north star

Posted in General Musings on April 7th, 2014 by D'jaevle

It is our nature to enlarge, reaching out to touch on every conceivable experience while expanding our consciousness to envelop the world we live in.

But sometimes it pays to be small. To pull in, becoming a condensed ball of concentrated self capable of intense drive in a singular direction.

in the direction of your pulse

Posted in Poetry on February 8th, 2014 by D'jaevle

There is a pattern to your breath, a morse code in your pulse.

Hands on rounded hips, lips part, a slyph shared in a kiss.

I pass her to you, a safe harbor for our burgeoning language; we learn, creation through motion – a thigh turned, an arm raised.

There is a genesis, a light.

This is how I tell you that I left the groceries on the counter but hid the chocolates.

This is how I tell you that I watched you water the roses and thought, ‘What color do roses blush?’

This is how I tell you that I did not feed the cat and she will likely follow you like an overly attached child, bumping your leg. She will not perish – she is quite fat – but she will act as if death is no far thing.

This is how I tell you what I know best. That the language of our bodies is the language of our lives. And that words – beautiful, amazing words – are poor substitutes for a hungry cat or a blushing flower.

sign language

Posted in Poetry on January 26th, 2014 by D'jaevle

My hand, a birdcage.

Inside, a wren.

I let her craft all of my best poetry.

(you know what they say: wren writing, wren done, wren laughing at a pun)

That first part is not true.

My hand isn’t really a birdcage: it’s a cave. Cozy, dark, closely fit to wren feathered wings.

She likes it there.

But it means I can never open my hand.

Not once.

perfection

Posted in Crimson Writ on January 23rd, 2014 by D'jaevle

I believe in perfect moments; a dinner with the right kind of smile; an unexpected laugh; a kiss that is more crimson than red.

But people? People aren’t perfect; and even if they are, they won’t stay that way. We evolve. The best we can hope for is to find someone who evolves in a manner we find interesting and compatible.

ella

Posted in Poetry on January 22nd, 2014 by D'jaevle

yellow-pearled eyes, curled like a dark dandelion puff.
she sleeps
all the time
except when chasing her stuffed monkey
dropping it in my study
(she wouldn’t dare scare up a rat).

wants a place of warmth to rest (blanket, lap, expensive cashmere coat, my face)

hardly worth the trouble

except…

she always purrs when I touch her
doesn’t mind my cloves
sits quietly when I write
naps to the sound of rain with me
hardly ever makes a fuss

silly thing.

carpenter for hire

Posted in Crimson Writ on January 8th, 2014 by D'jaevle

There is a low order to hunger. It starts deep, a primal scent that is often lost to the momentum of life.

But sometimes. Sometimes, memory meets possibility and hunger grows claws. It bites cross-wise into the grooved pattern of life, slivers of habitual excuses falling away like wood shavings.

It carves itself in monstrous form, a colossus straddling the paths of desire and prudence.

And it refuses to be diminished, to be made to fit.

close, lightning

Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on January 2nd, 2014 by D'jaevle

And the thunder comes. On its heels, an exhale that asks the next breath to wait. Because that pause is where the world submits.

autumn wisdom [wolf and owl]

Posted in Short Story on December 30th, 2013 by D'jaevle

It was autumn, and Wolf had his head buried in leaves, searching for signs of rabbits of any size. Without luck.

Shaking orange-red leaves from his head, Wolf said, “I do not wish to get old. I would not trade my freedom for experience.”

Owl, who was snacking on a rabbit that was small in size (but still larger than the rabbit Wolf was snacking on, which was of no size at all), replied, “What do you mean?”

“The young are free to think what they want. Because they do not know any better.” Wolf scratched his ear and thought of how best to explain. Finally, he said, “When I was an even younger wolf and with a larger pack, I had to fight for my place. One day, a particularly cunning and well-scarred older wolf sought to teach me a lesson in manners. I was faster and more enthusiastic – but he had fought many battles. I earned a few scars of my own that afternoon.”

Finishing his rabbit-sized snack, Owl asked with great patience, “And?”

Attacking another itch, Wolf, continued his story, “And after a few tussles, it became clear that while experience had taught the older wolf what worked and what didn’t, it also meant he was less likely to try something unexpected. He relied on what he knew. Whereas I, being young and fearless, was quite reckless and would try just about anything to win.”

“And did you win, Wolf?” Owl asked.

With his best wolf smile, Wolf said, “Let us just say that it _is_ possible to teach an old wolf new tricks. Provided the lesson is painful enough.”

the better to taste you with [wolf and owl]

Posted in Short Story on December 29th, 2013 by D'jaevle

While talking in the woods one day, Owl and Wolf came across a small, slightly-dead, mouse. The wolf, hungry, immediately pounced upon it and promptly caught his snout in a painful trap.

Whining, Wolf rolled onto his back, wiggling back and forth. He pressed his paws to the vise that kept his jaws closed, kicking and silently snarling, to no avail.

Owl watched with great amusement and just a hint of concern.

While twisting and rolling upon the ground, Wolf managed to catch the jaw on a small sharp stump. Using the stump, Wolf finally managed to pry the trap off. After a moment of exhausted panting, Wolf said, “I have learned an important lesson today.”

“To be wary of that which comes too easily?” asked the Owl.

Wolf pounced upon the unmoving mouse, swallowing it whole. “No,” said the Wolf, teeth bared in a friendly-like, and most satisfied, smile, “I have learned that meals taste even better after a bit of exercise.”

nature [wolf and owl]

Posted in Short Story on December 27th, 2013 by D'jaevle

“It is a good thing we are both predators,” said the Wolf, “Or we’d be going hungry this winter.”

Owl landed on a branch nearby. “I am a predator, that is true.” Owl raised a wing, checking it carefully, “But isn’t it the nature of my food that will help me in the coming cold months.”

Wolf laid himself at the foot of the tree Owl rested in. He yawned. “Isn’t it though? Predators are spoiled for choice in their food.”

Beak to wing, Owl began to clean himself, but not before offering these words, “If your choice of food doesn’t survive far into winter, neither will you. I’d be careful in relying too much on your sharp teeth and claws and spend a bit more time thinking about what you will snack on if all the burrows come up empty.”

Baring his teeth in a friendly-like smile, Wolf settled his head upon his paws and dreamt of chasing rabbits.