found this on the Jonathan Carroll website/blog.
written by 20th century German poet Rainer Maria von Rilke::

God Speaks to Each of Us

God speaks to each of us before we are,
Before he’s formed us then, in cloudy speech,
But only then, he speaks these words to each
And silently walks with us from the dark:

Driven by your senses, dare
To the edge of longing. Grow
Like a fire’s shadowcasting glare
Behind assembled things, so you can spread
Their shapes on me as clothes.
Don’t leave me bare.

Let it all happen to you: beauty and dread.
Simply go no feeling is too much
And only this way can we stay in touch.

Near here is the land
That they call Life.
You’ll know when you arrive
By how real it is.

Give me your hand.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

~going to try and get back to a state of blogging equilibrium here this week.
Life has been crazy. Thanks to all that have read and commented.
Much appreciated.
~m

A flutter of wings
in a world washed grey
closing tired eyes
slowly slip away

a fight against The will
learned tolerance to the pain
incomprehensible ruin
terminal drops of rain

the lack of understanding
invisible hands of a ticking clock
solitary hours moving away
shadows lost to the infinite dark

a moment of hope will surely find her
a millisecond of brilliant white light
a midnight angel to soothe her
freeing her soul to the black of night . . .

{for K}

I’ve been busy updating my “pages” and doing some sorely needed blog maintenance.
The Ghosts and Poetry pages have been updated.
I’ve also posted a short story I wrote 6 years ago.
Just click on one of the corresponding tabs above to get there.
Thanks to Moe for all her help and guidance when I was absolutely freaking out.
She is a dear friend and a most awesome blogger.
If you haven’t visited her yet (or blogrolled her) you are really missing out.
Got some stuff planned in a few days.
Please stop back.
In the meantime, please browse my “pages”.
Soon . . .

My father has been on my mind lately for many reasons.
Today is his 79th birthday and I’m not sure if he’ll be around for the next one.
Though he knows little of what I do here, I send this to him with all my heart.
I think I was channeling him when I wrote it.
I hope that one day soon, he will rest.
Happy Birthday, Dad
~mick

Some days, I just feel broken
unfixable, disposable and anything but unique,
a silhouetted and God forsaken scarecrow alone in a Kansas cornfield filled with
purple sunset and orange rain . . .

Some days, the man in the mirror turns out to be me
a sad reality for such a sad clown
my greasepaint runs upwards in smiles
seeing the broken ones, just like me
with nowhere to belong, this shipwreck of fools
still afloat but drifting longingly towards the rocky shores . . .
of home

Today, I just feel broken
like I will never be quite right
And that’s okay, it’s the way I am
I guess being broken takes some getting used to

My sister and I have noticed some changes in our father.
Whenever we talk to him about ‘old times’ (instead of just sitting there staring vacantly out the window) his eyes fill with tears. He’s not totally crying but something is definitely going on.
We wonder what’s really going through his mind?
It was this thought and some help from the band “Tears for Fears” that are responsible for the inspiration behind this post.
I didn’t plan on posting tonight but sometimes you just have to let some of your writing go.

the Size of Sorrow

Carbon-copy days
Stain my mimeographed life
Wondering if today is some strange and future tomorrow

Time meanders away
some perpetual 36-hour day
But what is the size of sorrow?

a Fool on the hill
a sad silhouette of your absence
what remains breaks the heart of the borrow

Tomorrow is near
like an invisible tear
I’m wondering what is the size of your sorrow?

~m

Tomorrow morning I’m going to pick up a gift; a wonderful gift.
A while back I wrote something called “the Frozen Man” and I had no idea it would evoke the kind of response that it did.
I received numerous emails regarding its origin and inspiration and to be honest, it took me by surprise.
I’m not used to that kind of attention.
One email was from my dear friend Yvonne.
She is an incredibly creative spirit and does some incredible calligraphy and she asked if she could create a piece of art using “the Frozen Man” as the centerpiece.
I was thrilled and gave her my blessing knowing my words were in very capable hands.
When I checked my Gmail this morning I opened an email from her saying the piece was done. How cool is that?
To say I’m moved is a severe understatement.
Seeing an artistic impression of my work in this light has touched my very soul.
I called Yvonne after seeing it and told her I thought it was beautiful.
Being the humble soul that she is, she thanked me and said I was far too kind and that I was making much more out of it than I needed to.
I had to disagree. In a major way.
Check out the actual piece below.
If only my father could appreciate it.
Yvonne, a sincere thank you from my heart to yours . . .

~m

*ps – Yvonne does calligraphy professionally.
I already know of one other piece of writing that I’d love to see done.
Maybe you have something as well.
Visit www.yvonneelizabeth.com for more info
or email handlettering@yahoo.com

Just wanted to take a moment and thank all of you for responding to my post “the Frozen Man“.
The writing of it took less than 45 minutes while the editing took several hours.
I’m amazed at the response and the numerous personal emails I’ve received because of something I wrote.
Was it from the heart?
Absolutely.
Do I totally understand it?
Maybe.
Bottom line is that people really liked it.
I am happy.
IMHO, I’m not a poet, but I am a happy writer. (for now)
I love words and I’m glad you seem to like them too.
I’m sending this poem off tomorrow for publication.
Don’t know if it will fly but it’s going anyway.
I figured, what the hell.
Thank you again for all the kind words of affirmation.
We writers like that sort of thing.
Peace, folks . . .

~m

I received a letter today from my sister dated January 21st (one day before my last post).
In it was a poem she’d found many years ago when our mother was entering the late stages of Alzheimer’s.
As twins, we’ve always had an uncanny ability to surprise each other in ways unimaginable.
In light of my recent post, the Frozen Man, I could only smile when I read this poem.
My sister’s timing was perfect. Go figure.
If you have a family member suffering from this disease, print out the following poem and read it often.
My sister said reading it always makes her feel better and she hoped the same for me.
Thanks, m~
Yeah, it works for me, too . . .

~m

Heart Memories
by Louise M Eder

I remember you with my heart
My mind won’t say your name
I can’t recall where I knew you
Who you were
Or who I was.

Maybe I grew up with you
Or maybe we worked together
Or did we bowl together yesterday?
There’s something wrong with my memory
But I do know you
I know I knew you
And I do love you
I know how you make me feel
I remember the feelings we had together.
My heart remembers
It cries out in loneliness for you
For the feelings you give me now.

Today I’m happy that you have come.
When you leave
My mind will not remember that you were here
But my heart remembers
The feeling of friendship
And love returned.
Remembers
That I am less lonely
And happier today
Because of the feeling
Because you have come.

Please, please don’t forget me
And please don’t stay away
Because of the way my mind acts.
I can still feel you
I can remember with my heart
And a heart memory is maybe
The most important memory of all.

A creamsicle moon frosts the twilight treetops somewhere in the distance . . .
a dark and serene sky, the canvas
I need a sliver of this star-filled tranquility for thousands of reasons
and my soul sleeps

It’s at the corners of Solace and Hope
that I realize the Boulevard of Dreams is gridlocked, my mind cries out for home
searching desperately for an avenue out . . .
and my snow-covered soul sleeps on

A dying creamsicle moon gives birth to the ever-reddening dawn
and somewhere a candle flickers, a baby cries and
an already fragile world offers up a ray of hope that shines on my soul,
still fast asleep
but searching for that elusive sliver of tranquility
and a reason to finally believe . . .