Ironic Misunderstanding

This happened half a year ago, at my old cubicle space:
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A coworker today said "I sometimes wonder if you only do this job to support your writing."

At most, he has seen me do two things:

   - open my blog: Adventures of the Mundane;

   - read Weinberg on Reading;

I don't know if he meant it kindly despite the implication, but the implication hurt - that I don't do the work I'm hired to do. It hurt even more, likely, because I don't actually take my urge to write seriously.

"Laaaame"

Volk: Friend #1, brainy PhD Student
mL: Friend #2, brainy PhD Student
mimB: Friend #3, Entry Level, graduated 2 years earlier, not attending a university

Spring 2011:
mimB:  BTW, what time do we meet?
Volk:  Probably closer to morning or evening is better. Or to the middle of the day. Haha. So, well, after 10am.
mimB: Are you always this... vague in the mornings?
Volk: 10:30 is good, for example.
mimB: lol, I'm undercover as a working adult. :) I don't get off work earlier than 5pm.
Volk: Lame. :p 5pm then?
mimB: What is that with you and brainy future PhD kids?
Volk: Working specific hours is overrated. :)

mimB: So, how about this Wednesday. I think I can make it work. Any preferences for plans?
mL: A walk. Or a hike.
mimB: What do you mean by "hike"?
mL: I mean the Billy Goat trail.
mimB: Because I'm still a regularly working person. Who doesn't really leave work until 5 or 6pm?
mL: Laaame.

Fall 2011:

mL: wait

mimB: ?

mL: You seriously only get a day off for Christmas and Thanksgiving?

mimB: Yes. That's what happens to the whole world :) ... Well, the industry.

mL: so like November 25th - you have to use a vacation day to get the day after Thanksgiving off?

mimB: Yes

mL: I thought everyone got that Friday off

mimB: Nope :D

mL: laaaame

He is old and regal, his thick beard and wisps of his hair bright silver, his back straight. He brags and muses and mentions his several PhD degrees, his extensive experience and hobbies, and dresses content in stories and jokes about wife and her fur coats. He's theorizing again; he is relaxed and kind and does not mention the budget and mentions "the business" with a benevolent condescension - and the audience understands that once again all is, if not well, then at least back to the usual at our company.
We all come to hear him, we all come to display out respect - to hope that when it's our turn to speak he will listen in turn.
He is wearing a dark olive shirt; it seems to throw a yellow sheen under direct light. It looks like he's wearing the moss of a forest. Did he get it on his own accord, or was it picked out for him by his wife? Did they shop together when her eye fell on it, and did she ask him to try it on, and did she smooth it out on his chest, on his shoulders? Does she remember their years together when she still cares for him, his smiling eyes drawing the network of laugh lines on his face?

How many ironed shirts on the shoulders of men mean the love of a wife?

All I can really think about as he gestures and speaks is what kind of a grandfather he must be.

Back to posting

Not fresh, but written recently:

С добрым утром, природа -
Ты туманна и сонна.
В голове непогода,
И всю ночь шли дожди.
Натянув с горизонта
Облаков одеяло,
Умываясь росою,
Все гостишь у тоски.

А я встану с зарёю,
Протяну к тебе руки.
Отбрыкнувши усталость,
Окунусь в твою тишь.
Потянусь до серёжек
Любимой берёзы,
Улыбнусь оленёнку -
"Ты тоже не спишь?"

Ты наполнишь ветрами
Мой жизненный парус,
Своим влажным дыханьем
Обнимешь меня.
И слизнув капли силы
С игл матовых сосен,
Я раскроюсь к приходу
Грядущего дня.

A bit on our natural image

The man without his left arm leans into the back of his chair as if it's an extension of his torso. Often, the chair is his shoulder, the weight of his whole side supported. Sometimes, it is merely a grip, positioned to prevent from falling. Rarely, it is a cradle, spooning him across and sideways, and it cannot be a comfortable position for any but him. And never is the chair's back an actual back into which he reclines.

Company Shuttle to Metro

The company I contract for provides a morning and evening shuttle from our local office to the nearest metro, which is almost cooler than having a cafeteria in the business building and a pond in the backyard.

He came home, saw the empty rooms, the mess left behind. Turned in his two week notice at midnight. Went to do something careless, something so close to loosing it all so that he could feel alive enough, above the weighty feeling of being left.
His first instinct is to leave it all behind, jump over it, start a new, start far a away. Maybe he'll visit his sister.

Morning, in the parent's kitchen, standing by the window to the sound of the warming kettle. Twarog and sugar and tears for breakfast. The dairy soft and a little cool, the wave of quiet sorrow aided by the melting crystals of sweetness on her tongue, their crunch on her teeth.
The apple makes her cry again.

He looks away when she comes by, but she is so impatient.
I will find you, he says. Go away. Please go away. Please.
His smile is halfhearted and falls, as if he has no strength to hold it. Eyes red, under slept. A meeting request with his manager, open, about to be sent.

I wish the elevator with the mirror ceiling would close on me alone, take me gently down, below, as I look at myself, myself, hard, like he must see it.
His pain grips my throat, pours down my cheeks.

Notable bits of yesterday

First hints of the sunset cast long shadows on the ground, but the trees are still a brilliant green against the grayish but bright sky. Drying puddles adorn the uneven asphalt, and only a couple of cars are left in the enormous parking lot by the technology building. One of them is my small blue convertible.

My approach to writing

Some days, words come easy - a beautiful sunset, the boats of geese on still water in twilight, the smell of amber from the remnants of the barn that burned a week ago in the blazing June heat - and they pour, magnificent, superfluous, barely ordered, tangled and unprocessed, like the overflowing awe that inspires them.
Most days though, I'm running too fast for awe to catch up. I am running from myself, towards the brilliance of busy breathless bustle of activity. No wonder there are no words. I don't give them a chance to lose the volatility of their birth in my mind, not to speak of letting my mouth caress them into form. Attention requires stillness. Life requires stillness.

At bookstore, 6/7/2011

My linen pants  have green grass stains, while the balding man in his seventies tapers his white beard and corrects his glasses; as an open book beckons his still strong posture. His nose is strict and his eyes sharp; he is handsome in his age as the overlay of palm prints on the corner of the second story window.  Cars waltz, backing out and filling parking spots in circling unison, paths crossed, accidents avoided. A girl in yellow and a girl in pink shuffle jump amongst adults, two upturned flower heads. The man in a brown jacket and brown pants shifts his shoulders, fixes his trousers, reaches deep into an inside pocket beside his left arm, withdraws a cell, shifts his shoulders again. Shakespeare weights down Poe, weights down worn black leather of a favorite bag. The ice in green tea frap  is long melted, cinnamon sticky fingers licked, the dinner bun eaten.

Prompt: Archangel

Prompt: Archangel
Form: Lai

Of average height,
The eyes blue and bright
With cheer,
You hide in plain light
All colors of white.
Sincere,
You find such delight
In guarding this sight
So clear.
Your stand by your fight
May old souls incite
To tear.
While dreaming of flight
My will do ignite
Sans fear:
With your breath inside,
The triumph, the plight -
Both dear.
So struggle despite,
My own precious sprite,
Stay near.

Prompt: To beguile with words

Prompt: To beguile with words
Form: Abcedarian

Abate blandishment capricious -
Desist! Elusive fancy,
Grant hopeful innocents just knowledge,
Let mind Narcissus overrule.
Praise quenches reason.
Seek truth under vaporous words -
Exploits yield zenith.

Prompt: I put a Spell on You

Prompt: I put a Spell on You
Form: Diatelle

Deep

Sunshine

Intertwines

With streaming air,

Dust gleaming pools divine

Along the cascades of your hair.

Quench your eyes' thirst - soak up my molten stare.

Abrupt design sends my mind into frenzied leap -

Bewitch her heart with signs of fate to share

Together, rare and perfect pair.

The chorus of your shrine

I'll be and swear -

'I am thine!'

Be mine

Keep.

Prompt: Breathe

Prompt: Breathe
Form: Terza Rima

Moist existence chills to peaks of frost,
Silver lace explodes in streaks of stars,
Mountain ridges, pine woods run across,

Northern flurries feather from afar.
And beyond the painted icy sweep -
Lands of sun-kissed white are all but sparse.

Touch embroidered cold with finger tip,
Melt a minute window on the glass,
Into winter's kingdom take a leap -

Hear crunch of snow with every step, as
Fresh, crisp air bites cheeks and nose to red
While flawless crystal fields get marked, alas.

Shake the hats of flakes from tree crowns that
Blooming clouds caught with each naked branch.
Breathe deeply in again, lest you forget
Nature's invigorating sleep's happy range.

Prompt: Fidelity

Prompt: Fidelity
Form: Haiku

every melting snow
dove drops from sky returning
back to nested hen

Prompt: Anger

Prompt: Anger
Form: Dorsimbra

Shards of rejection strike my throbbing veins...
A numbing fire spreads wide within my chest...
Unwittingly, again you've caused me pain.
Quite simply, there's another you trust best.

Aaargh! Unuttered wail
Shreds reason into ashes, brittle poise falls fractured unto crimson daffodils -
Can't I be irreplaceable for you,
Can't I be only?

Hope unhinged in mutiny, unready
To admit futility of endless
Chase unwanted. Shaking, dull aching - as
Shards of rejection strike my throbbing veins.

Prompt: Insubstantial

Prompt: Insubstantial
Form: Ethnographic Haiku

staccato splashes
on warm asphalt black rivers
run wild she dances

soft grasses tingling
bare toes brisk and moist
early morning dew

green curtain flutters
weeping willow welcomes
envelops gently

red stars on sky blue
blazing maple breathing in wind
ignites sight and heart

autumn steps across
saves barely crawling cold fly
brings to warmth inside

ant trail in kitchen
to balcony diverted
with shared bread crumbs

iris hugs small lake
in city all the people
her tiny haven

Prompt: Gone Fishing

_{Note: a lot of the poetry posted in this blog is a result of participating in various challenges on dA, and never finishing. It's all good fun, though.} 

Prompt: Gone Fishing
Form: Whitney

Version1:
Muddy boots,
Discarded hooks,
Rain stained brow,
A net of trout;
Greeted cold
By shattered gold -
Paper farewell: gone "fishing".

Version2:
Muddy boots,
Successful hooks,
Splendid catch
Luck let him snatch;
Greeted with
Discarded dreams
And inked adieu: gone "fishing".

Prompt: Osmosis

Prompt: Osmosis
Form: Epistle

At 12, your looking glass is pink and clear
Although the angle's off and blotched with blind spots...
You left me stranded.
I was at fault, I know that now
But still no guilt, and
No more trust in girls.

Hair of silk, a darling frown when deep in thought -
You took me cycling, only wanted love, tried to feel worthy...
I didn't help you, couldn't - saved yourself
You did, and now want another.
Such goodness, such whole heart, my dear friend
I'm never letting go.

I'd call us push & pull, but one side only both the actions undertakes -
Just mine. Our countless conversations, most you ended first,
Occasional exception - you, lying on the floor,
Grab my ankle: "See you soon?"
Those little drops of feeling keep me hooked.
Aloof, the only one I yearn to understand, but never could.
Exclusive, trusted, needed -
My want of past five years -
Unrequited.

My foreign summer - talented and fun,
Even as I led, I followed - did you notice?
You never needed people, yet they'd flock to you - replaceable,
Just as I.
Why are state lines impenetrable walls?
I miss our Slurpee trips.

My dear beloved, my inconsistent friend -
How to trust the one that hurts the most with unintended stabs?
You keep me safe enough to break me down.
With sweat and sighs we fix the mis-connections
And walking parallel try to cross our lines, or
At least, hold hands, graze fingertips, intentions.
Being 'us' is far from seamless,
But seeing how you make me smile,
I won't have any other to make me cry.

Prompt: Celebrity

Prompt: Celebrity
Form: Lilibonelle

An expert vision of a large life,
Of our suburban space Red Giant,
Of every gathering the soul,
To constants barely compliant,
Even the falls I often braid -
All bonds persistently evade.

Of our suburban space Red Giant,
With voice of booming pasi gong
Tales gilded grand round simple hearts
You weave with sweet alluring song.
I wonder if in New York crowd
You still succeed in standing out.

Of every gathering the soul,
Your yearning mirrors common goal -
With something bigger to be whole.
You feed us laughter, heavy sighs,
Time flying past - your presence's price,
But gladly limits one denies on your high tides.

To constants barely compliant
And in defiance rarely mild;
The term shall slip from not one mind
Of home dyed shirts and jeans that click
In rainbow bursts you'd proudly pick
For every morning of the week.

Even the falls I often braid,
Chestnut cascades grace shoulders uncommitted,
Frame thin stretched face, all eyes.
Those eyes will capture in their gaze - you only, their whispered promise. Yet that
Through and at himself they look you easily forget
Time and again.

All bonds persistently evade,
Beyond blood never fully yielding
Attachment or affection. Thriving
Off us all, belonging to no one.
Restless spirit, will you settle
Ever within yourself, if only to catch breath?

Prompt: Insatiable

Prompt: Insatiable
Form: Alliterisen

Fluorescence flares in fleeting fog, flutters, flickers...
Aurora sea stains swaying hands with algae spectrum hues...
Booming bass basks greedy bodies, grips them whole,
Beats the hearts, blinds the ears, breathes the lungs, the pores, the soul.
Volume waves weave veins of vibrato webs...
Rhythm resonates throughout, rings and thrills and throbs...
Whether it hurts or heals, one prays it never stops.