sentir les roses.

je suis à nouveau 
     sur quelque chose 
          de nouveau
et je me dépêche de le 
          faire fonctionner
     quand je devrais 
          prendre mon temps

Rome n'a pas été 
     construite 
          en un jour
mais me voilà 
          avec mon marteau 
     et une poignée 
     de clous

j'essaie de construire 
     le Colisée
quand je devrais m'arrêter 
          pour sentir 
          les roses

mais je m'arrête 
     pour penser à ce que 
          tu viens 
          de dire
     et prends-le à cœur

je pas confondre 
          vitesse 
          et précipitation

la construction continue 
          à son rythme 
          en son temps
     et je m'arrêterai 
          pour sentir 
          les roses

En aglais (In English):

I'm onto something 
     new again
and I hurry to 
     make it work
when I should 
     take my time

Rome wasn't built 
          in a day
     but here I am 
          with my hammer and 
          a handful of nails

I try to build 
          the Colosseum
when I should stop 
     to smell 
          the roses

but I stop to think about 
          what you just said
and take it to heart

I do not confuse 
     speed and haste
construction continues 
          at its own pace
and I'll stop 
     to smell 
          the roses

moth.

try as I might
it floods, unabated
not enough fingers
too many holes

if consumes and subsumes
my every waking thought
how can I stop it?
why would I want that?

and I've no-one to blame
it is my fault alone
I've constructed this dam
in the lowest of plains

I am a foolish architect
for building such a structure
using the best of materials
in the worst of locations

leaving it unguarded against
the vandals and thieves
who would breach its walls
destroy what they could

and those untrustworthy souls
to whom I gave the key
only to tear the place down
I guess those are on me

I'd gladly accept my fate,
my part of the blame
if only I could find respite
if only I could find peace

try as I might, though
I cannot give up
I'm the idiot moth
to your bright, burning flame

and while I have few regrets
I have earned every scar
each lesson I cherish
but this one, above all:

I should not have bothered
with building this structure,
this dam to encompass
my damn heart.

winter comes too quickly.

a beautiful jet-lagged day
with a snowy forecast
     on the horizon
     that will not dampen
          these feelings of joy

it's been far too long
we've been too far apart
     my soul craves yours
     as yours does mine
          winter comes too quickly

temporary displacement of
my everyday life is what
     my soul craves
     as does yours
          the days ending ubruptly

the smiles and giggles
the conversations in whispers
     of subjects so unbecoming
     those of our maturity
          but I value this above all

I see my future self
          in you
do you see your younger self
          in me?
are we each other,
     out of place,
          out of time?
               can we dream of
               what the other has?

is this how it is now?
will we always be reaching,
     me into your future,
     you into my past?
          is that even an issue?

for I have other minutia to attend to
other itches to scratch
     for me,
     for now,
          this is enough.
     

deafening.

          this silence is deafening
     your presence in 
     your absence
the heaviness in the clouds
the whispering in the trees
your name written across the sky

          this silence is awakening
     your absence in
     the present
sunlight just over the hill
illuminates the cold morning
bringing warmth to a new day

          this silence is transformative
     this daybreak in
     the evening
like a thousand voices singing
like a thousand bodies dancing
like a thousand words unspoken

          this silence is transfixed
     time frozen in
     this moment
anticipation of movement
where no movement exists
only stillness, only turmoil

          this silence is burgeoning
     demon unleashed in
     this barren forest
no hope of rescue
no hope of escape
no hope of salvation

          this silence is beginning
     and ending
and beginning again

not wanting to get burned.

to say that I couldn't live
          without you
     is certainly an overstatement
     is definitely crossing a line
     is 100% true

even as I close my eyes
          to sleep
     I know I will wake up to you
     I will feel you and taste you
     and that makes me smile

do I dream of you?
          who's to say?
     it is no one's concern
     it is nobody's business
     but mine, yours, ours

to say that you are my only
          reason for living
     sounds odd, in a way
     but like you and all you are
     it is strangely satisfying

your scent awakens me
          in the morning
     the aroma of you beckoning
     the longing to taste you on my lips
     hands warmed by your very being

and while I am still half asleep
          and groggy
     you are already downstairs
     getting ready for the day
     and you call to me

feeling my way in the morning
          half-light
     into the kitchen
     following your siren song
     to where I want to be

I can't help but smile
          once again
     you are sitting on the counter
     ready to be taken
     and so I do

reaching out for your warmth
           your beautiful scent
     hitting my nostrils
     my eyes widen
     my mouth waters

your warmth a deception
          for you are burning hot
     and so I very carefully
     tenderly and gingerly
     pour you into my cup

and we sit together on the
          back porch
     watching the dogs play
     listening to the morning birds
     you in my hands, against my chest

and touching you to my lips
          gently blowing
     wanting you in me
     but, as with everything
     not wanting to get burned.

Trending away.

Great minds speak of ideas
          average minds, of events
     small minds, of people and things
But me? I speak
          of the idea of us
     two people
          and what we did
          and what we had

Blatantly ignoring the signs
          I assumed it was me
     and I was wrong
But on the drive home
          that February afternoon
     you asked for forgiveness
          that wasn't mine to give
          I gave it anyway

Trending always away from
          what I thought we meant
     of what it meant to be us
But I was confused
          there was no us
     how could there be?
          there was only me
          there was only you

We played at 'us' as best we could
          never breaking character
     always saving face
But when it was time to leave
          there was always 
      someone else
          waiting for you
          waiting on me

And looking back now on it
          it shouldn't surprise me
     although it always does
But if I had it to do all over
          I know in my soul
     that my heart would be
          yours to break again
          forever and ever

You will always come first
          you will always be the one
     yes, that surprises me, too
But the past does not lie
          nor does it tell the truth
     it just is
          and continues to be
          never changing

Trending always towards
          what I thought we meant
     which was nothing
But I am confused
          and to tell the truth
     you never chose me 
          it was always someone else
          it was always somewhere else

So I should pour another drink
          cheers to us
     and what we never were
But the bottle is empty
          and it's far too late
     for me to brave the cold
          of this Autumn night
          for another drink.

Another Day by Debbie Vandenberg

A good friend of mine, Debbie Vandenberg, shared with me this beautiful poem she wrote this morning as she was enjoying the sunrise from her porch, and has given me her permission to share it with you...
Another Day

Sunset gently waking me
Kissing away the night before
Wiping sadness out of my eyes
Then teasing me
To play some more

I take a sip
    hot
    strong
    creamy
I can taste the opportunity
In the warmth
Cup to my mouth
Toying with me
As I hold it in my hands
To make the best of this day
That is all it knows
And this, too, I understand
My clothes hit the floor
I need to be ready in an hour
So the shower takes me in
Washed away
Every ounce of sorrow
Then like a mad man
I let the water go cold
As the shower
Boldly reminds me
It is up to me to decide
Hold on, or let go

My chair wants to be one with me
It is the softest
Space I have
So I bring my legs up from the floor
And relax every muscle that I have
My breath I begin to watch
Breathing in, then I release
A sweet sense of joy surrounds me
My chair shows me how to find peace

It is time now for the mirror
Without the above
I could not face
In there I see lines of wisdom
And eyes that have seen
What it is to find grace

Now I am walking out the door
The world is mine to
Explore
I thank the
     sun
     shower
     chair
     mirror
For waking me,
Cleaning me,
Holding me,
And letting me see the truth
Now I have the power
To face another day.

-Debbie Vandenberg, October 2021
©2021 Debbie Vandenberg 

at sea

and I've battened down all of
     the hatches
and I'm sailing too close to
     the wind
and at times I've been dead
    in the water
and at times I've held fast on
     the right tack

at times I've feel her shot
     across my bow
as it screamed and it tore
     through my decks
and at times I've trimmed
     my sails eastward
in pursuit of the leeway lost
     to the west

a loose cannon that meters
     deep waters
given a wide berth to pummel
     the shoals
three sheets to the wind, maybe
     four, maybe five
in dead water it is always
     sink or swim

and from atop the lofty
     crow's nest
yet again I hear the cry
     of land-ho!
and I trim to the aft
     just to find
the mirage of the sea
     once again

and so by the board
     all at sea
and sailing toward that
     distant horizon
the shimmering sea that
     beckons the brave
and equally the cowards
     like me

the salt air and a sail steady
     is all I can ask
as I search for the source
     of this call
a siren in red who gestures
     from close quarters
as the crow flies it is
     unimaginably far

as the storms whips my sails
     thunder clamps down
and the wind is brutally,
     caustically fierce
but I dare not set sail for
     the safety of home
there is nothing for me
     in that lonely port

better to batten down all of
     the hatches
better to sail too close to
     the wind
and ignore what it is that
     I am becoming
ignoring what I might
     have been

August Update II

It’s been a super busy month so far – between ridding myself of useless material clutter and watching two of my kids go back to college for another year, it’s been non-stop action!

The band has added a number of new songs, so I’ve had my work cut out for me there as well.

I’m preparing to get my COVID vaccine booster in the next week, and very excited about that!

I also passed my PCEP certification, and am now a Certified Entry-level Python Programmer – so, one test down, two to go!

The road trip to Providence the last two days has been especially fun! As we raced down I-44 and the local NPR affiliate, KWGS, faded from range, I told Ian about an idea I had for writing a golf game in Python, and he immediately grabbed his laptop from the back seat of the rental car and began coding it, with occasional input from me.

When the battery on his laptop died just outside of Rolla, MO, he put it away, then downloaded a moblie Python IDE to his phone and continued working!

The next morning, as we were leaving Columbus, OH, he explained to me the differences between Cartesian coordinates and the polar coordinate system, and how to convert from one to the other using “simple” (his word, not mine) trigonometry functions. He then went on to talk about vector addition – it was a very educational and entertaining morning!

Once we were checked into our room in Providence, he combined what was on his phone and what was on his laptop into one .py file and let me take a swing at it…pun intended

I must say, I think Ian’s golf game has much potential!

August 2021 Update

Got a lot going on, but not much of interest. You know how it goes – work, dealing with the dog days of summer, worrying about the surge in COVID cases. It’s time-consuming, both physically and mentally.

One thing I have started doing is Joshua Fields Millburn’s and Ryan Nicodemus’ 30-Day Challenge. The idea behind this particular game is that, starting on the first of the month, you rid yourself of one material possession. On the 2nd, you get rid of two things. On the 3rd, three. And so on.

Today is August 10th, and so far I’ve gotten rid of:

1st – donated one bag of men’s clothes to Goodwill.

One bag of men’s clothes

2nd – threw out two old boxes of X-mas decorations.

3rd – donated three books to the library.

4th – donated four pair of gently used shoes to Goodwil.

5th – threw out five boxes of miscellaneous crap from the garage.

6th – donated six books to two different Little Libraries in my neighborhood.

Six books to Little Libraries

7th – seven old computer cables that I’ve been hoarding for no reason.

8th – eight old phone cases for phones that will never be used again.

9th – nine old phone and laptop boxes that I could never bear to part with previously.

Nine old boxes (smaller ones inside the bigger ones)

10th – ten ball caps that I will never wear again.

Ten hats that will never see the top of my head again

All of this has made a very small dent in the sheer volume of stuff that I have, but every step is a step forward.

Learn more about the 30-Day Challenge/Game by clicking here.

And as always, thanks for reading.

-Steve

The Heart of Theseus

Modern literature and pop culture is rife with references to broken hearts. From Whitney Houston to Shinedown, from Nora Ephron to Rupi Kaur, from New Girl to Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, you can’t turn around without bumping into someone who has survived a broken heart, is surviving one now, or is about to suffer through the debilitation of having their heart ripped out of their chest and stomped on.

And yet, this imagery has never rung true with me. The most glaringly silly example that I can think of is Padme dying of a “broken heart” at the end of Revenge of the Sith, and I’m not the only one who thought this was silly, albeit for different reasons.

The imagery of a broken heart carries with it the idea that something inside of you is broken and in need of fixing, when the opposite is actually true. When someone betrays you or acts in such a way that is contrary to what you were expecting, it is not an indication of some short-coming within yourself. It is in indicator of something missing within them.

Setting aside the fact that your (emotional) heart is located in your head and not your chest, I prefer to think of the heart – that part of you that feels and cares and loves – as an ever-evolving entity that is constantly changing and growing. It is not stagnant; it learns new things, forgets old pains, overcomes previous prejudices, perseveres onward.

When I was young, my mother and step-father tended to punish my sloppy ways by yelling at me or threatening me with a beating with one of my orange Hot Wheels tracks, but occasionally they’d get fed up with trying to correct my behavior, so they’d gather up all of the comic books I’d left lying around and throw them in the burn barrel. My ten-year-old self was traumatized by this betrayal, but it didn’t break my heart. It was an experience I internalized.

When my first marriage ended, I truly felt broken. Not in the “oh-how-will-I-go-on?” sense, but more in the “what’s-wrong-with-me?” sense. I felt I had failed in one of the most basic tasks in life, making a home with a partner. How could I possibly be successful in any other endeavor if I couldn’t do this one simple thing properly? However, I was still able to fully function on a day-to-day basis, so obviously I wasn’t that broken.

Over time, I have come to realize that the heart doesn’t truly break. It takes on more experience, letting old situations go in favor of new ones. My heart is not the same today as it was when I was ten, or thirty. And yet, it’s the exact same heart I’ve always had. How is that even possible?

When something is broken, it doesn’t work any longer. Well, that’s not entirely true – even a broken clock is correct twice a day. But for all intents and purposes, a broken clock is useless for anything more than decorating the wall in the guest bathroom.

The heart, I’ve found, is more resilient than that. With apologies to both John Mayer and Celine Dion, rather than being broken and in need of repair, the heart goes on, continuing to feel and care and love despite all indications to the opposite. And with each new joyous experience, an older, more painful experience is expunged, until one day you feel whole again, and capable of once again giving your heart to someone. Your same old heart, though experience and attrition, has become something new.

That’s been my experience, anyway.

prisoner.

I remain a prisoner
     my own jailer
trapped in a tapestry of
     my own tastes and
          my own desires and
               my own self
a self that doesn't exist

I have freedom, to be sure
     free to act how I wish
     free from constraints
     free to think 
          to act
               to believe
but I am still a prisoner

and left to my own devices
     my own preconceived
view of right and wrong
     of good and bad
     of black and white
     of shades of gray
I remain imprisoned

victim of my own thoughts
     my own fears
          my own dreams
prisoner to my own view
     absent of clarity
     absent of context
chained to my day

while freedom is just a
     breath away
I reject the notion that
     I can just let go
as hard as I try, my
     attempts end in vain
and move forward

for even in the letting go
     there is expectation
     that does not dissipate
it eats at the fringes of
     my restful mind
     questioning all
doubting everything

never reaching that
     blissful, settled state
that promises relief from
     doubt
          fear
               anger
                    angst
busy, monkey-mind
won't release its grip
on the banana

whirling around in circles
on to the next stop
     when this one is
          incomplete
always starting
never finishing.