Month: October 2024

To Exist

On By CantelonIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Today as I took a break from work to take a short walk in sun while running an errand I was stopped by a pleasant couple who wanted to thank me for my poetry.

They mentioned they had purchased my books and hoped I would host a reading at some point so they could get me to sign their copies.

They spent several minutes talking with me about how they had studied poetry and their feelings of its value along with their compliments on my writing.

Wow. What a wonderful and timely boost. To be seen. To have my existence verified and validated.

If you have read anything by Sartre or Camus you understand this sense of either existing “too much” or not at all. That to be isolated in one’s own mind, away from others, can lead to a view of the world as a projection from elsewhere. As if it were something unreal or mythical. A place that we do not belong to.

When we fall into this thinking we seek or are grateful for others to break into our lives in the best possible way like this couple did. In those moments and the time following you know you exist in a way you may have lost before. We all do it to one degree or another.

When life makes us numb and we become used to the things surrounding to the point they become invisible we seek out things and people to pierce of lives in one way or another. We seek out gratitude, compliments, passion, love, lust, even hate and anger…extreme and sometimes destructive things to shake us from the numbness and sleep we can sometimes fall into. Things that make us feel alive for a while.

At its best this pursuit is like the pursuit of a morning coffee or an evening glass of wine. At it’s worst our seeking becomes an addiction which will destroy us in the end.

I exist. For a while now, I know this. I am grateful for it.

The Futility of the White Flag

On By CantelonIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

They sent

Volley after violent volley of

Machinegun fire at the trench

100 yards of hate and death

And there was no stopping

And there was no looking

And there was no living

In the midst of the relentless

So the white flag was lifted

In the hope of some sort of peace

In the hope of some sort of retreat

But it was torn to shreds

By a dark cloud of lead

Leaving them to fall

Hopeless to the ground

Hearing laughter drifting to the sky

As they waited in the sun to die.

Onion

On By CantelonIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

You would never see me cry

No, never a tear from my blue eye

If not for the cutting of onions

And neither would you see me sleep

For as much as they make me weep

Before my wildly curious sons

Curse these demon-sent roots

Next time, I’ll slice some gentle fruits

Childlike

On By CantelonIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

To be childlike

But not a child

This is a goal

Worthy of pursuit

So I will leave my drama

And my teenage heart

On the curb of the past

In favor of a thing that lasts

But I will still climb trees

And jump from cliffs

I will ride my bike

And laugh in joyous fits

I will remain young

And in the end

I will remain steadfast

to awaken

On By CantelonIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

i woke up
and saw the sun
it was streaming through the window
yellow ribbons of light
piling up upon the floor
reminding me that the storm
that raged that terrible day before
was gone but I was still here

i stood and got dressed,
prepared for the day,
and stepped out the back door
to witness a far and golden horizon
and infinite paths to walk toward it
and so i began…

Revelation

On By CantelonIn Uncategorized1 Comment

My most recent poem was more raw than most (understatement?) but it came with a new awareness that had not occurred to me before.

Anyone who has read my blog realizes I might be a bit of an over-sharer. In the past the most polite way someone ever brought this up to me was by telling me I was “too honest.”

I get it. It’s tough to hear these things and not necessarily something a person signs up for when they walk past and say “how’s it going?” or when they stop by the blog for a nice poem about the sunset and get slapped in the face with a screed abut sexual abuse. Perhaps some writing should come with a trigger warning.

Anyhow I wrote a poem earlier entitled receptacle after waking up from a terrible nightmare I didn’t know how to talk about but I knew how to write it.

Having reread the poem a few times now I have come to understand that one of my core beliefs (a phrase I am learning about in an excellent book I am currently reading) is that the best thing I can do when I feel unsafe or threatened is to scream.

This sounds obvious but let me explain. Throughout my childhood I came to learn that if I wanted to feel safe I needed to tell an adult about what was going on in my life. Call the police. Tell a teacher. Scream for help. Be loud and be obvious. Shine a spotlight on ANY negative or harmful activity aimed at me or around me.

Over time I think this, mixed with my lovely Adult Combined ADHD, transformed into the over-sharing Peter we all know and love today. I have this odd instinct to expose every dark thing I perceive in my life as a way of eradicating it like a magnifying lens focusing the sun to eradicate an ant. I do this mostly through writing.

While this may have worked as a child it is not a great coping mechanism as an adult. That’s because not everything that makes me uncomfortable is a threat. Some things are supposed to make us uncomfortable. Exercise for instance. One cannot grow stronger if one employs tactics to avoid and eradicate all moments of discomfort because sometimes it is ok to be uncomfortable. Sometimes the challenges are there to help us grow stronger and not to be yelled away or spotlight into oblivion.

I wish I had understood this about myself sooner. I wish I had listened to the many loving people who tried to gently let me know this. Still – better late than never right?

For now consider the last poem a hopeful bookend in what has been years of trauma dumping. I want to move forward into something more hopeful. Something more nuanced. This is the goal. I will not always succeed but it is a worthy destination to try and find.

ASIDE: Mistakes happen. I will make them. I cannot obliterate the possibility of mistakes. I need to not over-react when I do make them. I need to commit them to memory and remember my goal.

The past is the past. It does its good and its bad and disappears leaving scars and beauty marks. I need to focus more on the present and even consider the future as the promised dawn of a new day. I like this. Sometimes I will forget I wrote this but that’s ok. Let’s focus on trending toward light.

receptacle

On By CantelonIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

i was a lighthouse for weak and desperate men
a beacon of innocence for the broken and the abusive
who would take their poisonous and pathetic person
and pour it into me like a ready receptacle
like a garbage can for their corrosion and need

i was a container to be emptied into
listening ears hoping this was value
a sad kid willing to hear whatever words they’d say
to make me feel better about these things
to make them feel better about these things
to convince me that this was what I wanted
that this was love

but i learned soon enough (too late)
that monsters hide their horrors in the dark
they tell themselves lies
they told me lies
that i might continue to be the doll they wanted
compliant, as if it would somehow last forever

and they taught me to lie to the ones i loved
they taught me to hide these acts as if,
as if I WAS THE ONE WHO WAS BROKEN
and not them the ones breaking
and it was at their hands i first learned shame
to keep their secrets from my protectors
i was blood in the water of their destructive desire
they could smell me a mile away, circling in

until i learned a new thing
until they taught me a hard lesson
that i could break their grasping hands
that i could use their secrets to send them away
i could take freedom by throat and hold it tight
when i realized that predators lie to sink in their teeth
that the worst of us wants to be kept in the dark
invisible to the ones who love us
that any good thing is worth being seen
and all i needed was to glow again
and send them scattering into the black
like the cockroaches they were

but sometimes i see their ghosts at night
and it makes me weep for the boy i was.

Eternity

On By CantelonIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

I am eternal

This tabletop

This coffee

This phone

At our core

We are forever

What an irony

To be made of eternity

But aware so briefly

I will be a star

A galaxy

A pebble

And sand for prints

To be impressed into

Over and over again

Until I have been everything

Until I have been everywhere

Crumbling

On By CantelonIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

And so

In the end

We will erode

Like cliffs against the ocean

Crumbling to nothingness

Worn away

Washed away

As if we never were

Hold tight to what is

For there is no “was”

There is no “will be”

On Tom Bombadil

On By CantelonIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Who is Tom Bombadil?

This is one of the most persistent questions fans of Tolkien’s Middle Earth writings have.

Bombadil is likely the most enigmatic character in the entire Tolkien legendarium and there is much evidence that Tolkien preferred him that way. Tolkien resisted every attempt to pin Bombadil down or define him thoroughly simply seeing the character as “interesting” – an attribute that he felt was enough.

Still we see clues to something of him. The one ring appears to have no power or sway over Bombadil. Bombadil refers to himself as eldest. Some people seem to think this means he is Eru-Illuvator, the creator of all things. This is understandable but I think incorrect.

To be “eldest” implies a beginning to compare against others who are not eldest. Eru has no beginning…Eru is not eldest because Eru has no age to compare against others. Eru is always.

Some people consider Bombadil to be a personification of nature, a Maia on the order of Gandalf, Sauron, a Balrog etc. Others consider him one of the Valar, like Aule.

Personally I think Bombadil is the personification or manifestation of the Secret Fire.

“Therefore Ilúvatar gave to their vision Being, and set it amid the Void, and the Secret Fire was sent to burn at the heart of the World; and it was called Eä.”  – Valaquenta

The fact that Illuvator and the Valar sang the word into being and that Bombadil is famously at his most powerful while singing does not seem to be a coincidence to me. Bombadil is ultimately a creative force and not a destructive one. Nothing in the word seems to affect him however he seems to be able to effect the world.

Gandalf refers to himself as a servant of the Secret Fire and I like to think this means Gandalf is aware of the true nature of Bombadil as the creative force of Illuvator and thus, while not Illuvator, a reliable means for seeing Illuvator’s character and nature.

Whoever he is Tom Bombadil is one of the most interesting characters in fantasy literature and Tolkien was wise to remain vague about him.

The Song(s) of Tom Bombadil

Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!Ring a dong! hop along! Fal lal the willow!Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!

Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling! Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling. Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight, Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight, There my pretty lady is, River-woman’s daughter, Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water. Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing? Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! and merry-o! Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o! Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away! Tom’s in a hurry now. Evening will follow day. Tom’s going home again water-lilies bringing. Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?

Hop along, my little friends, up the Withywindle! Tom’s going on ahead candles for to kindle. Down west sinks the Sun: soon you will be groping. When the night-shadows fall, then the door will open, Out of the window-panes light will twinkle yellow. Fear no alder black! Heed no hoary willow! Fear neither root nor bough! Tom goes on before you. Hey now! merry dol! We’ll be waiting for you!

Hey! Come derry dol! Hop along, my hearties! Hobbits! Ponies all! We are fond of parties. Now let the fun begin! Let us sing together!

Now let the song begin! Let us sing together! Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather, Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather, Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather, Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water: Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!

Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow; Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow.

I had an errand there: gathering water-lilies, green leaves and lilies white to please my pretty lady, the last ere the year’s end to keep them from the winter, to flower by her pretty feet till the snows are melted. Each year at summer’s end I go to find them for her, in a wide pool, deep and clear, far down the Withywindle; there they open first in spring and there they linger latest. By that pool long ago I found the River-daughter, fair young Goldberry sitting in the rushes. Sweet was her singing then, and her heart was beating! And that proved well for you– for now I shall no longer go down deep again along the forest-water, not while the year is old. Nor shall I be passing Old Man Willow’s house this side of spring-time, not till the merry spring, when the River-daughter dances down the withy-path to bathe in the water.

Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo! By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow, By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us! Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!

Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow, Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow. None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the master: His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster.

Get out, you old wight! Vanish in the sunlight! Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing, Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains! Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty! Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness, Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.

Wake now my merry lads! Wake and hear me calling! Warm now be heart and limb! The cold stone is fallen; Dark door is standing wide; dead hand is broken. Night under Night is flown, and the Gate is open!

Hey! now! Come hoy now! Wither do you wander? Up, down, near or far, here, there or yonder? Sharp-ears, Wise-nose, Swish-tail and Bumpkin, White-socks my little lad, and old Fatty Lumpkin!

Tom’s country ends here: he will not pass the borders. Tom has his house to mind, and Goldberry is waiting!