Writing

Every day I try to listen and hear a story or see a situation that will inspire the deep roots of thought, creativity and incite conspicuous attempts at expressing myself in some form of a rhythmic rendition of words that might at the end sound and read, mellifuously. It is my wish that someday, somehow my melody of word structure will create a syntax that evokes emotion, sensitivity and most of all paint a picture, a true depiction of my heart.

The voice of Mother’s song every day when waking in her presence evoked this inherent desire for being enmeshed in music. Whether vocally or instrumentally, music was the string that ran through all of our hearts, my brothers and sister. None of us, unfortunately, pursued a discipline in music, although, my one brother and myself did expose our prodigious vocal chords for a small time frame as singers in a couple of local ’rock-n-roll’ bands.

Because of my not pursuing and perpetuating that gift that was inherited, my focus has turned to developing a semblance of ‘wordsmith’ discipline. This shall be my self apportioned exercise through my waning years even after my vocal chords can no longer squeeze a note in pitch and my ears can barely hear, I shall still be able to paint with finger strokes a picture or portrait some may appreciate.

Within is born this desire to sing
With words that form lyrics
And the syntax in a sentence, a melody.

Without a guitar or a piano
Just words written and spoken
In rhythm, sounds of song.

Sometimes ears will listen to a melody
Without pitch and or tone,
that is when words written or spoken
Shall evoke the music in one’s ears.

So when the age of years take away
The touch of fingers on ivory’s
Or flex on strings
They will still be able
to place word on writ.

Catharsis

My frustration seems to have grown directly resulting from the pain that is constant and prevalent in different parts of my body. Although I am cognizant of my accumulating years of aging, I still can’t accept that these pains are or should be present just because of aging. I know that they are manifesting themselves now because in my youth when I would injure myself I would not address the immediate need for the necessary medical attention. If I broke a bone or tore some ligature, I wouldn’t go have it examined and therefore my body part injured would heal on it’s own. That is, the pain would eventually subside and the damaged area would fuse into the deformed state relative to the injury. I have crooked thumbs, deformed and irregularly slanted big toe, a shoulder clavicle joint that is displaced with a promontory bone and a nose that has been broken sufficiently on both sides that it now sits almost cosmetically straight on my face, without deformity.

All these injuries are now antagonizing the state of peace that should be present in my retiring stage in life. Not retirement from life but just from the otherwise physical activity that was so integral in my more youthful years. The pains are to a level of distress that my comportment and desire for a daily positive experience and sharing it with others, is disrupted. Yes, I still enjoy the crimson rising sun and the many diverse sounds of nature at play but the irritation of the constant battle with this antithesis of calm and restful mindset is always present. My attempts at distraction through pain medication, through physical and mental activity, give me few moments of a pleasured respite. I have actually attempted to ask Jesus for some empathy. The anguish of this pain has risen to this level. There are moments where I battle with the thoughts of the ultimate resolve in extricating this pain, the thought of that conflict between an embattled, defeated body and the possibility of a supposed restful sleep.

A Moment

Sometimes I cry for no reason. The heart, my heart begins to beat faster. There’s that feeling where the hairs on my arms stand and I feel the breeze of air brush against the tips of the hair moving them back and forth. It’s because I see life as well as feel it. I smell it as well as hear it. I taste it as well as live it. When I see the humming birds fly into the centers of impatiens sucking their honey and hear the humming of the flutter of their wings, I am grateful to ’Mother Nature’ for the moment. When I smell the lilac and the roses, I thank her again whose breath causes the wind to blow that wondrous scent my way. When my heart throbs and beats seemingly with an echo coming from the heart beats of those I Love, indicates the depth and passion of how I Love.

Now that my years on earth have entered into the waning years of youth every morning waking is shared with the aging aches and pains. Grateful, I am, that the eyes have opened to witness another day of wonderment. If by chance the legs and feet no longer can run, they can walk and if the pain of hips and knees does not allow even this to be then vicariously through my heart and spirit I observe the spring of youth.


My mind sometimes wanders into nostalgia and reminiscence It runs and plays with the same resilience seemingly never aging. This is Life of which we all are witnesses. Some will fight, unyieldingly, against the aging process like choosing to paddle upstream in a fast running river which may delay its coming but eventually they will realize the devastation of it’s power. Some will ride the waves and feel the wind upon their face as they witness the offerings that Life will give them and they will not feel the full devastation of the aging journey. They will learn to appreciate it. This is the stream I wish to ride while observing upon it’s banks all the beauty nature has provided.