Experimental Constructions

2008-02-14T14:35:00.004-07:00

night falls heavily.
it weighs on one's soul,
pushing it towards a black
abyss.
eyes shut tightly against the dark,
willing it away.

g.m. june 91

2008-02-14T14:18:00.004-07:00

My fish float like angels
in their watery realm.
wings outstretched
undulating gracefully,
move through their
surrogate sea - undisturbed.
nothing threatens their existence,
except neglect,
and an occasional cat.

g.m. dec 89

2008-02-12T22:18:00.001-07:00

She was in love
for a brief while
until his smile

vanished.

g.m. june 91

2008-02-12T22:10:00.003-07:00

Words fall from my lips,
on deaf ears.
Eyes look at me blindly
and I feel I've become
invisable.

Words stumble and trip
trying to bridge the gaps
between us.
You turn away,
unable or unwilling,
to let me speak to your heart,
or mind.

Silence is compounded by distance
it grows heavy and dense,
and breeds apprehension.
My heart begins to ache
small fissures form,
growing deeper.
Unable to bear the pain
it crumbles,
and tears flood my eyes.

g.m. may 91

2008-02-08T09:59:00.001-07:00

I feel you
peering through diaphanous clouds
unable to warm me with your pale white light.
but I feel the warmth
all the same
in my mind and memories.
While my bare skin
turns red
in the chill air.

The water before me
becomes a river of your
light.
You shimmer and dance
on ripples
that drift away
like thoughts.

But you remain
on the shore line
your reflection
blinding me.

g.m. oct 90

2008-02-01T17:58:00.002-07:00

Wild winds whip through the air
trees sway and swing
sending bare branches
furiously fluttering.

The winds roar
sends dead leaves soaring
higher than they have ever been
before.

In a vortex
the wind rushes 'round the earth
sending skyward things that aren't encombered
by weight or roots.

Overhead
the sky is pale grey
moving away - like ghost pursued
by a darker presence.

Storm clouds
in the near distance
beautifully blue black
foreshadow the wild
wild rage
of a winter snow storm.

Now,
the dark clouds have faded to grey
than white
with the ice
that fills the world
in a whirl
of frozen furries.

g.m. jan 90

2008-02-01T17:12:00.001-07:00

I suck my breath in,
and it catches,
deep inside
on some choked emotion.
An inward sigh,
it echos itself for a brief moment
and then is expelled
from the dark.

g.m. march 90

2008-01-29T10:39:00.002-07:00

cold steel night
pierced by white light
skin untouched by their distant fires
burning forever out of reach.

cold steel night
creeps quietly towards the light
leaving behind the visible distance
of distant suns.

cold steel night
reflects the star light
that dissapears with the dawn
to rise again when the sun is gone.

g.m. feb 09

2008-01-29T10:31:00.001-07:00

25 degrees
the air clear as thin ice.
stars glimmer,
through the dark depths of space
bringing no warmth from their scorched surfaces.

the cold air infiltrates civilian defenses.
extremities begin to burn and become numb.
coldness creeps from the weaker members,
covering the cowering cutis,
sinking into the bones the body freezes,
defeated,
it retreats from the spasms of shivers into the warmth
of it's residence.

g.m. feb 90

Introduction of a sort

2006-09-27T22:04:00.000-06:00

As long as I can remember I've been an avid reader. When I was much younger I thought that authors had such an amazing gift to create people, places and situations that were so real. It was something I wished I could do but I just knew I couldn't create a story that was about something much more than what was on the surface. The books I read made me laugh or cry and taught me a lot about the world outside my fairly isolated existence. When I went to college to study art, one of my frustrations with the process was the requirements to "talk" about the art. I always felt if I was able to put into words what the art was about then I would have been a writer.

So basically, I always had a secret desire to write. It was when I moved far away from home that I began to occasionally do a little writing, a poem here or there or the beginnings of a story. Short compositions that had promising starts but not anything I followed through on, well that's not entirely true, I did write one short story, very short. I'll post it later on.

It was around 7 or 8 years ago that I had my first opportunity to actually work on a computer. I would visit a friend who lived in the country and while he worked around the house I would play on his computer. One day while I was alone in this quiet house, looking out the open door, a sentence came to mind. I typed it out and they kept coming until a story began to take shape. I was kind of amazed at how this story was developing. I had no preconceived concept, I just wrote what came to me. I began to build the story in my mind whenever I could, (I was never a stranger to daydreaming) but then probably started thinking to much about the process. Ya know, should I just sit and let it flow or should I obsessively work it out ahead of time. I decided to start a different story with the intention of working it out ahead of the actual writing. I haven't finished that one either.

The books I read as a teenager and into my early 20's where about "real" fictional people, novels about relationships and life. These were the kinds of things I didn't think I could write. I moved on to more escapist stories, my murder mystery phase, read more for entertainment and distraction than emotional content. Which I still read, or more often, listen to on tape while I work around the house. I discovered Harry Potter when it hit the US several years ago and have really enjoyed the books, yes I have to admit I'm a fan of the books. I'm not one to ooh & ahh over "celebrities" but I was intrigued that these stories attracted so much interest and was interested to hear how she began writing them. It was kind of an ah ha, moment for me, like someone had given me permission to write whatever I wanted. I looked back on some of the other published works I read & realized I could probably do that.

Anyway, I came to a realization the other day that I will more than likely never be a published author. (yes, I've had secret desires to actually have a novel published.) So why not put it out there and see if anyone is interested in reading what I write. Frankly I doubt anyone will ever see this unless you've accidentally stumbled on to my little blog here. As to the blog title, the writing you find here are my experimental compositions, I'm just gonna put it out there and see what happens. It'll be a mix of poetry, short vignettes maybe even a complete story, I'm not really sure, just gonna go with the flow. To begin, I'll start posting some of my older stuff, things always look different when presented in a formal context.
It's like working on a painting, ya have to step away from it for awhile, than come back & look at it with fresh eyes. So here goes nothing...
G.M.

2006-09-13T13:57:00.000-06:00

Off in the distance ...