Becoming Through

Some scars are deeper
Than upon elbows, knees, shins;
Never closing, healing,
Perhaps scabbed over only
To burst back open again.
We all have one, two,
Some more, a whole multitude,
Kept silent, hidden,
Or just below the surface
Often screaming to be heard.
Our scars define us,
In ways, we never intend,
But we can break free;
Grow into deep dignity
Send pain finally to flee.

*****

The first two lines of this came to me lying in bed, where I hoped to rest, but mostly did not because I ache. Yes, that is not proper and all sunny, but I am fighting right now like crazy. Ah, and speaking of crazy, it is not just physical pain. It is okay, though, as long as there is pain, I am confident I am alive.

It is not often something demands to be written. This did. I hope you are having an extraordinarily good week. Please stay safe, and remember, no matter what is now, your life is precious and has purpose and meaning. Thank you for taking the time to read Haphazard Creative. You may follow the site or come back as you can if you like. If you have a comment to share, that would be super.

As a prompt, create work about something that tracks the edge of acceptability or slips on over the line.

They Did Not Get The Memo

One of the questions I had today at my appointment was about medications, especially ones that might be contributing to weight gain and uncontrollable appetite. All of them, it turns out, but they did not want to make changes.

They said I should exercise. I said I am already walking 20,000 or more steps on most days. The question then was, how do I do that? I said I read while walking, and I do it inside. They told me, no, no, that is no good you have to be outside. Maybe ride a bike, which I told them is bad on my knees. I have to have shots for my knees because of the pain.

Here is the real deal. I lost 65 pounds walking inside the house and kept it off for almost seven years. I cannot walk outside because I cannot breathe out there.

This evening, I revved it up a few notches by playing a selection of my favorite hits and letting myself go with the music. The real demon in this thing is hunger. The people who help me manage my mind cannot help with my weight, so I must make it happen again. I will, because I know I can.

If you have something hard you are facing, do not let anyone tell you that you must do it their way. If your way works for you, work it. You know yourself, your abilities, better than any expert who is on the outskirts of your life. I believe we are strong. I could explain, but all you need to know is that you are capable. There is nothing that can stand against you when you put your mind and heart into accomplishing something.

Rock on…

Oh, I moved the icons for the social media services off of the front home screen on my phone. I have not opened them on tabs in Chrome since I said I was leaving. Funny how I feel better, and how I seem to have more time. The experiment is going well.

Beginning an Experiment

The environment on social media has become increasingly toxic, and as the election nears, I expect that trend to escalate. I am taking some time off, or at least decreasing my time investment, on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

I waste a lot of time on those generally. You may, too. I have some goals that will involve time expended, so I hope to recover a few hours here and there.

This does not preclude future engagement, it is just a sabbatical. I need to know if those influences are harming my attitude and reinforcing negative habits. I have reason to believe that time on social media is not a positive contribution to life.

I will be here because this is my forum. Hopefully, the readership will increase, but my commitment to posting daily will not abate. It is a vow I made to myself, contingent on none other. I wanted to work again like I did in the past, so far, I have exceeded my expectations. I believe I am doing good work, possibly improving with practice.

If you are distressed by postings, disturbed by attitudes, find yourself wishing the ads did not ruin your surfing, perhaps you should consider taking some time off from Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter as well. I am not saying everything about them is terrible, but I think there is evidence that taking a close look at our consumption is prudent. I am making the break for now.

Literary Games

I became a reader and writer simultaneously at age three. I quickly began to employ color and text and illustration together. I found in poetry a heart like unto my own and have written it continuously. I guess my hope to be a publisher was born on my mother’s knees or perhaps in the floorboard of the Buick with the dash lighting shining down on my pages.

The dreams persist.

Reading is my favorite form of entertainment, with my rarely watching television. I usually steer away from series, but I have been drawn into a few lately. The idea is commendable, but the execution leaves much to be desired. I am one who becomes immersed in a book or books. It is most disappointing to be prepared for the continuation of a tale and find that it will be a year before you can learn the rest of the story. Not an easy acceptance for a poet who must complete a whole composition in the space of a page or a bit more.

Sometimes I will circumvent the imposition by waiting until all the volumes are complete to read them, but with current works, that is hardly possible. I lately did this with Tolkien’s masterpieces again. Someday I will open the shrink-wrap and dive into Stephen King’s Dark Tower series, I suppose. I begin to wonder about it because I have had those books over a decade. There is also The Game of Thrones, which I have in series and read two volumes from the library, but have yet to break the shrink-wrap on the collector’s edition.

Bibliophiles can be characters. My family tries to encourage me to dispense with some of my literary collection, and I blatantly refuse. I find my books are comforting, and the possibilities they contain, make me feel life is still an adventure. The missives from other minds are great consolation when the world becomes difficult.

I should think with fifty-four years at the vocation, I would have some idea of how to relate to readers, but I often wonder that others must be so unlike myself. Even so, I continue. I write every day and read a wide variety. I have thought l should make some provision to get out into the world and find some worthy subjects for photographic composition. I tend to be dull and remain close to home, which may not be the worst thing with a worldwide pandemic. My dogs and I are company and family.

The Vine Witch and The Glamourist by Luanne G. Smith have me wishing The Conjurer was not to be released next year. The Library of the Unwritten by A. J. Hackwith is another I am considering following up.

I wonder, those of you who are readers, what do you like? Are you a series person? Writers, have you been at the craft for years, or are you new with beginner mind?

World symmetry
Captured in quaint syllables,
An eagle on wing.

***************

Sheltering in place
The world no more freedom’s space,
Dreams are not contained.

***************

I see you, a smile,
Broad as day, deeper than night,
Come join in delight.

The Occasion of Becoming 57

Appearance

I am the one who is real
Enough you feel me in the room
Even though I keep a distance
Between the breaths that pulse,
Our lives existing here, this time.
My lightness rimmed in shadow
Hard to comprehend, understand,
Left alone, a ringing voice, clear
Crystal, like water reverb, falling,
Tinkling clarion bells announcing
Events to which everyone is welcome.
The sweet aroma on the fresh breeze
Being myself, almost, yet not me
Because the well is deeper, wider,
I know not how to plunge, emerge,
I reach the stars and still soaring
Never come home to be housed,
I walk the spaces, other embracing places
Of times disremembered, unrecorded,
In the echo caverns of my wandering mind.

Release

Love, if I had it
Like a stone, firey, lit, smoky,
Flowing like a fair fountain
Not accounted with foundation
But a wild gift, surging freedom
Sprightly on a brisk bracing breeze
Never to be captured, kept,
A mystery, calling always
For my energy, all of me
To run unhampered
Over miles with
Reckless
Speed.

Settle

Should be old enough for calm
Sedate, quiet, unassuming,
Ah, you read me wrong
The race still calls me
I should tarry, but
My muscles ache
To find more
Freedom
And so I am
Now off apace
Quick to find a path
Away into the distance
Where I may surely climb
To heights so far unconquered
Making them finally mine to own.

Gratitude

It is with a full heart
I come upon this day
Which so often I came
Near missing, slipping
Into the deep silence
That does not ever allow
Voices to relay their thanks.
Another year, and what there
Is to show for the effort
Of survival and the witness
Left of growth, I show,
Many a word, verse, rhyme
And a deed or two of merit,
But most dear friends
The evidence that I remain
Surviving and pleased
I made another revolution
Fruition of enchanted
Love blessed days.

I guess I will relieve you of the burden of reading further my celebrations, incantations, prayers of being alive at this fine juncture in my personal evolution. Forgive me, for birthdays come but once a year, and God has amply blessed me that I am still here. It is a certifiable miracle, and that is why I cheer.