majic's journal

This poem is about life and love. It's an illustration of love being created between two people and their revelation of a new life thereafter. I hope you like it.

From Nothing To Something

From nothing to something,
it began that fateful day,
an epiphany held before them,
which words never say,
mathematics performed by two,
to an audience of none,
to balance an equation,
from one and one comes one.

Sunlight breaks the window,
and unifies their bond,
and culminates their theory,
and sets them far beyond,
the solution to their formula,
is finally in their hands,
to emphasize their future,
to highlight their plans,
the product of their energy,
is a life made anew,
a child conceived between them,
the sky is born in blue,
the Sun has risen full once more,
to light their life again,
this revelation lays before them,
where do they begin?

Oh my gawd, I'm turning into an english geek. My newly favorite website has become dictionary.com. I don't know how it happened, or just where it began. But I can assure you that it's true. I find myself strolling by dictionary.com to look up words that I already know I can spell... Hmmm. I think I need to seek the help of a professional here. What do you think?

So over the last week or so I've been tapping the creative vein for new and creative works. Not sure of my success so far but I am sure of one thing. I have found a love affair. This love affair is with poetry. I'm sure my wife won't mind. I've mentioned to her on at least three occasions that my notepad and I have been having sort of a thing together. She mentions that I should not stop writing and to try to get something published. I don't know how to do that though. So I am sure these late night rendezvous with my notepad are not bothering her.

With that said I've been sticking to my favorite poet, Emily Dickinson for a fair amount of inspiration. I'm totally fascinated by her. Her poetry is deep and sometimes I don't even understand the concepts she's trying to convey. And to tell you the truth I think it's a bit tragic her situation. A biography can be found here. By her late 30's she was withdrawing from her family, friends and such. At one point people that wanted to communicate with her had to do it while she was behind a closed door. It must be a very tragic thing indeed for a person to have such an anxiety disorder that you cannot even face another human being. I sympathize with her because I myself do not like large crowds and steer myself clear of them. I'm not as bad as she was but I do find myself being alone. I favor solitude, maybe because I don't have to deal with my insecurities around others. I think it would be nice to have large groups of friends but honestly I've never found many people I really wanted to be friends with or rather wanted to be friends with me. Maybe I'm not looking in the right places or maybe I come across as a bit odd.

So the thing is here we have a guy who is in the US ARMY who likes poetry. How does that measure up in the macho/brawn/masculine society of ours? I think it's all a bit too weird for even me, if you measure it with a 21st century measuring stick. If I may remove myself from myself and look at myself from without I'd find that a guy liking poetry is a bit odd indeed. But to tell you the truth, even I have not taken pleasure in the likes of what society says is right. I find myself liking the exact opposite of what society deems I should like. Call me crazy...

Well, I'd like to share with you guys the next journey that my mind took tonight. Here is a transcript. Enjoy! =)

An Army Of Ideas

an army of ideas,
all trapped inside my head,
they're brewing an escape plan,
lest they all be dead,
they're plotting with their peers,
to stage a preemptive strike,
to explode into the open,
for fear of being trite,
conspiring with my memories,
they script their best escape,
and set the plan for midnight,
a moment not to late,
they think that I'll be sleeping,
not aware of their cause,
but I'll be lurking in the shadows,
all dressed in camouflage,
my breath will be held steady,
my hands quick as light,
I'll fight them back one by one,
until the end of night,
and when the morning comes,
I'll search the ground below,
to see who is living,
and who did surely go,
then in solemn servitude,
I'll gather them in check,
and stuff back inside my mind,
then harken retrospect,
I'll analyze my senses,
and how they missed their plea
and why my ideas would wander,
and want to be free,
I'll interrogate my eyes,
for what they might have seen,
I'll ask them many questions,
and why they could be so mean,
and not warn me sooner,
upon the pending plight,
that my ears heard the whispers,
of the ensuing flight,
my nose failed to smell,
the bitterness of their scheme,
my tongue could not taste,
the sweetness of their dream,
infact all but intuition,
let me down that day,
and worked feverishly against me,
to keep their work from fray,
but deep down I knew,
about their evil game,
to overthrow my constitution,
and fill me full of shame,
but in the end I succeeded,
and kept them all at bay,
and never in the end,
did my resolve seem to stray.

This post was edited by majic on Jan 07, 2004.

Another 2 hours of labor. Here is my fruit... I love rhyming poetry the best.

If life were but a mile

if life were but a mile,
where would you stroll,
how long would you stop,
how much would you dole,
would the smell of a rose,
be sweetest in your mind,
or the touch of the wind,
be much more to your kind,
would the color of the sky,
mean as much to you,
as the warmth of a love,
that burns inside so true,
would the lay of the land,
be fickle in your sight,
or the fear of the unknown,
be as dark as the night,
would time not matter,
in this short distant walk,
could emotions settle fears,
or perpetuate a stalk,
would you be able to gander,
at all the wonders here,
and forget about your worries,
and smile most sincere,
would you take two steps forward,
then promptly take one back,
and then have a change of heart,
and forget about what you lack,
would you think about the memories,
and what you might have missed,
or live for the moment,
and act a bit remiss,
that every moment lived today,
should be a guarded gift,
and never thought of as insincere,
or in the slighest miffed,
and nary we should turn around,
and wish it all again,
or take each day one by one,
and try to make amends,
instead our gaze should be set forward,
to what this life may be,
instead of singing sorrow,
our song should be one of glee,
time should never measure,
or be a proof of length,
to a life filled with treasure,
or a life full of strength,
a mile seems so little,
and too quickly come to pass,
or just a bit to brittle,
like the brilliance of stained glass,
but let not your hearts be troubled,
continue on your way,
if life were but a mile,
what would you have to say?

Oh I was on a roll tonight and well I spent about 2 hours on this one and I am smiling from ear to ear. I promptly sent this one to my wife. I really hope she likes it!

One Plue One Is Not Two

one plus one is not two,
and this is how I know,
give me just a few more words,
and this is what I'll show,
that if you add a bit of me,
and a touch of you,
then you take a ray of sun,
and just one drop of dew,
and mix those up, round and round,
kneading along the way,
sprinkle in an ounce of gold,
and your fruits will surely pay,
bake on high for eternity,
then you'll know its true,
that one plus one is not two,
but the product of me and you.

*giggles profusely*

** Oct 19 2005 - Fixed spelling of kneading **

This post was edited by majic on Oct 19, 2005.

Oh here is an old one. This goes all the way back to 1994, I was but a young lad then at the ripe old age of 19. Anyway here we go... This was obviously written for a love affair that has long since vanished from this earth. Maybe it shows a little naivety as well but I'm rather attached to it.

I Am A Stream

I am a stream,
Free to flow,
Free to love as I go,

I am the sky,
A forever expanse of love,
As long as you're in my life,
You should know,
I'll always be a stream,
And always my love will flow.

I'm seriously digging poetry more and more everyday. I've started up this new literary kick and I'm trying to write everynight now. Wish me luck!