Monthly Archives: June 2015

The Protectors

Supers don’t just protect the innocent from Villains

Supers don’t just save the damsel in distress

Supers don’t just rescue the hostages

***

They protect their loved ones

by keeping secrets

The heroes save the closest people to them from worries

The Powered-People rescue their family and friends from the potential Villains

All by feeding them falsehood

***

They feed them easy fibs to slip down their throats

But it gets harder and harder to come up with excuses

and the close friends and family have to chew through the deception

And soon the Capes have to force-feed themselves the untruth to keep on living

To say they are helping the loved ones

by breaking the ninth commandment

That it is better this way

***

That they haven’t crossed the line that they are fighting against

That they are only protecting the loved ones

Because that’s what Supers do

Right?

Just a Feeling

When a secret identity and the hero persona collide

When the meek and mild know something they shouldn’t

normally

When the hero has extra information

Regardless of how

And the matter comes to the amigos of the identity’s attention

All the Supers say, ‘You just need to trust me.’

And yet they can’t muster up enough trust to release their duality

They have courage to rush into a burning building

and stop the Super-Villain

But not enough to tell the ones they love

That they are the face inside the mask

By asking for their trust

The ordinary lie

The Truth

The Trust

The Lie

To keep the mask hidden from the closest people

And for some reason the closest people are closest to the Capes

***

And so they say ‘I just have a

Feeling

Hutch

Instint

Gut-feeling

Intuition

***

This is what Clark Kent tells Lois Lane

This is what Matt Murdock tells Foggy Nelson

This is what Barry Allen tells Iris West

This is what Peter Parker tells Mary Jane Watson

This is what I tell you

The Executioner

Off with his head!

But he was still in my heart.

Condemned to death

on my behalf

Of which I did not want

nor need.

The executioner was wearing their black mask

but I knew who was inside.

The blade was coming down

and I was rushing through the crowds of people who should have been there

My white dress following behind me

as tears were pushing themselves down

but the tears were not for the man

They were for the executioner

The man was only in my heart out of grace

but the executioner

but the executioner

but the executioner

was the one who was truly being killed that day

The executioner was trying to saving me

and I, the executioner.

Off with his head!

But he was still in my heart.

Condemned to death

on my behalf

Of which I did not want

nor need.

I run up to the guillotine

and stop the blade

with my hand

A physical reminder of now what I am missing.

The man is still alive,

but part of me is broken

or at least half way to broken.

But all is well

For I stopped the executioner.

Indeed, I Did the Deed

In response to The Strawberry Taste in my Mouth


I look up and I see the sun

and I hear the bumble bees

The strawberry taste in my mouth has passed

I feel the bird’s wings brush up against me and I’m okay

***

Indeed, I did the deed

The words were foreign

Just like I knew they would be

***

They had their effect

and run their course

of hours pondering

Maybe a little better

A new place to explore

but the puzzle pieces themselves didn’t change

Instead the puzzle as a whole did

***

I’ve decided that a vacuum should pick up dog hair from carpet

and a watch should be hided under a coat sleeve

only seen when time is needed

A vacuum should not be made out of a watch

***

The pieces of life do not have to fit

Maybe they aren’t made to

Maybe life doesn’t have to be completely and utterly

okay

***

Indeed I did the deed

and found not a new perspective

but a new concept

***

Everything doesn’t have to fit

Everything doesn’t have to work

Everything doesn’t have to be perfect because someone thinks it should

It’s okay to not be okay inside

***

And so I

I look up and I see the sun

and I hear the bumble bees

The strawberry taste in my mouth has passed

I feel the bird’s wings brush up against me and I’m okay

to not be okay

Life Isn’t Always A Game of Chess

Life isn’t always a game of chess

Where two opponents

Make strategic moves to best the other

With Pawns and Kings

And Bishops can only move in diagonals

***

There won’t always be a Moriarty to your Holmes

A Joker to Batman

A arch-enemy

***

Someone who opposes you at everything

Every action

Every idea

Every ideal

***

Sometimes life is more like Yahtzee

Can be played alone

or with or against someone

It can be played with a whole group of friends and family

or a few

You roll the dice and pick what your best options are

You put in for your Full House

and the dice allow it to be

Or you have to put in for your Chance

Or even zero out something

You don’t always get a Yahtzee

***

Or it could be Gestures

People guessing wildly what your actions could mean

and only one truly gets it right

Unless if you’re easy to read

Or given simple cards

***

Twister seems plausible

As does Pictionary

Stratego is too much like chess

and Outburst not quite right as Gestures is

Racko is similar to Yahtzee

Apples to Apples is closer to life because of lobbying

***

Even The Game of Life isn’t quite life

There is no miscarriages, divorce or abuse

Or waiting rooms, pulling all nighters, or your children running to you scared during a thunderstorm

***

Life normally doesn’t have opponents

but more unforeseen chances

***

Life is more of a game of Yahtzee than Chess

If

If

a one syllable word, swollen with meaning

Of regret

Of wishes

Of hindsight

****

In a land and a time where

wishes came true

mistakes were fixed

and regret was a foreign word

****

Where If comes true

****

Going back

changing the past

doing what I wish I had done

knowing what I know now and altering history

****

Changing others choices

Transforming the choices of others that had hurt me

into helping me

****

The power of changing choices

I prefer reality

I prefer history a one way path

Instead of fixing choices

I would rather make new ones,

ones that failed

and ones that succeed

Why go through the past again?

Learning what I already learned once?

There is a reason why

God made time move forward

So that we do too.

In a land and a time where

wishes came true

mistakes were fixed

and regret was a foreign word

****

Where If comes true

Is a land and a time I wish not to have

Today is my victory in making mistakes

In failure I find my victory

Failing to be someone others want me to be

If

a one syllable word, swollen with meaning

Of regret

Of wishes

Of hindsight

Is a word I use not

The power of changing choices

Today.

Places From The California Notebooks 2015

Beautiful piece! 🙂

annamosca

*
once I used
to live in a jungle
I think

I spent my time
wading off emotions
spiders and mosquitoes

crying

the light was
hardly shining
emotions were
too thick

I needed a machete

cutting off some thoughts
new emotions started
to grow tall and lean
fewer the ivy

now I live

in a green pasture
sunshine on a clear sky
and the occasional
thorn bush

.

.2015-02-11 09.31.09.

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Forged From Fiction

To create a life made of fiction

Made only from imagination

Making one’s personality

before ever meeting

Searching for the perfect name

Quirky, yet beautiful

A face that is comfortable, yet interesting

Fabricate someone only to meet in ink and pages

Crafting out of clay

Molding into someone believable

and real

Dynamic

Smooth, but rough

Someone who has secrets yet to uncover

A character with levels

I’m able to create a new friend

but someone who I would be scared to meet also

Who lives an ordinary life turned astonishing

All made from a spark of imagination

I’m making a person

Forged from fiction

into our reality

The Crescent Moon

The Crescent Moon

half seen

half not

but still there is a hue

to the hidden part

The part shrouded in darkness

Unseen

Untouched

Imagined

The moon kept to itself

Something to grieve relish about

Something to smile cry about

Something to forget remember

Something to never share

until the moon is ready

To become a full moon

 and the wolves howl

Have you ever felt sorry for the moon?

Always and only reflecting

Never creating a light of it’s own

illuminating from another’s light

What if the moon created it’s own light?

Would it show it’s part shrouded in darkness?

Or does it like the darkness?

Hamed Saber / Foter / CC BY

Hamed Saber / Foter / CC BY

There is a Scroll

There is a scroll

all rolled up

laying on a table

or laying in sand

or laying in snow

tightly bound

Thicker than the face of a quarter

but smaller than a ping – pong ball

Suddenly,

slowly

The scroll begins to unroll

at first just barely visible

The paper is so white

The scroll begins to unroll faster

and writing begins to appear

At first just real light

like child scratch

then slowly

more refined

and deeper pressed

The writing turns from

Crayons

to yellow pencils

to mechanical pencils

to muti-colored pens

The writing is cursive and magical

happy and light

The writing continues

and writes more and more

each time

but as time goes on the child scratch

begins to fade

but the muti-colored writing does not notice

The writing continues

and writes more and more

each time

The paper begins to look kinda drab

but this does not influence the writing

it just continues

There is a big burst of color

and soon beside it

another child scratch appears

it does not stay for long

for it has it’s own scroll to write on

The muti-colored writing continues

and writes more and more

each time

Then the pencil writing begins to fade

but the muti-colored cursive does not notice

and continues to write

Child scratch appears once more

and still the muti-colored cursive continues

it continues until

A spill of dark black ink consumes the muti-colored cursive

Then the muti-colored

turns to blue

a sensible color

The writing continues to write

but not as magical anymore

Then just like before

Dark black ink spills onto the scroll

and the cursive

turns to print

and the writing continues to write

but now there is less to write about

The muti-colored cursive begins to fade

but the blue colored print does not notice

and continues to write

Then just like the times before

but more this time

the dark black ink spills

and the blue colored print

turns to

shaky uneven blue colored print

and continues to write

less and less

Then the blue cursive begins to fade

bu the shaky uneven blue colored print does not notice

and continues writing less and less

until

the writing stops

and the scroll stops unrolling

in fact it actually rolls up

To thicker than the face of a quarter

but smaller than a ping – pong ball

laying on a table

or laying in sand

or laying in snow

tightly bound

There is a scroll

all rolled up

and forgotten