Saturday, July 18, 2015


The winter scene outside my window is easy to deal with. Everything is easier in the winter, it's the summers that I hate. I can explain why the summer months are so detestable to me, the shortest explanation is that summer comes and love does not. it's easy to be alone in the winter, but spring when new things begin and come alive, it's always a heart break when there is no love in my life.

To fully understand you will have to know that I have been alone many years, this winter will mark a total of twenty years of isolation. Sometimes I believe that I'm better off alone in this world. There are things I want, it seems they have been withheld from me.

My home is my refuge, no one comes to disturb my peace and quiet. NO one calls, writes, or comes to visit. If they did come to visit they would overstay their welcome, I'm sure of it. I want friends, what I don't want are trivial conversations about the weather that go nowhere. My life must have depth, I expect the same from my friends. Life shouldn't be all talk and no action, to really live life one must do things that challenge and bring forth change. To live life you must grow everyday without fail.

I want to remark that I was brought up with a life that the status quo was never challenged. The monotony was dreary, and growing up was bitter to my soul. Yet I could not change my early years despite the hatred I have for what was done to me. All that matters is what I do from this day forward. Deep down I know that to live my life on my terms, I must take action.

The simple pleasures that most know, have no meaning in my life; perhaps they have a place in my life, however I don't know where they go. It's almost dusk outside the cold of December is upon me and even in bitter spirits I must take my walk through the small woods and hear the stream; it's one comfort I still afford myself.

I walk through the house turning on lights in the two rooms that will be dark when I return from my walk. Before I go out that door there is one thing to take with me, my walking stick. the leather handle that I wrapped myself in my prime is worn and smooth from many years of walks; an average person would find the walking staff too heavy for comfort, it's not for them so it really doesn't matter.

The air is dense, like a rain is scheduled for tonight. under foot the damp earth is not dusty, with my left arm holding the walking stick I pound the tip into the earth every two steps. sometimes the marks can still be seen weeks later. if someone were to walk my path they would see this has become old habit and i walk about the same stride every night. sometimes I can see where the old mark was and aim for the same spot. why leave a new mark in the earth when one will do just fine?

walking down the hill and to the south, the road ends and a path comes into view, it's not a wide path only myself and the wolves use it in the winter. the dry brush on either side are broken down from winter, they will be fresh in the spring, i think it's easier to see them in the winter, despite the fact I like their green color when spring comes.

the stream with fresh water from the melting snow in the north mountains is still icy cold, in spring it's banks are wide and full, this is just half of what comes when the rainy season is here. the path follows the stream on the left bank, with the water running from north to south towards the ocean. 'Oh what a long journey the water must take to reach the ocean from here. No doubt other streams find their way until the water flows in a river to other far away places. My life unlike this stream is not connected with anyone else, either the waters run dry or the water returns to the ground only to be forgotten.

I hear the water flowing downstream, the leaves silently passing as all dead things do. I have to wonder if the tree's miss their leaves and the joys they brought in the summer months? The tree's thin here and a meadow opens, the edge of my walk always stops here. I go no further, many years ago I piled a group of stones in this place to mark my area, the deer can have the field, and the wolves can have the deer.

on my left I see the waning crescent moon still burning, i think to myself: "Don't be too jolly, the new moon will break your heart." it's always the same, the old moon follows the new moon, even the heavens are clockwork of renew and decay. it seems the moon is always ready for more, it never seems to give up, I don't believe the moon will stop until after the sun does.

my walk back is through a half mile of dark trees and the north path is cold with a southern wind that was at my back on my way here. the cold feels good as does the isolation, the only things that brings sound is the stream and the wind. my silent steps and the marks my walking staff leave are the only sign of human life here. That's good, I Like it this way. up the hill and in the distance I can see the light on in my home, only there is sound that isn't the stream and it sounds like a car coming up the road.


The sound is unmistakable. The computer is always on, the sound only happens when new messages are received. Which doesn't happen often, it really only happens after an error in someone else's computer makes the mistake of sending me something I don't want, junk mail. All the same, today could be different; perhaps there is hope that someone would write me. I won't know for twenty seconds, the time it takes me to login and switch to my email application. my inbox to my surprise shows one message, the senders address is: Amber Constance.

I open the message and read it silently to myself,

Dear Calvin,

I want to thank you for sharing your poetry on your blog, you have no idea how your writing effected me, I am still in tears from how your words ring so true in my heart and soul. Thank you for being so honest and truthful, it is rare to find a mind like yours that has suffered the same hardships and trials.

I don't want to be nosy, I however have a question if you feel you want to answer me I would appreciate a response. After reading the poem "The Fall of Light", I was moved to write you, I have never found anyone that feels like I do, where does your inspiration come from?


For the first time in a long while, I feel a hint of surprise and something else, something that I have not felt in many years; a thrill.

Well better not get too excited at first, seems if I think I have any fans it will go to my head, before long it will bring my ever ready spirit back to life. No I won't answer this letter, the fact she cared enough to write doesn't mean anything, it's only a very sincere thank you letter and nothing more. If i ignore it, a few days will pass and there will be nothing else to be done. it will drift away like my life, until there is nothing left.

The thing that strikes me odd now is the title of the poem, "The Fall of Light" that was years ago, I have to check the date; I don't believe someone read my blog that far back, it had to have been five years ago I wrote that one. I open my web browser and type the administrators address for my blog, a few seconds later a list of hundreds of entries comes up, I find the search box and type the poem's title. the page shows one poem from August 11, 2010 'oh what a year that was.

I open the link for the page and read the poem, hmm… those were dark years of my life. No good, wasted years of my life. It would have been better to have burned those poems. Only now they are on the internet and that is quite impossible.

Saturday, March 7, 2015

Poem: Defeat

Edgar A. Guest

No one is beat till he quits,
No one is through till he stops,
No matter how hard Failure hits,
No matter how often he drops,
A fellow's not down till he lies
In the dust and refuses to rise.

Fate can slam him and bang him around,
And batter his frame till he's sore,
But she never can say that he's downed
While he bobs up serenely for more.
A fellow's not dead till he dies,
Not beat till no longer he tries.

Monday, February 2, 2015

Poem: Failures

By Edgar A. Guest

'Tis better to have tried in vain,
Sincerely striving for a goal,
Than to have lived upon the plain
an idle and a timid soul.

'Tis better to have fought and spent
your courage, missing all applause,
Than to have lived in smug content
And never ventured for a cause.

For he who tries and fails may be
The founder of a better day;
Though never his the victory,
From him shall others learn the way.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

- Dylan Thomas

Sunday, November 17, 2013


by Edger A. Guest

This is courage: to remain
Brave and patient under pain;
Cool and Calm and firm to stay
In the presence of dismay;
Not to flinch when foes attack,
Even though you're beaten back;
Still to cling to what is right,
When the wrong possesses might.

This is courage: to be true
To the best men see in you;
To remember, tempest-tossed,
Not to whimper, "All is lost!"
But to battle to the end
While you still have strength to spend;
not to cry all hope is gone
While you have life to carry on.

This is courage: to endure
Hurt and loss you can not cure;
Patiently and undismayed,
Facing life still unafraid;
Glad to live and glad to take
Bravely for your children's sake,
Burdens they would have to bear
if you fled and ceased to care.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

in the spirit of beowulf

From across the oceans upon stormy waters arrived the men of fame. The legendary tronwolf introduced himself saying, "We are geeks, programmers from old, we have come from the grid to rid your land of a monster." the wise king replied, "How can you rid our land of these windows?"

Tronwolf replied, "We shall go through the matrix and fight them at their source." The king thought about these words a long time before saying, "Tis certain doom to enter the matrix from here, even for a hero."

Tronwolf from the fold in his armor brings forth an install disk and says, "We've brought with us the installer for Macintosh OS X, behold!"

The great and mighty king could have cried from joy that a hero has come from the grid to rid his land of the monster windows. "Oh tronwolf, should you purge our lands from this monster, you shall be remembered always as a hero."

Tronwolf replied, "Tis not fame we seek, nor your gold, if we die it shall be for glory."