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| The Fading | |
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| The Fading in the sienna gasp eyelids closed tightly against life you create your own shadow the steel bars of your deviant past shatter the illusion of freedom i continue to cling to with inappropriate desperation useless desire a hunger you can’t ever satisfy floating the narrow staircase towards Cyclops allseeing, unforgiving, utterly uncaring that seductive nothing you’ve been straining towards since the day you were born there’s no backward glance no tiny wave from the arc of your clenched hands only the last smoky exhalation out of the icy cavern of your phantom lips Magdalena Ball, Newcastle, NSW, Australia, Author and Editor of Compulsive Reader The Fading The Falling From the ethereal plane of coconut cloudy pools man descends into the physical realm of humanity so that his soul and spirit understand the constraints of captivity. The steps go both ways but in this journey of form and shape the lessons are learned from where civilization views its place in evolution. Living is perceived as climbing and every climb begins at the bottom. The Finding In this material dimension our seeds of experience and pebbles of wisdom are sowed and reaped from the used and fertile soil of the past. Our success and failures cultivated together. The same with reality's ground, a balanced mixture of rock and root, essential to birth and growth. The Fading We are aware from the beginning of our own demise. We rest our heads on tombstones of the dead. We call our reverence of love and respect memories, which we frame and display. Afraid of becoming detached from our bodies we grasp onto flesh forgetting that we never came to stay. Time goes by, and your soul escapes as the last breath. The steps go both ways in this journey of energy and creation, and now looking down from the top, you smile, free again to float away. Chadwick James ( poet/singer/songwriter), Tucson AZ (Half
Drunk Muse) Half Drunk Muse has submitted the text to our publication,
but has been delayed in getting us the authors name and the city, state,
country of the author. Contact us with the title of the totem, first line
of your poem, and this important information. We will be happy to give
proper credit to the writers. The Fading “Four Deaths of Inso M. Nia” The first kiss I remember was under the bleachers In my tangled thought frac / tions, it never graduated to become the walking, taunting sickness they speculated about in their breakroom but it didn’t matter; in ’66, twenty-two hours of living with so much to see and do and instigate meant becoming real was a vacation with gall bladder poisoning Ten years: Janie was three years old and dribbling Gerber and jury tampering was an owl post staking out convenience stores, stalking the bluehairs from behind the Hostess racks. The kids in the pristine white served one perpetual bloviation about the New Drugs but what could they know about financial nece$$ity ? ’86 was a single night my arthritic back grafted onto a palpitating ad for Sears with no arms any longer, no arms in years, only a benT beige, twisted shower curtain slipping on the handrails The last time we went around the table and introduced ourselves was slightly after Bill Clinton re-elected himself my breath choked itself from the night phlegm and I thought maybe I should have taken the New Drugs because it keeps my awake, old friend, running from what I’d willingly do to you or anyone else for just one chance to shut down (Half Drunk Muse) I. Steps Ascending So restless, with just one eye open to the piercing air that surrounds a bleeding sky, dripping like slow rains from a faucet, a torture of sound creeping through the canal bridged from ear to ear. Murmurs of animals fighting are distant, a struggle inherent to the design of hierarchies - a curse of desires inscribed in the patterns of sleep, in hunger, in growth, in death, a curse colored by the blueprint in the freckles tatooed at birth, by the fingerprint, by the festering breath that breathe clouds in a cool air where the dead lose their warmth. The soft caress of touch, of life, lays the paved gravel, a winding staircase- an ancient myth to follow, a tall rising stalk of vines and thorns to climb. We race like an army of ants with the feet of fire- chasing us, (the feet of fire), chasing us, (the feet of fire), chasing us like thieves stomping the impermeable streets screaming harmony's fury through the burst of our eyes. each popped vessel is a river we swim through, and each cloud is a dream we imagine, and drown in the blue. We rise with, a charred Earth, a hallucinated light, but perhaps we are owed another life. II. Doctrines of the Dead “We float, and the ground floats with. We drown, and the ground drowns with.” An opera rose from the fumes below, a voice burning holes into infinity from the harmonized pitches that shatter glass, that wail from somber violins, that shriek from desperate cries, concealing the very nature of lived lives. A scroll reads the names of those that fly in the clouds -the flirter of shadows, the wretched dance they dance to search for the stagnant sun, for the decay of night and slow fade into morning. Between the buried and alive the open eye never cries, where something stems from the groomed grass, a ghost penetrating each layer of the human body, continents of organs, subdivided into countries of vessels floating in a rushing waterfall of blood. And we bathe, we bathe to flee our written memoirs, to leave the shades of our eyes, to be remembered as a still painting, of the moment where the soul escapes, where we fall in dirt only to give into harmony, And enter a place to confine our eternal high, the strings that hold our hands from the sky. (Half Drunk Muse) The Steps are swallowing me These inconspicuous incriments inching instances Where change is midnight but I lost my watch Sipping the warmth of my plight the cycles are full moon And yesterday is bright but there are no sunglasses A bastard fathered by time Whored into bicentennial brothels Where minutes are raping seconds Days are molesting hours And I savagely fuck years away The paradigm is a drunkard Taking double shots of scotch and cognac between power naps Drawing diagrams blueprinting fate with a half smoked joint at the crease of his mouth Temptations are stoic, unflinching in this battle As vindication is a daydream, apparent only in defeat Ignorance is a newborn nurtured with weakness Now covered in its own feces and still starving for the next meal This is my child Held tightly against the bosom of insecurities that mold man Now a mosaic that knows no completion I scatter patterns of self that never collage with tommorrow Frameworking my finality for the future drones (Half Drunk Muse) Surging Fears Imprisoned in a cascade of independence Stretching far and wide for a seemingly regale semblance The unprotected balance of within is no longer my fortress Screaming out of my confinements I search for a mortise A lasting object that appropriates a vow Piercing within the restraints of a deathly endow Weeping satisfies my hope of conjured dreams Deathly shadows protrude to find a corpse’s screams Inhaling the venomous restrictions of worth Draining the sublime contexts into a firth Water so murky it can invoke no depiction Existence lacking no description Fall away from the abyss of naught Into a light that streams from what you sought (Half Drunk Muse) The Chained Spirit is heading downstairs Followed by the eyes of his beloved Master Despite all his grasps it fails to surrender He is locked into this reflection of himself In quiet moves, eyes closed but in despair He frees himself more from this time waster And not before long appears the final answer Down below the cave: the graves and the candles (Half Drunk Muse) A portrait can say a thousand words' vanity... Dorian's "Gray", an area apart from both death and sanity Imprisoned in a frame what should be, they seek to deny Fate... They dream stolen dreams, purposefully destroying what honest waking hours may make Before judgment comes, be sure to leave a legacy of kindness worth its weight upon living minds... So the ghosts of past, present, and future seek, So shall you, they will find (Half Drunk Muse) All smokers really want to die. The question: why must it take so long? (Half Drunk Muse) Believing her role demands a duty To honor and respect ‘Tis true she understands the concept Yet something deep within makes her comprehend mistakenly, that it is a role cloaked in love Love and worthiness To her the same Two separate yet equal parts in playing life’s game Requited love she desperately needs to prove to herself existential value and worth All neatly tied and bound Attached too and circumscribed As depicted in the roles and titles Mother Parent Never truly knowing realizing or understanding, Respect is earned Honor bestowed. . . And that Indifference is the opposite of love (Half Drunk Muse) I can't sleep, can't eat, can't breathe, can't wait, Waiting isn't something I control. I descend my well-worn staircase, fate, Fading to the purity of soul. I've invested countless hours toward Running from the God I cannot be. Amassing wealth, I've quite a hoard, But I'm missing something to fill me. In my dreams I float, I fly, I fall, Falling through my heart, cold and empty. Physics bares its truth, hopelessly I call, I approach the God I cannot see. Is it dream or truth? I do not know. Knowing wouldn't add to my comfort. "What is truth?" I scream, to wake, to go, To escape from death. Life is too short. (Half Drunk Muse) As we look into tomorrow do you see what I see Lips, eyes and hands that caress Oh sweet touch You were always what was lost in the mist Close you eyes and tell me if you see my essence as I breathe in your glow and you make me want more More than you could ever give but I was still trapped in your mind Hoping that you could give me your body to hold Maybe next time --and the truth shall set you free (Half Drunk Muse) So you stand before me Soaked in sepia tones, Seeping cold clouds, Stone faced, facing The bottom stair. No flight this night. We all descend. Ascend. Transcend. The darkness cannot permeate permanently. Or so you thought. Or was that me? Reaching for you as I Too make my way slowly. (Half Drunk Muse) Upon waking in the sweaty moonlight, grissled with wanton desire, i saw the terror of a future. I saw the horror of a past. dripping down the sides of gingerbread houses. oozing agony across the grass. muffled mother's screams deflated red ballons sighs of cancerous ash the slaughter architects breathing decay into dream. (Half Drunk Muse) I watch you as one watches rain clear, reflecting off streets, lights, pavements, your gaze... Were it enough to penetrate me, I might just never return But I do, night after night to this room. Watch the shadows waltz in time to music in my head. Around and back we go, If this is a game, I guess I lose But still, I am here with you, looking for gaps we can slip into and hide away, hide away I lose again. And I know Giving form to your shadow, I lost mine. (Half Drunk Muse) in the sienna gasp eyelids closed tightly against life you create your own shadow the steel bars of your deviant past shatter the illusion of freedom i continue to cling to with inappropriate desperation useless desire a hunger you can’t ever satisfy floating the narrow staircase towards Cyclops allseeing, unforgiving, utterly uncaring that seductive nothing you’ve been straining towards since the day you were born there’s no backward glance no tiny wave from the arc of your clenched hands only the last smoky exhalation out of the icy cavern of your phantom lips (Half Drunk Muse) The suicide note I was given in a dream said this: My feet already tracking trickling bloody footprints across the bathroom floor behind me are beautiful because they show me I was here. (Half Drunk Muse) a vision shattered cracks in my eyes lips that do not see proud countenance now deformed shards of glass that cut your gaze look back before your desires are torn on that sliver that you stole from me that jagged hole I now watch from innocence is no virtue to the diviner a splintered mirror of no use to the scryer beware the images that lurk behind your eyes that dance on broken glass that sing of blood drops spilt and dried and turn before your trembling hands seek to cut themselves again on the razors of my form a vision shattered can do only harm (Half Drunk Muse) Even as she looks in the mirror and sees the tentative way she holds her head and the soft bruises that polish her yellowed skin, she finds herself fading inside the gold gilt frame. She feels the sand-colored tiles that form a platform beneath her feet suck her down like the tide sucks in the beach, drowning her within the laced up confinement of shoes that clamp like leather weights. There's the heaviness of her thighs, the tightness of her mouth and the curve of her back as she struggles -- but fails -- to shatter the glass and reveal what's behind the mask of her face. She can see, but not touch, the world around her, can smell the banana bread rising in the oven without any taste, can see the gray smudges of smoke from her lit cigarette but is oblivious to the papery stem balanced between two fingertips, knows the rope of her hair is weighing against her scalp but can't seem to break the connectedness. Everything is centered now around the cold, hard surface of the tabletop that props up the points of her elbows. She has crossed the invisible line into the fading and hovers there, waiting. (Half Drunk Muse) Flood the constant reflection of birth alone hearts balance the content for silence casts aside indifferent apologies we are the tide Nameless angels arrest the reminiscence of a voice sincere fills a familiar room with a dozen promises to remember to forget adjacent prisons align fate bleached by star lit sky absent words lost goodbyes stain the taste of resentment every direction casket walls kiss the remains of a new morning scar forever bete noire To level the sea armed with arrows to shutter the desolate shades of known faces drown within a still portrait of imperfections relapse.delete.relaspe.repeat confessions of a modern resistance falls divided upon a beauty defeated by decay the décor leaves lines of lifeless figures of a true love is dead within a false noise bled silent the sea will electrocute us all Mara echoes battles against a blank screen to fade a light untrained burdens a shapeless shadow sliding along a canvas painting motionless skies laid to rest on parallel pillows unspoken skin retaliates quiet breaths of residue breach downcast eyes shut lips stretched so thin love mends the wounds once terminal (Half Drunk Muse) Breath of life as it enters in through the light of my mother's womb, cascading down the stairway of strife and following me to my tomb. The path is long or short I know not but this I know for sure, the wiseman mindfully walks in ways that are heart pure. The taste of dew upon my lips as the birds in morning sing, expressions of laughter fill the air while as a child I swing. The wind blows softly and it leaves unseen, wafting the smell of uneaten pie in the window of lifes sweet dream. A baby cries and an old man dies for to all it ends the same. Fading into the light at the end of day up the staircase from whence you came... (Half Drunk Muse) So degrading To be fading Away Like smoke Getting blown away Hair in disarray Closed eyes obey The brain’s command To stay In the picture frame Away From life itself On a wall to hang In the midst of space Body erased Only a face (Half Drunk Muse) Only the living truly sleep. Tonight, I trace the same worn steps my feet have followed a thousand, thousand times. My stone has no date engraved; I skim this dragonfly body across the surface of a pond where bats swoop to feed. No warmth of breath betrays me. Echoes slice through the web of memory, leaving nothing to reflect. I close my eyes, conjure a heartbeat from the ciccadas' rising call. Somewhere it is summer. I have forgotten how to dream but not to pray. (Half Drunk Muse) Ray had drank an entire bottle of Whiskey in a few hours. I had done the same, with Vodka. We both were feeling the drink, just as we wanted to. We yearned to feel numb, the both of us. I'm not sure if I asked for it, or if I said somthing dumb, but Ray punched me, right in the chest. Hard. It didn't knock me over, but it hurt like hell. I recoiled, and asked him if he wanted to punch me in my ugly face next. I was trying to be tough. I think I wanted another punch. Instead of hitting me, he next punched the wall of my apartment. Knocked a good size hole in the dry wall. And i started to cry. I don't know if I cried because of the first punch, or if I cried because Ray's fist was now bleeding. (Half Drunk Muse) Silently and swiftly it travels Journeying through it's quest Never forsaking you exceeding your very best It will fight your greatest battles filling you up with light Defeating your ego restoring all of your might It's victory removes all pain and all feelings of doubt Causing you to live with rather than living without (Half Drunk Muse) Breath, having escaped from vitality, lingers. A memory of the last bit of warmth given over to the fading. Limbs ever in motion now as bound as steel, as unmoving as the tombs they once paid tribute to. The light that flickered, the one thousand sensations hollowed by one, the last portrait. In the morning the day will not have ended. It will trail on, a meandering staircase, an empty caboose. (Half Drunk Muse) This frigid feeling holding back is dying. My breath, in frame, must make the change. To warm to the world release this frost, I must come alive with the springtime of life. The land outside this box may be bleak, full of cracked emotions, and clouded illusions. But there is hope in the hands that hold steady this vision. Cold is leaving, me too warm to be still. (Half Drunk Muse) From the chamber of the coccoon she went spiralling, unwept by the ragged spiders, framed by the glass ceilings white-washed from grey skylines. She was a visitant, a stranger upon the land of a dozen fathers flustered by the very name that nuanced her brooding. In that agora of clouds, in that height of whispers, in that deadly closure, she could speak only with night air. (Half Drunk Muse) Transition I have a question- Not a rhetorical question. I’d be grateful to anyone who could tell me When self destruction stops being Just a phase I’m going through. Give it to me straight. “Real talk,” the home boys say. My mind is floating. My body is failing. I perform the same chant everyday. “’I’ll get clean.” But then, It is easier to fall than it is to fly. I pull into the garage and close the door behind me. I leave the car running. A simple transition from one void to another. (Half Drunk Muse) it was and it is her face replying as I stand and think about the years gone by your love fulfilled by someone else's dream of child how you entered the innards of my stairwell no mother with hands for the night but bars like veins as I bled your no (Half Drunk Muse) Her pallid face floats about the empty room Remnants of her voice echo in the distorted mirrors Her aura is evident in the bleak atmosphere. Her laughter penetrates the thick silence Her shadows jump curiously from shelf to shelf Her tears soak the walls in unwanted misery (Half Drunk Muse) Breath. Step. Breath. Step. [Breth Steep Breeth Steap Up-up and away Into strained glass houses. Boxed into - - - . . . - - - Chained. Wrapped. Dead grass. We all fall down. Steap Breeth Steep Breth] Step. Breath. Step. Breath. (Half Drunk Muse) I was the picture of health My spirit left me I am left breathless (Half Drunk Muse) Mama smoked like a stack Even after the chemo Heaven has ashtrays (Half Drunk Muse) Faces fading forced onto a bonded and masochistic hold Steps facing the wall Into a dark abyss filled with a torturous fate Wait…. Breathe…. Into a blank fading face Representing your own…. (Half Drunk Muse) The Falling From the ethereal plane of coconut cloudy pools man descends into the physical realm of humanity so that his soul and spirit understand the constraints of captivity. The steps go both ways but in this journey of form and shape the lessons are learned from where civilization views its place in evolution. Living is perceived as climbing and every climb begins at the bottom. The Finding In this material dimension our seeds of experience and pebbles of wisdom are sowed and reaped from the used and fertile soil of the past. Our success and failures cultivated together. The same with reality’s ground, a balanced mixture of rock and root, essential to birth and growth. The Fading We are aware from the beginning of our own demise. We rest our heads on tombstones of the dead. We call our reverence of love and respect memories, which we frame and display. Afraid of becoming detached from our bodies we grasp onto flesh forgetting that we never came to stay. Time goes by, and the soul finally escapes as the last breath. The steps go both ways in this journey of energy and creation, and now looking down from the top, we smile, free again to float away. (Half Drunk Muse) Inso is syntax-sleepless. She dyes her hair and skin Just to try out the verb. Comes home tough and battered; says she fell out of context. Grows a heart that she throws at car windows when she runs out of stones. Mom and Dad sign countless forms; pen to paper is the easiest touch. The neighbors agree: Let’s join handcuffs. —When she does dream, though, she dreams of moral things. (Half Drunk Muse) I hear my heart beating soundly. I have no pain. Why am I in bed? Didn’t I love to take long walks? Where am I? Didn’t I use to live in a beautiful house? Who is this person feeding me? Didn’t I use to feed myself? Why does she call me Jimmy? Is that my name? I am fading. I am the reflection in the mirror of my former self. My breath is all I see for I am cold. I am weak. I am fading. But my heart is still beating and I have no pain. (Half Drunk Muse) Stark she slept in contrast Irreverent to life and death With reflection upon the past Not knowing how she came to now Waiting, to wake From the dream that held her But there upon the lonely stairs Her fate for days untold For into day and into night Alone, she must face the fading (Half Drunk Muse) It is the close of eleveth gate by which my dimise has become inimite. A glimper of hope arises, only to watch it pass by. The time is short. They are on the move. There is no more time to dream, to imagin, to hope, to wait and see for it is here. I must not give up hope. I must not give up hope. I must not give up hope. I must not give up. I must not give up. I must not. (Half Drunk Muse) Towards Fading |
