Entries Tagged 'poetic' ↓

Miles and miles beneath the wheels,
we made it back under a shining sun,
mostly - but buffeted by biting winds -
it didn’t even snow on us ’til Washington.

And now home.
Like an ointment I wait for it to sink in,
to fill the vacancies and mend the lacerations,
to calm and to nourish and to fill -
I’ll overflow with everything that’s been lacking -
I’ll merge my Dionysus with my Apollo
and find peace in my passion and
slumber in my wine.

As I sleep, dreams of assignments overdue,
assignments I’ve already done,
assignments who may only haunt me through ghosts.
I’ve overcome them all.

Home.
I’ll never ride out, now,
without knowing when and how I’ll return.

Yesterday I bought a suit and a haircut,
and now I’ve got the world on a string.
At least until the string’s cut,
then it won’t mean a thing.

Interviews, moving, assignments,
fond farewells and
fond hellos
and
the

d
i
s
t
a
n
c
e

that beckons like a drum,
that thrums through the wires;
the distance between home and home.

It was never a choice,
but it was always hard not choosing.

silence marks keep filling up the page

angled lines of desperation stretch across

margin to margin like evening shadows

reach across the endless winter

what of that pink railway carriage

what of those blue cushions

we’d have never reached out

had we but known

City lights glowing through the blizzard;
the air infused with falling faerie
dancing gently down to rest in piles
among their silent brethren.

Twenty minutes through the blizzard,
or through the sunny cold,
or the tepid spring;
that walk to class down
charming city streets.

The closeness of the east,
one city piled atop another;
this family of cities
that I never took the time to see.

Energy. Frenetic energy built
around community; the
we-are-all-in-this-together-ness
that made each word bearable.
The thrill of the hunt,
bringing down that big assignment so
we could feast during winter.

And more, perhaps. Perhaps more
than I can say. But
I can say,
Oh, things,

how I long to miss you.

In the grand tradition.

There once was a library lad
who wanted to graduate, bad.
He wrote every essay,
but oh what a mess, eh?
There always were more to be had.

It’s not entirely accurate because at this point the end is certainly in sight (I’ll be HOME in about a month), but there is still plenty of residual “this-will-never-end” feeling to last me for awhile.

On the upswing, things are going well with my application process, and I have a videoconference interview coming up … on my birthday. After the phone interview, this is another first for me, so it’s exciting but I’m a little nervous about it as well. Maybe one day they’ll even want to meet me.

To wrap up, I’d like to drop in part of what I wrote over at La Casa today, because sometimes even I can appreciate my own writing, and because where I stand on creating comics is also where I stand on creating any content; perhaps most topically, it’s where I stand on self-creation, on developing one’s self as a human being, as an artist (of any kind), as a friend, as a lover, and as a professional. The idea is that we create something of worth and offer it to the world; ideally, something unique that we’ve learned, through introspection and hard work, how to offer.

I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about the kind of comic I want to create. La Casa has been a journey - no, an experiment, really. It’s been a ride. It’s been something, anyway, but a lot of times I don’t know where to go with it, and I don’t know if it’s the story that I want to tell. There are thousands of comics out there, all of them telling stories, all of them with their own worth and audience and humor, and I’m happy that ours has been one of them, but at the same time I somehow want to find a way to make our comic different. I want to find the story that will be our comic, the characters that will drive the story, the merge between art and writing that will, at the very least, be uniquely ours. I’m really not talking about popularity, just the idea that in creating content and putting it out there for people to see, one has a responsibility to make that content … worth something. To somebody.

We start with a dream, and one by one pluck down the stars to light our path.

We start with a dream …