. Still I felt the each step on my way down knowing that once I turned the corner there would light once more.

Now, at the bottom with my feet in the sand and my eyes taking in the romantic moonlight, the ocean breeze blew cold. For a moment I thought it was too cold, but when my ears opened they heard the breeze creating a melody with the ocean’s waves crashing on the shore and the distant wind chimes singing like bells, I knew that no cold would be too much for this beauty. The breeze then felt fine and reminded me that my body was still hot from the workout at the gym. The wind became a comfort not a burden, calming me instead of shutting my senses down.

I walked along the dark shore keeping my senses aware but my mind was thinking. It realized that although the road was rough relief came. Although times were dark,I light was found around a corner. Finally, my mind realized that although it may seem like the wind is cold if you change your perspective something that seems like a burden can be a comfort.

 

One More (A Goodnight Poem)

 

 

 

I know this is posting during the day, but I am writing it at night so bear with me or wait until it’s night to read it. 
poetry

Inspiration push
one more poem
one more rhyme
before my brain runs out of time.

Please shine your light
for one more minute
just for one more writing
so that I can call it a night

The day was long
yet I want just one more poem
pushing myself to meet my goal
of one more
because I always want one more.

So push on inspiration
come close muse of my mind
dance out one more poem
sing out one rhyme
until we are out of time.

Paradox of Life (poetic random thoughts)

writing

I love my life
yet I fight for it to change.
I work towards my dreams
that may force my loved ones away.
I am happy with myself
but am always changing.

It’s like
the night wishing to be the day,
sunshine wishing to be the rain,
the light wishing to be darkness.

I strive to change
when there is no need.
I work towards a new life
when my own is wonderful.
It must be how I am wired
always looking for better
when I already have greatness
searching for more love
when love is already overflowing
and looking for sunshine
when there is not a cloud in the day’s sky.

Yes, I love my life
yet I fight for it to change.
I work towards my dreams
that may force my loved ones away.
I am happy with myself
but am always changing.

This is what is going on in my head right now. It’s part wondering and part simply realizing, I have a good life, yet I still am looking for more. 

Why? (A Poem)

poetry

Why
Is my heart breaking;
Can I not see the light?
Why
have I lost hope;
Can I not feel the love?
Where is this lost feeling,
this void of hope;
where is this twisted feeling coming from?

Did I not laugh today,
was that a dream?
Did the sun not shine today
and did I not wake again?

Why
is my heart breaking;
is my mood so low?
Why
have I lost my hope
Do I not know which way to go?
Has my path darkened?
Have I lost my way?
Can you tell me?
I need to know.

Did I not see a baby smile
or hear my friends’ laughter?
Was there no jokes today
and did I not enjoy work?
Did the sun not shine today
and I not wake again?

Why
is my heart breaking;
do I feel alone?
Why
have I lost my hope;
can I not figure out?
Where can I find the hole that is inside
What fell out
How do I get it back in?

I guess it is simply one of those nights
after a wonderful day
when the night is darker
and my eyes are heavier.
I guess it is simply one of those nights
when I ask why
knowing the next dawn will be brighter.

This poem was written Wednesday night, after I hung out with a few friends and had a generally good day. I was happy most of it and then on the car ride home I started to think. My mind went off on its own and I wound up feeling a bit depressed by the time I pulled into my driveway. I decided to write as an outlet and to figure out where the feelings were coming from. By the end of the poem I realized it was just me being tired and thinking about everything I have to do.

It is simply one of those nights where I need to go to bed and know everything will be better in the morning.

I hope you enjoyed reading and let me know what you think. Also if you need help, advice, or just someone to talk to, please let me know. I am always willing to help and listen. 

no sleep

poetry

No, no you can not sleep

not when the sun-shines

not when the heat beats.

No there is no slumber

not when they day is bright

and the sun shines it’s light.

No, no you can not sleep

not until the night falls

and the sun sets.

No there is no sleep

not under the children closes their eyes

and the nights cools your tan.

Stars and Mind (Ballad Poem)

poetryBallad

A short narrative poem with stanzas of two or four lines and usually a refrain. The story of a ballad can originate from a wide range of subject matter but most frequently deals with folk-lore or popular legends. They are written in straight-forward verse, seldom with detail, but always with graphic simplicity and force. Most ballads are suitable for singing and, while sometimes varied in practice, are generally written in ballad meter, i.e., alternating lines of iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter, with the last words of the second and fourth lines rhyming.

 

She sat and wondered
looking up at the stars
resting her weary mind
far from the sound of cars

The wind whispered her name
and brought magic to the night
the stars twinkled into shapes
and the stars seemed to burn bright

She sat and wondered
looking up at the stars
resting her weary mind
far from the sound of cars

In this night she was with friends
this night that seemed like a metaphor
She watched it dance by
and wondered if it was actually a lore

She was detached from the night
lost in her mind
Where the stars burn bright
and the heavens unwind.