Void

Gehenna's burning.
Watch the fire.
The warmth it brings
is worth the price.
The void is filling
with useless things.
Gehenna's burning.
My personal pyre.

Honesty dies
with flames bright white.
Then loyalty goes
and burns dark gold.
Kindness is thrown
and glows soft rose,
but love, it gleams,
burns black, and screams.

The last two, I promise.

Record Keeping
For the record,
you are the most beautiful
person I've ever seen.
Even your darkness has beauty.
And your light...
so bright it shines
'til blinding.
But, really,
is there anything else to see?

For the record
I saw the evil you tried to hide,
and it was beautiful, too.
So, think about it, long and hard.
How many people
bother to look.
And, really,
love all there is to see?

Keep it
You hang on to it
because I don't want it
kindness and giving bring no profit
caring for others offers no return.
So you keep it
the best of me
at no cost to you
completely free
but don't expect to earn any gain
it's obviously worthless
never brought me anything.

According to you
that's completely my fault
operator error. Maybe.
It's probably true.
The manual confused
and the times I've tried equal three.
Third time's the charm,
and I've figured it out.
I'm only good at one thing.
That one thing won't last, so
everything else, do without.

All right. Done now. Moving on.

Bloody Nap

When you're not quite real
everything is shadow
and nothing is solid or true
except when both using and used.

When you're not quite enough
everything is lacking
and nothing is worthy of trust
except the phrase "from dust to dust".

When you're not quite important
everything is useless
and nothing is vital or deep
and I need nothing but sleep.

When you're not quite human
everything is feral
and nothing has meaning but need
and wounds that endlessly bleed.

Ghost

Every night, I wear your clothes and
dark in a dream, fade like a ghost
float room to room, barely here
haunt my own house, facing fear
hearing echoes unsaid and shrill
"It doesn't matter and never will."
Then my voice, "Oh, God. Don't."
"I could and would, but shouldn't, so I won't."

Fear the Shadows

I protect the helpless from the hate
but over my shoulder on my left side
silently the killer waits.

Through misery and suffering wade
helping and healing at least to try
out of this heart that love has made.

Gently and kindly I bring them aid
but touching my shoulder on my left side
silently the killer waits.

When you cry I am there always
trying to comfort and stem the tide
to bring you through to joyful days.

I can see this shadowy shape
holding my shoulder on my left side
silently the killer waits.

Although she's contained, I am afraid
that inside my heart on my left side
silently the killer waits.
Funny the paths you choose to take.

Speed

I know you love me.
It scares me, too.
You're so far from perfect
and just so completely you.
I know what I want
and what is possible to do.
If fear takes a break
and you push on through.

If it doesn't, that's fine.
It's all good, we're cool.
No harm, no foul,
little damage, perhaps true.
Just want to enjoy what we've got now,
full blast, no brakes, no rules.
One of us may be moving too fast,
but, Babe, it's not me. It's you.

I'm open to options.
There are more than just two.
The sky is the limit,
and that sky? Really blue.
Stake a claim, or don't, none, both.
Whatever you want to do.
The sweetest thing is.
It need not be soon.

Well, this is depressing.

What good is a soul if it's not laid bare
daring the fates to crush it.
What good is a mind that's never shared
with thoughts and plans to nourish it.
What good is a life burdened with pain
without joy to balance it.
What good are words born from these things.
The writer inside, time to kill it.

Sounds like a good time.

Netless, I fly and netless I'll fall
alone onto concrete floor.
Thought about taking the safest route,
but maybe it's death to be bored.
So, back to the place where I'm most me,
flying and letting go. That's where I live
and that's where I'll die,
maimed, broken, and worn.
The only regrets are steps not taken
when fear gets in the way,
blocking the path to a new direction
down the most interesting roads.

Yep.

Love is a gift given freely
without coercion or greed,
without expectation of gifts returned
or appreciation, it has no need,
but desire for safety, health, and joy
for the gifted, known or unseen.
That's when it's pure, absent of self,
and the greatest gift received.
So, may you live in health, joy and peace.
All manner of wonderful things
and promise me, please, to cherish
yourself, and live up to all that love means.

Good Ole Boy

A good ole boy
who knows where the fun is
whose heart knows naught of betrayal.
Thoughts held within until limit is reached
then hope he forgot where the gun is.



Well that one was somewhat fun to do.

My Vladimir Paragraphs

There were once three. Then, there were two, soon to be one. And one really is the loneliest number when the number used to be three. Empty nest syndrome has another name in my head. It is also called, What the hell am I going to do with all this time disorder. You'd think that after a couple decades of very seldom having your own thoughts, your own time, your own money, or time alone in the bathroom; a person would practically drown in all the wonderful ideas of new things to do or old things never done. But, this is not entirely so.

The reason this is not entirely so is because you have forgotten what it's like to have motivation that does not originate in the wants, needs, or desires of the fruit of your loins (or the burden on your back, your choice). So. How to regain the internal cheerleader and rid yourself of the tiny dictators, you may ask?

I'll let you know when I manage it. I think it may involve costumes.

And here we go again. This is annoying.

Barrelling straight through illusions
sightless, running blind.
Spectors dispersing to misty gray,
clearing air in my wake.
Glance back to see behind,
sparkling clear and clean.
But, before me, outdistancing dreams
without illusions, brightness fades.
Which would be grief in the normal scheme,
but when I need to see, I'll set it ablaze.

Discovery

About a month ago, I discovered something rather alarming about myself that I didn't know before. Down in the dark part of me that believes without knowledge, I don't believe I deserve anything good or anything I want. So, my core believes I deserve to suffer disappointment and grief daily until death. I can only say, "Good LORD! My insides are stupid." Changing those practically inbred beliefs is problematic, but I have a new saying that I'm fond of for times such as these. "Fuck it, I'm a fighter." So. It is on, Borkn's insides. Not only will I believe I should get what I want and good things, I will get what I want and good things on a regular basis.

I'm pretty sure I know where this belief came from, and that's a story that's not mine to tell, but suffice it to say, it's deep and ingrained. It's a good thing that I'm indecently stubborn and patient. And deserving (which is such a ridiculous word, it should be eradicated from the language, and the idea of it should also be erased) of many, many good things.

Those I know.

Kindness is one thing
Sweetness is another
Love and preoccupation, worry, all three.
Blunt affection, giving and impatience.
Everything I crave.
Bold and narrow,
Funny with devotion,
Support and wisdom
chickenshit fear
ADD, clumsy grace and beauty
anal, gorgeous loner mess
Nervously nice
openly closed
distantly close
cheerfully rigid
snuggly, fuzzy, timid and stupid
brother and brother should be
independently helpless
all that's good in humanity
relaxed, responsible
brilliant and bright
beautifully inseccure
I love 'em all.

And we have a late addition.

I write these things for almost everyone I know, and here is the latest addition.

Child and Man
erratically stable
courage and fear entwined.
The damage is done
and done very well.
Heaven and Hell in your Mind.

Beautiful face and wonderful eyes
can't see what's in the glass.
The image is gone of what can and will be
if your reach can exceed your grasp.

And I'm gonna fuck your brains out.

Just because.

Friends forced me to write a poem about myself, since I write them about everyone else for fun.

Here ya go, Borkn in a nutshell.

I have traveled a long, hard road
thoughtfully trod with abandon.
Carelessly careful, I look then I leap
even when looking says stop.
I'm willing to fail, and yes, fail I do,
but often, failures teach beauty.
Seeking the core of people and truth,
I find complexity simple.
Each facet of me reflects its reverse
though somehow strangely
combined.
I am jack of all trades.
Master of some.
With all said and done,
I am legion.

Miracles and Guardian Angels

I've been contemplating miracles a bit lately, and, as usual, I am of two minds about it (I may just need to go ahead and give that other me a name, so I can keep the two halves of my mind organized or something.). It appears to me that for everyone who has what could be labeled a miracle, five people or so don't get one, and that would make miracles a bit fickle, which isn't something you want to depend on. And therein lies the problem, as according to the ardent miracle believers, depending on the miracle is the only way to get one. Huh.
Well, I have had a few miracles in my life, one even being kind of nifty. When I was two or three, the family was at the ocean, I was sitting on my dad's shoulders. A wave knocked me off and mom and dad dived frantically trying to find me, but couldn't. A bit later, I blew out a bunch of bubbles (and yes, I can see myself sitting on the ocean floor in my white with navy blue polka-dot, ruffled butt bathing suit, laughing at the stupid antics of my parents) and up I popped, to be rescued by a petrified mom and dad. Miracle one. Miracle two (and this is the nifty one). When I was 13, I'd sit on the floor of my room, scribbling and drawing all over a piece of paper information about my dream house. It was mostly blue inside (carpet, furniture, etc.), was in the country, cost $350 a month, would have at least two bedrooms, and one side of this structure would be glass. A year or so later, dad would decide he wanted to move closer to Florida than he currently was, so we moved to Kingston Springs, Tennessee. I cried a copious amount of tears over this as we moved the day I was to start High School with all my friends, plus my first love was getting left behind, also. The dream house was forgotten, even though I had planned and wished and prayed my brains out for about a year.
When I was 22, I found myself in need of a place to live, Dad was planning a move to Florida, I didn't want to pay for an apartment, so I called a realtor. Told her I wanted a 1 or 2 bedroom place I could afford. She said, I need to show you something... So, hopped in her car, she took me WAY out in the middle of nowhere, on top of this hill in the woods, and there it was... The ugliest house I've ever seen. She said, "Just hang on. See the inside." So, I hung on and there was an unfinished house inside, with 1 bedroom finished, 1 bedroom unfinished, a kitchen, living room, blue carpet, blue furniture, hardwood everything, a beautiful dark blue tile bathroom, unfinished basement, and the entire back wall of the house was glass overlooking a wooded valley. Guess what my house payment was? Yeah. Nifty.
This leads me to think of other parts of my life that may not qualify as miracles, but I may have one of the most overworked Guardian Angels ever. With the first-hand knowledge of what the inside of a loaded gun barrel looks like, with the machetes, knives, fists, CARS, stalkers, etc. going on through a large portion of my life, how can I possibly be not dead? So, Guardian Angel guy? Thanks. And really, how many of you have been attacked with a car? The stuff I get into.

Granville Pearl

I've been thinking a lot lately about people I know and/or knew. One that keeps returning to me is my grandpa, Pearl. It's funny, but I can't remember a thing he ever said to me, except that he called me Suzie Q. Still, even though I was about 8 when he died, and was several years younger than that when he was healthy and mobile, I remember his face and how he made me feel. It must've been some blessed talent he possessed to make a tiny girl child feel loved and secure, without words or hugs. The man wasn't physically affectionate, as far as I know.
To me, he seemed very tall. I have no idea how tall he actually was. He was more than likely of Appalachian stock, as he looked exactly like those skinny moonshiners from the hills. Thin, sharp face, all brown and leathery from the sun. Always had gray stubble making his face appear more rough than it was. I don't believe I ever saw him wear anything but overalls. I doubt he went to high school, and I know grandma didn't. So, we have this Scot/Irish/Cherokee tobacco farmer in Kentucky with a volatile (that's another story and before my time) wife who either developed or always possessed a vast amount of patience and love. I'm pretty sure I never heard him raise his voice or appear angry in any way. I'm sure conversations between him and his 6 year old grandchild were of no vast importance, but when I think of his face and the way he walked from house to barn, all I can feel is the knowledge that a very good man loved and valued me.
So, it's not what you know that gives you the ability to make a positive impact. And, eventually, it's not what you say that is of the most import. It's how you make someone feel that is remembered most clearly. So, maybe I need to practice being more like Pearl. It's a good name for a man who gleams in my memory.

One Day.

I may have something of value to say. Until then...

Don't take the easy path
smooth, quiet and lovely,
tempting, but dangerous.
Oh, please don't go that way.
What will you learn there?
Will you find your strength?
Your passion, my love,
is hidden among the rocks,
halfway up that mountain
on the path of most resistance.