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Posts Tagged ‘avery wellman’

Brisk, blue spirits waver around us

like smoke in a closed off room.

Shutters are drawn, dust is swirling,

cars hurrying.

They linger amongst us like the fragrance of a flower,

like sweet smiles

and your tender laugh.

Among this audience they sit,

these blue bastards brooding

with their subtle shaking hands–

another silence lost to the space.

Like oil erasing the horizon of a highway,

we notice this all.

Of course we do,

but what will we do?

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When Emma and Evan left their grandmother’s house they first stopped off to pick some blueberries. The bushes were filled with them every Summer and while it was a bit early they couldn’t resist. The berries were so sour and tart that they both would inadvertently grimace after eating them, often times laughing at the faces each would make. The berries were scattered across a small, mosey field that separated the house from the barn-like garage. There was a silvery rock laid path that connected the two structures and undisturbed rock lay like shells on the shore of the sea, resting all around the ground. Off towards the barn a red wagon sat beside two small bikes, both old cruisers. The wagon was half filled with apples they’d picked from the orchard earlier and as they finished collecting their blueberries, they headed toward the entrance of the forest.

It really was a lovely property and the land seems so filled with beauty and wonder to the both of them. Despite something strange between their grandmother and mother, they both loved visiting here. Emma loved visiting because whenever they did they got to ride the old cruisers. She loved all the laughing and racing and chasing they did with one another. Evan loved visiting because he got to climb the mountain in the forest that led to the cemetery. And although his older brothers would often correct him with their eyes rolling in annoyance, he still believed it was a mountain and not just a hill. The truth is things of wonder to a young boy mine as well be made from magic and there’s no way of telling them otherwise. But his brothers were getting older and their youthful abilities to recognize magic had been fading. Evan knew when they corrected him about the hill that they had once call it a mountain too. It was back when they first showed it to him and deep down he knew they remembered. It was no use in reminding them though of something he was sure they missed.

As Emma and Evan entered the forest they both took off running. They were racing with one another towards the creek, trying to see who would get to the tree with the swinging rope first. It was a game they often played and sometimes it was not so funny. Evan usually won, except when Emma seemed like she needed it. Meaning she was most likely going to cry. But it wasn’t one of those times and Evan arrived, touching the trunk of the tree, in victorious fashion.

The rope was tied on a long, draping branch from a tree that swung over the rushing creek. It was the type of swing that you slid your foot into for safe holding. Evan went first and then helped Emma get her footing. He pushed her for a few swings and then he went again. They switched back and forth for awhile, making noises and testing the distance and durability of the rope.

After some time they left the rope and their friendly, draping tree and crossed the quiet creek. They skillfully followed a trail of rocks and landed dryly on the other side. They climbed the steep forest hill with little trouble too. They had made this journey many times before and they knew the rout well.

Once they got to the top, Evan was bubbling with excitement. He was getting closer to the magic and the mountain and the sandy slopes that separated the cemetery from the neighborhood. The outlook spot that oversaw the entire neighborhood street, as well as the cow farm that was next door. On the other side, was the cemetery that was brewing with scary stories about a Green Lady who haunted the grounds. The story went that she was a widow and all she loved was her emerald jewelry. After she died, she was buried in the cemetery but robbers came and dug up her grave, stealing all of her treasures. And since then she haunts the cemetery, glowing green, looking for her stolen emerald. There wasn’t a time Evan had visited this place and not thought of her. As scary as it seemed when he did, there was also something so sad about her restlessness. He hoped that it wasn’t true and that whoever she was, she was resting in peace.

Emma walked along the top of the mountain as Evan sat looking across the landscape from the outlook spot. He wanted to build a fort here and he was sure of it. He would defend it too. He wasn’t sure from what though. Perhaps the Green Lady or other kids or those construction workers that wanted to mess up this magical place. To the East of the cemetery were a bunch of tractors and dirt piles. No one was working there but it was just a matter of time. Both Emma and Evan didn’t like that they were there at all. It just meant that something was going to change, which always seemed to mean that some magical would disappear.

The sun was beginning to descend behind the trees in the horizon. They both knew it was time to head back and both of them were getting tired. As they crossed the creek and walked through the forest, they journeyed together in silence.

Emma thought of the pink and green candies their grandmother would treat them to when they got back home. She could nearly taste their powdery sweetness. And Evan thought about building his fort and defending the mountain, although somewhere deep inside, he was calling it a hill for the first time.

 

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In a soft and fragile voice you seem to be screaming at the world,

with wide eyes full of fire and fears

and a sharp nose to match.

Like a lone boat afloat in the middle of the ocean,

rocking and rotting.

Waiting in vain and pulsing with pain.

Powerless and ablaze.

Even your bullets are bleeding.

And your heart needing. Your love fleeting.

And amongst all of this mess is a beauty inside you,

glowing like crystals in a cave.

You know this.

I know you do.

But take as much time as you need sweet one.

Let the world love you as you begin to remember

again.

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If these walls defeat you,

break this space between you,

and walk on water

to the center of

the Pacific Ocean.

Let wet drops drip from the tips of your hands.

You are surrounded by all and only blue

and for a few moments

you are left dizzy,

but not dizzy like an adult.

Dizzy like a child.

You fall completely

into the deep blue sea,

like a dream, becoming.

But falling feels like flying

and breathing and dying

seem the same too.

The eternal irony.

When you’re surrounded, surrender.

Surrender to the power

of what a moment can help you to remember.

There is an Ocean inside you.

And an Ocean inside me. It is in all of us.

We are infinite,

and endlessly becoming.

Just remember.

Surrender,

remember.

 

 

 

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All of this matter seems to matter more

than these moments built out of magic.

Embedded behind our open eyes

is a world wide web,

not connected through cords and cables

but our energy and our emotions.

Let the voice beneath our senses

inform us and guide us.

Let our knowing be led from a place

not built by hands but hearts.

Let our love drive our actions

and let us experience the magic

deep in the toes of our souls.

 

All this matter matters

more when you give yourself away.

The strength of your spirit rests

in the resilience of your faith.

You already know the truth.

You have always know it.

So much of your time

here

is just about

remembering and releasing

and resting in the warmth of your heart.

 

 

 

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Out on the plastic grass

I made my bed.

I set myself up with

stars and selves on shelves–

some needing dusting desperately.

Some changing shape

as I took them close.

As if my reaching hands were touching magic,

or even being magic.

My thoughts sparked in this flat space.

Music flooded from the house.

My mind its own mirrored wall,

radiating and remembering the signals.

I am told of things and listen,

while some make me let out in laughter.

It is through fire

that my fears are best burned.

Then my spirit can shine

in its own unique light.

 

Out on the plastic grass

I made a bed and I laid flat and I found the stars.

And I found mother nature too.

And in the eyes of all these people,

I found myself

constantly

becoming, anew.

 

 

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Who were we before this black screen bore its birth?

Before the crystallized asses and the political passes

settled in.

Before the highway lost it’s shape and the open road

of freedom was found with pudgy fingers and

minds melted in moments of escape.

Who were we back when?

When the trails were unpaved

and the maps were unfinished.

When our minds were curious

and our hearts hungry

for those big things in life

called love?

Who were we then?

And what now is left of our

beautifully broken dreams,

built on nothing?

What is left

for us

to mess up?

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