nature [wolf and owl]

“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.

otherwise [wolf and owl]

“There are many reasons to be clever,” said Owl, “but at least one reason to be not.”

“I am clever,” said the Wolf, “And I cannot think of a single reason to be otherwise.”

“You never want to be so clever that people want to find less clever company.” replied Owl, who then took to wing and left the Wolf behind.

bruised knuckles and broken toys

a lion’s lost roar
a child’s forgotten sense of play
a surcease of dreams to cultivate,
and a laurel bed on which to lay

a lullaby, these words, to sleep and forget
that a lifetime of almosts is one of regret

the longer I live
the more that I find
the things I need most
are the dreams left behind

I don’t wish for peace or comfort.
complacent – too close to death
I crave the place I have to face
my desire to count each breath

not callous, not simple, not shallow or clothed
but bared and complex, deep and exposed

not careful, not quiet, not restrained or delayed
but reckless and furied, freed and remade

not counting the rings in the circles I’ve walked
but remembering the falls and the danger I’ve stalked

you can promise the solace of a path well traveled and tested
and I’ll show you my scars where the best have been bested

tell me what’s safe, what’s right and what’s true
and I’ll tell you my way is not the right way for you.

now tell me you’re listening
and I’ll tell you this:
a life that’s worth living
is too easily missed

r e a d i n g

Most of my life I’ve been teased about how much I read.

And when I say teased, I don’t mean in a mean way; at worst it is a gentle ribbing, at best it is done with an affectionate smile.

But anytime a person’s quirks are repeatedly pointed out to them, it can cause them to feel like they are being singled out for being different. A reminder that can cause someone to feel uncomfortable with themselves.

I’ve never felt that way. I don’t mind the teasing. Because I really, really love to read.

I’ve had a book in my hand since I was twelve and discovered I liked adult-level fiction; I spent that summer’s vacation at Disney World with my nose buried in a book.

One of my best friends said that even before we were friends she knew who I was. I was the kid at St. Mary’s who sat at the lunch table reading while distractedly eating fries.

If one of my co-workers catches me in the hall without a book they joke about not recognizing me.

Before I was eighteen, I’d read all of the Sherlock Holmes stories, most of the Perry Mason books, a number of Destroyer and Executioner novels my father had laying around, all of the Babysitter Club books my sister owned, and even a few Danielle Steele books I found in the house (sorry mom!).

I’m the guy who went to the college dance and spent most of it leaning up against the wall with a book, reading with the occasional glance at the dancers.

If I’m at a party with people I don’t know, I don’t think twice about pulling out a book.

(I don’t read in social settings because I’m anti-social; I just happen to read _everywhere_. I love people. I just don’t see the need to fill my time and space with awkward silence when I can be reading instead.)

Sometimes people ask me how fast I read. One book a week? Two books? Three? As if how fast I read is some kind of party trick.

(I read 72 books in 2011, 80 in 2012 – so the answer is I average about 1.5 books a week).

Reading hasn’t made me smarter (it might be different if I was reading rocket manuals; I’m not). But it has given me an excellent vocabulary and taught me to love language. It’s made me a better writer.

I was productively using ‘waiting in line’ time way before cell phones made ignoring the people around you cool.

I never feel particularly out of place, no matter where I go, so long as I have a book.

I don’t know what boredom is. Free time? More time to read.

Which is all to say this:

Reading. F’ing. Rocks.

i love you best without sight

I want to be the blindfold that steals your sight; the cinnamon that burns your tongue; the silk that encircles your wrists; the words like pressed flowers between your thighs; the quiet stolen from your limbs; the promise unfulfilled.

Why these select items?

I want to be the blindfold that steals your sight, to describe the world in pearls and scarves; the cinnamon that burns your tongue, to soothe it with a kiss; the silk around your wrists, to describe how tightly limbs embrace; the words written along your curves, to be traced with unhurried touch; the quiet stolen, to feel you move. And the promise unfulfilled to be made whole.

what do you do

what do you do with a crocodile’s hat?
you could stand it on end or you could lay it flat
you could circle it in dance or give it to your cat
you could forget where it was (in the last place you sat)
you could throw it at a copper, because you ain’t no rat
you could shrink it all up and strap it on a gnat
you could place it on the floor like a really small mat
you could give it super powers by dumping it in a vat
you could love it enough to get it as a tatt
you could comfort it with a kindly pit-pat
you could block out the sun when you’re up to bat
you could call it a friend, well how about that?

or you could just wear it on your head

twilight mischief

RoseRed: Why is the best times to read are when we’re supposed to be fast asleep and to be rested for school the next day?

D’jaevle: Because your heart craves mischief like your head craves words. The last chocolate is best, the kiss stolen is sweetest, and books have the best secrets after dark.

—-

RoseRed: Every time I open the book, I read a sad line, sigh and close it again. I’m worried she’ll grow up, get old or worst of all – develop heart.

D’jaevle: We all grow hearts; it’s what make us such fragile creatures. But it’s the fact that we go on, knowing they most likely be shattered, that makes us brave.

sway

I’ve never been good
    with straight lines

     I
  need
 curves.

I need
    a place
to rest my hands

grip and purchase

  hills
to climb

valleys      delve.
            to

hips that swing

   breasts that offer

thighs
 with weight
     upon my shoulders

I prefer succulence.

where I left your name

There is a certain way a leaf falls.

In the sun, it falls lightly.

In the wind, it careens with unexpected grace.

In the rain, it dances it’s way down betwixt silver drops.

And when you are the leaf, you fall like a raven’s cry. Or a misplaced key. Or the end of a poem.

You fall with eyes closed and arms outstretched.

I kiss a single hair until it is flame-promised. I whisper that you will be safe (as safe as those things that fall can be). And then I push you over.

I will watch you fall, not because I know where you are going (I do), and not to ensure you land the same creature you are now (you won’t). I watch you fall because having given you your second name, I must help you find your third and last.

chocolate

We all have those moments where we have to decide between the dangers of what is wicked and the comfort of what is safe.

Whether to eat that last piece of Godiva chocolate.

Whether to run through the rain without an umbrella.

Whether to answer the words that pique your curiosity and make your pulse quicken.

I live for those moments. Because in the moment, before we decide, we are infinite. The possibilities are endless.

And as amazing as that moment is – what follows, letting yourself slip from the comfortable boundaries and try something new, something scary and invigorating – is even more important.

Because deciding to let yourself fall, to be wicked and free, is deciding that life is lived in the moments that make our breath catch and our heart race.

I want to create more moments like that.

Do you?