Origin

In his mind, he builds a straw man,

to shout his angst, and knock it down.

To take the edge off loneliness again,

because the cause and solution is not around.

There was a time when their hands entwined,

and they whispered their souls into the dark,

air kissed with perfume, breath full of red wine,

discovery, excitement everywhere they embarked.

One fateful day, his adoring eyes fell

on a lapse somewhere deep in her pensive gaze.

A forced smile, or a silence long held

weaved doubt into his carefree days.

Doubt grew to be worry, and soured to regret,

not for her disdain, but for his own love.

There was no way to fight it; you get what you get,

and he gave so much more for a glance from above.

Thus the phrase came about, awful, yet true:

"The person who cares most will always lose."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I wrote this while I was feeling down, and I don't necessarily believe every word as I sit here now.  I do think that there's an inherent risk to loving someone; there's always the possibility that it won't be reciprocated, and that is one of the most painful parts of the human experience.  I'm fine right now, though, so don't mistake this little bit of doom and gloom for anything more than the product of a shitty night.

-RAD

There is no title I like enough to commit to.

Just a few idle words;
nothing complex,
nothing meaningful.

They're enough to affirm
my existence in your eyes;
they're beautiful.

Here it goes again,
I feel I'm falling away
from blue skies, cold for a spring day.

But there's nothing I can do,
nothing more to say;
I have nothing left for you.

We were both meant to walk away.

I can't help but wish
I'd looked in the right place,
if only for a glimpse of your face.

But sadly, I just passed you by
with music in my ears,
and my thoughts trapped in the sky.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Today's poem is brought to you by boredom at work, the letter "E" and the number −1.602×10^(−19). Today's closing thought is brought to you by Sesame Street.

Edit: The back story to this is fairly simple, so I may as well post it. I passed someone I like a lot while running the other day, she texted me later saying she had seen me, and part of me wished I'd seen her so I could stop to talk. There's kind of a constant war going on in my head these days, between my desire to build connections and my instinct telling me to keep my distance since I'm leaving soon.

Taking Heart

Of all the things I can believe,
in this world of broken dreams,
the best is that someone can understand;
that there's shade on burning sands.

When I'm blistered from the sun,
Sometimes someone comes along,
and proves there's more to life than loss;
sheltering me, and soothing remorse.

I remember the night you explained,
and inside the echoes of my pain,
I heard the voice of truth ring through,
and I put my faith in you.

I no longer believe in love,
but I know that you do.
And I think, just maybe, that's enough
to help me live anew. You said...

"Love's not fragile, true love is steel:
impossible to break, and slow to yield.
So much better than bone and flesh,
it holds us up when we've no strength left."

I remember on that day,
that in the vast depths of my pain,
I heard the voice of truth ring through,
and I will always have faith in you.



This is rapidly turning into a song. If I get it to the point where I think it's good enough to share, I'll throw a video of me playing it up here.

Untitled freeverse

The cracked concrete drank the heat
from his back as he leaned and listened.
Staring blankly at the street,
all he heard was relentless whispers:
snowflakes rustled on the ground,
and the whole world glistened.
He saw no beauty in the night;
he closed his eyes, and shivered.
Curious how even crumbling cement
was so much stronger than he.
"What am I really?", he wondered.
He was reminded of a metaphor,
but 'dust in the wind' seemed generous;
those who are moved are the lucky ones among us.
The rest are more like sand.
They creep along the ground, and watch
as those they aspire to be fly by:
those few who are given wings
by the passing breeze of the infinite hand.
He was just a clumsy grain,
watching them all fly away
devoid of tears to cry,
and out of words to pray.
And so he simply stood and listened,
waiting for a better day.

I was bored, so I wrote this

siren

Dulcet tones

ring out over the open sea.

The sun meets the waves,

reflecting as the surf claps firmly

against the face of cliffs.

Hear those fingers quickly plucking;

each note is thunderous,

even above the ocean's roar.

Solitude is her accompaniment;

there is not another soul here,

yet hers still soars.

Her dark hair flows smoothly

with the wind's caress.

Beautiful brown eyes survey

the endless horizon before her.

Sun-touched skin glows

as dusk draws near.

Surrounding the jagged rocks,

the restless sea hears her song.

Ancient wood hums and sings

as fingers and strings dance on and on.

Elemental

Steady earth beneath my feet,

and raging fire within me meet.

The earth gives solace,

calm, and ease.

The flames roar higher,

scorching sensibility.

The torrent of fire seems inconsolable;

it rushes with anger, pride and love.

It hungers for my peace,

devouring it, breaking my resolve.

My only hope is to bring my feet

back to solid ground.

To choose calm over chaos,

to feel nothing rather than hurting.

Far too obvious,

the solution lies in front of me.

As the bottle drains, so do I.

Together now, we are empty.

—————————————

Just some freeverse I threw together the other night. Before you go “oh, Ryan’s so emo, blah blah”, let me just say that this was more of an exercise than anything, although I definitely have had nights like this before.

What is the "Blogosphere", and how can I destroy it?

Ok, first off… I’m going to complain for a moment. Those who have not spent entirely too much time developing web-based UI’s using jQuery and PHP (ie. anyone reading this right now) will probably be bored. Skip down to the bold text if you don’t want to be bored.

My problem was a simple one, which took a disproportionate amount of time to solve due to my inability to pay attention to detail today. I have a page that I’m working on (database interface blah blah blah) which has many editable rows of data displayed, and these rows contain drop-down menus in some of the fields which are populated with possible values out of the database. The problem was that the rows were not populating, nor allowing me to remove elements, nor anything else. My reaction was something along the lines of what rage guy looks like in the 4th frame of every comic he’s in. Then I discovered (after about 3 hours of toying around with these stupid drop-down menus) that I had made them the wrong class, so of course jQuery’s selector utility couldn’t find the damn things. Once again, murderous rage ensued, but this time the problem got fixed. That is my incredibly boring story/wall-of-text.

REMEMBER THAT BOLD TEXT I WAS TELLING YOU ABOUT? HERE IT IS.
Last night I finished reading the third book in the Wheel of Time series, “The Dragon Reborn”. It sounds impressive, and it is. There’s lots of magic, adventure, intrigue and other fun stuff such as people stabbing/hitting/insulting eachother, all wrapped up neatly in the clean and often witty writing style of Robert Jordan (may he rest in peace). Let me just pause to say that the previous sentence was an absolute travesty. I would go back and fix it, but I’m feeling incredibly lazy. Besides, reading poorly-structured sentences is like watching a car accident: you know that it’s a bad thing, but there’s a little part of you that’s really entertained by it.

My Memorial Day weekend was awesome. Friday I went to the hookah bar. Saturday I worked on a farm (baled hay, trimmed trees, fed/watered animals, etc.), and attended a bonfire. Sunday I went to Des Moines and watched the Cubs lose, then was taken on a tour of downtown by a friend. Monday I went to Polk, IA with some friends, ate food that they grilled, listened to music, played bags, played board games, then returned to Ames and grilled out again. Over the course of the weekend, I was in 6 different cities/towns, and traveled an estimated 600 miles. It was just plain great.

Last night was pretty fun, too. I learned a few basic licks at my guitar lesson, which I had to drive through torrential rain and wind to get to. Worth it! Then I went to my friend Jon’s house and hung out with him, Jeff, Kevin and Jeff’s new girlfriend Lynzei. We went to Jeff’s championship indoor soccer game later that night, and unfortunately the wrong team won. Jeff’s team played a good game, but they let the opponent get in their heads a little too much (the team they were playing is the aggressive type). In any case, it was fun to watch even if it didn’t end the way I would have liked.

Let’s see, what else? My grandpa recently had a valve replacement surgery, which he is recovering from as well as can be expected. He had a great room at Clarkson Hospital here in Omaha. I went to visit him last week, and the room had hardwood floors and its own bathroom with a shower. Pretty sweet. He went home on Saturday and is doing well as far as I know.

Uhhh… I think that’s all I’ve got. Okay, maybe not. Here’s a poem.

————————————————————————-

“Blue”

Some say that they see the world clearly,
even in a fevered dream.
I know better, as would anyone
who knows such worlds as we have seen.
Surf breaks silence a thousand years old,
yet only an instant in the waking world.
And in my dreams, I stand beside you.
Azure waves ripple through the air
as peculiar wind whips through our hair,
words I may never say heavy on my tongue.
The wind is sound, melodic and dissonant at once.
The light we see the ocean by
is nothing but a trick of the eye.
It is really only hope,
and it does not always shine.
Sometimes a veil of shadow lies
draped across a starless sky.
Though I am blind, I still feel and hear.
Our hands entwined cut through the fear.
We both awaken too soon each day,
and fleeting memories slip away
as dream fragments often do.
For a moment I remember you.
Not your face, though; to my dismay,
only the sound of blue remains.

————————————————————————-

Freeverse is fun to write! I’m not quite satisfied with that yet, though. We’ll see what I can do with it down the road.

Bye for now.

Random late-night poem (again)

Wandering in the wastes,
the horizon is waving, nothing is clear.
No longer able to see the path,
I navigate only by feel.
The air is iron, red with rust,
and heavy in my lungs.
The soil is hot, and long-forlorn;
the rains refuse to come.
I tell myself my journey’s end
lies just ahead, though I do not know.
Cracks in the parched earth mirror my will,
but while it’s whole I will not slow.
Each night I dream of simpler times;
I thought I knew where this road would lead.
But do I really want to return
to an oasis of false certainty?
Life is not simple, nor is it fair.
All one can do is hope and trust
that though there is hardship along the way,
the rains will return to settle the dust.

Just decided to mess around a little, and ended up writing this. I like the repeated “r” sounds in a lot of the phrases. The form is kind of cliche for me: conflict followed by an optimistic closing statement. I’ll have to switch it up next time, but since this was just for practice/fun I don’t mind posting it. Anyway, I’m really tired, so goodnight.

Amber Falls

Under certain circumstances,
it’s a strange and solemn sound:
The soft clink seems to echo
even in the tiny space
of a pristine glass.
The cause may be elsewhere;
somewhere in my mind, perhaps.
Glass and ice refract the light
dimly cast upon the desk.
My hand is steady,
filling what is still too empty.
The solidarity creates stark contrast
with what lies within me.
The bottle’s blood burns my nostrils,
and turns the dim light to amber.
I watch as the scotch settles,
moving shades across the oak.
The surface dances for a moment,
then stills, as the ripples cease.
A crack from the ice breaks the silence,
leaving a feeling of vague unease.
I pick up the glass and take a sip,
enjoying the burning in my chest.
It’s a small comfort to know,
that even this fake warmth exists.
It is nice to imagine that though I’m alone,
an ice cube shares my unrest.

Stares

Okay, ready for some insomnia-fueled poetry? It’ll probably be completely nuts… Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

You surprise me at every turn,
my twisted little friend.
When I think I’m rid of you,
you visit me again.

Your comfort stings like needles;
your existence is a sin.
Like a cold rain, falling hard,
weaving serpents on my skin.

Whisper your sweet lies to me,
I’ll not bend to your will.
I learned my lesson long ago,
though my lips taste of your poison still.

Yup. Batshit insane, just as I thought.

Mantra

I will never surrender;

Never falter.

Vehemently and tirelessly,

I will pursue greatness.

Crashing against me,

The tide of doubt is powerless.

Unbreakable is my resolve,

Shattering every barrier.

Dream

A man in black walked down a street.
Cold rain pattered roof and ground,
and rivers formed beside his feet:
the world was a torrent of water and sound.
The streetlamps each wore golden veils
made of raindrops falling near.
The man in black quickened his step,
losing the race against his fears.
Not a car passed, nor a soul;
he was alone, and so he felt.
Lightning cut the opaque night;
the air seemed to distort and melt.
The man looked up, and through wide eyes
saw paper falling from the sky.
The rain had turned to fragments
of what may once have been a poem.
They fell like snow, and on each one
was written a single word,
each in different handwriting,
some scribbled and obscured.
He panicked and began to run,
through swirling waves of broken dreams,
the lamps were burning, hot as suns,
their veils becoming ashen streams.
He tripped and fell down on his knees,
his breath caught in his throat,
for on the pavement before him
were words that he once wrote.
They were scattered all around
amongst the ink from other pens,
but he remembered perfectly
how the note had read:
“This will pass, like all things do
in our fragile, finite lives.
Even with darkness surrounding you,
never lose faith in the light.”

Random late-night poem (originally posted on Dec. 25 2009)

This is something I was messing with because I wasn’t tired yet, it is pretty rough. Not great, but not horrible either, may end up polishing it some. Good news, writing it made me tired. G’night, and merry Christmas.

Untitled (terrible at titles…)

There was a man who had dreamed
every moment of his life.
His voice was silent,
his eyes blind to all but his fantasy,
and the world turned without him, it seemed.
He went to the ocean to feel its spray,
eyes still unseeing, lips still,
and gazed out over the sunlit waves.
Surf crashed, seagulls cried,
sand warmed him as the sun sank in the sky.
Darkness fell, and he slept there,
lulled by the sounds of the sea,
oblivious to the chill in the air.
When he awoke, he saw a beautiful woman
walking slowly up the beach.
She approached him and asked his name,
and he told her with a voice that was once out of reach.
He saw her with eyes he had thought to be blind,
and walked away with her, never to dream again;
he simply lived instead.

Not Helpless

I watch as cars pass me by,

then wait in traffic slowed by broken glass and flashing lights.

I hear anguished words woven in hearts wounded and stained.

Whether a person is benign or malicious,

sometimes we all cause those close to us pain.

I speak meaningless words that will be lost to the ages,

while others starve, and die at the hands of their brothers,

and the world turns on, as do history’s pages.

I walk beneath streetlights, or trees and stars.

There are radiant smiles lingering yet on faces I pass,

of friends, families, lovers: like fireflies in the dark.

I know that despite all the hurt the uncaring world can bring,

there is so much good; far too much to be destroyed

as long as we can still smile.

Points

It isn’t fair,
nor is it negotiable.
As I approach one,
I distance myself from another.
I manufacture this divide,
hoping for a smile
when I finally arrive.
I can only hope I know
what it is I yearn for,
because with each new mile
on this dusty odometer,
I break the bond a little more.
I hope for sunny, cloudless days
at the breaking of this bitterness.
Hearing only music,
seeing only blue.
Laying in the grass,
content to play the fool.

Crack in the Wall

“This is nothing.”
I’ll keep telling myself under my breath,
hoping that repetition will forge belief.
I know it’s not true, though,
my manufactured assurance.
The light from the monitor,
the tap of keystrokes,
the hum of electricity in the walls
of an otherwise silent house.
These are real, my calm is not.
Some turmoil has been brought
upon my mind’s waters,
usually so still and clear:
the manifestation of an ache
I have long refused to feel.
Reminding myself how good life is,
and how fortunate I am,
I’ve crushed the justification
for what I see as weakness.
I’m beginning to think, though,
that to feel lonely while not alone,
to remember and regret,
and to have so much, yet still yearn
are pieces of humanity.
So, tonight I hurt with no reason,
but you’ll hear no apology.
I only wait, and hope to believe soon,
“This is nothing.”

Tempest

All a dream…?
Everything’s forgotten now
except for tiny fragments
of visions, and a voice I knew so well.
There were times, I dreamed,
when the sky was filled with sunlight,
and blurry smiles filled faces all around.
But words brought storms,
and thunder crashed, and lightning cracked:
I split that sky so easily,
as the hateful fountain before me
glimmered with its borrowed light.
Fake beauty, nothing more;
the world was so distorted.
As suddenly as they appeared,
the clouds were gone
and only you remained.
There aren’t many words left;
only a few in my memory.
Among them, there’s a whisper,
simple, but powerful:
“Dream of me.”
And dream I did,
until the final storm.

Return

The dull ache in my hands and wrists
is strangely satisfying.
It tells a tale of long-forgotten feelings
rising to the surface of my weary being…
Rumbling forth in deep,
often melancholy chords.
Singing in soft treble,
melodic and serene.
Dancing an allegro
of graceful imperfection
as these rusty fingers seek the keys.
Crashing and triumphant,
heralding a new dawn;
a reminder that music is still a part of me.
I finally remember why it’s something that I need:
even with no words or voice,
through song, a soul will always speak.

untitled

Of Fate, I ask no recompense:
she played a stronger hand than I.
But, had I any hint of sense,
the victory could have been mine.

Her strategy now seems so clear,
and all the weapons I supplied:
my reticence, my pride, my fear.
I should have seen, but I was blind.

So now I stand and face my foe;
our game, for now, has reached its end.
As victor, cruel Fate seeks to know:
“Who will be spared: you or your friend?”