Tag: #IAN1

Her Eyes Held My Heart

Louvre Museum in Paris, France

Her Eyes Held My Heart
*
It mattered not my direction
Her soft mysterious eyes
Followed each step I took
Until my heart gave pause…
Until I stopped, turned, and
Faced a hint of smile she gave.
*
Not just a smile held me bound
In some exquisite thrall whose
Spell I wished not to break
But her face held me there…
Her eyes seemed to hold many
Secrets, or, were they desires?
Her lips spoke to me of other
Wispy dreams unfulfilled or
Too long delayed or forgotten.
*
Her raven hair fell easily with
No discernable salon-style.
I stood now in front of Her,
This wondrous Objet d’ art
Where countless others eyed
This marvel of Art and History,
And, perhaps, as I do now,
Fall in love with Mona Lisa.
*
©BR Chitwood – October 20, 2019

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Above It All

©Above It All

The fire was dying down to flickering embers, and the sudden coolness of a clear night slowly burrowed into my slender frame. My body shivered with its knowledge of my stupidity in coming this far up the slope…

Damn, I don’t know how far up I am. Why is it the man is always the one who gets pissed and stomps out of the house? Well, anyhow, I wouldn’t have let her leave with daylight almost gone. But that woman sure knows how to push all the buttons to get me so riled I could almost get mean and physical with her, but, dang it, that’s not the way I’m made. She just keeps on going over everything I’ve said, putting her own spin on my words, until I leave before my words won’t be enough to satisfy my anger. A long hard walk usually calmed the soul and made ‘making up’ a wonderful experience.

The house looked so small from this distance, the lights adding some sense of size and building style Lara and I spent countless fun hours designing, adding extra rooms for her sewing and quilting, adding a room for my pool table and a most stylish ‘Man-Cave’.

Here it comes…

Here comes the guilt…it was all my fault, with the wise cracks, while she was being serious and pleasant. When would I learn to keep my clever little ‘bon mots’ to myself? She is trying to make her serious points, and I’m being cute. She stressed several times the importance of the conversation, asked me to be serious, but, no, I had to show off my distracting attempts at humor for far too long.

Until…until she looked at me, nay, glared at me with lips tightly pursed and eyes dispensing tiny daggers of disgust and a scary cloud of vitriolic displeasure that swept over me, frightened me, and made me feel suddenly all alone. In fact, Lara walked away from me with unmistakable disgust, and I felt like something very special had left our marriage.

Standing mutely alone there in my ‘Man-Cave’, I encountered waves of uncertainty, a sudden panic that scared me, an urge to quickly go to Lara and ask forgiveness for my glib behavior in front of something so important to her. Then, that thought gave way to some inane ‘macho’ nonsense of male superiority thoughts…

I started for the kitchen and Lara, but I quickly made a sharp left-turn to the front door, pulled it open, walked out, and slammed it in a brutish display of petulance. The walking path up to ‘Monk’s Peak’ was just steps away, and I would show her…I would go AWOL for a while. Maybe that would teach her a lesson on how to deal with her husband. But…

But, sitting there for two hours, my mind did some ‘mind-jerks’ that surprised me. Darkness all around me, save for the cloudless night sky with its beautiful void filled with planets, stars, galaxies that had firmly fixed themselves for countless Millenia to guide those of our world who might have navigational needs, I suddenly grasped what fools before me must grasp, life is temporary, ephemeral, where, at the end one wonders where did all the years go – one life, a grain of sand on Millenia’s beach. Of course, came the word likely most despised in the world languages, ‘mortality’… Did a life end when the last breath was drawn? Were all the emotions felt for a lifetime, all the dreams fulfilled by the lovers, dreamers, movers, shakers of the world. Love given, taken – did it with death all just, go poof? Or, did a Continuum exist to usher us back in different forms, on and on, until we ‘get’ it and become one with the Supreme Host?

Sitting there on a hard rock above my home, my wife, my future, this all came to me – and, I cried, smiling like a fool, tasting tears that held in some miraculous way a validation.

I started to rise from the rock, eager to get back down that walking path and convey my love and thoughts to the dearest woman in my world, my precious Lara.

Then, I saw a light coming up the trail I had not noticed in my moments of serious thought. The light came closer until…until my eyes again clouded over and emitted their tears.

Lara rushed into my arms, and never has my heart filled so overflowingly with love.

“People in love can do some silly things. Here, put on your jacket and let’s go home. I made you a special dessert…Oh, and I love you.”

Lara grabbed my hand.

We kissed long with a soft, unhurried, promise.

©BR Chitwood

Flash Fiction by: BR Chitwood –October 10, 2019

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Darkness and Insomnia

Darkness and Insomnia

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(Image Art by Andrew Neel – Unsplash)

 

Darkness and Insomnia

By BR Chitwood

*

Sleep waits with me until

Insomnia might mercifully

Quit its nightly routines,

The tossing and turning

Becoming an unbearable

Stir of stupid body scenes.

*

How to position my hands?

My head? My legs? My feet?

My brain goes hither and yon.

The grandfather clock ticks

Off its steady pulsations

As thoughts pound on and on.

*

Now, I sit in my Lazy-Boy

Typing out my wariness

With words that rhyme.

My head begins to nod,

Drowsiness comes to tease,

Off to bed one more time.

*

Again, beneath the covers

My body comfortably in

Tune with my mind,

The damned cat pounces

On my naked form and

Decides it’s time to unwind.

*

A Restless Poetic Effort by BR Chitwood – October 4, 2019

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Darkness and Insomnia

(Image Art by Andrew Neel – Unsplash)

 <*****>

Darkness and Insomnia

By BR Chitwood

*

Sleep waits with me until

Insomnia might mercifully

Quit its nightly routines,

The tossing and turning

Becoming an unbearable

Stir of stupid body scenes.

*

How to position my hands?

My head? My legs? My feet?

My brain goes hither and yon.

The grandfather clock ticks

Off its steady pulsations

As thoughts pound on and on.

*

Now, I sit in my Lazy-Boy

Typing out my wariness

With words that rhyme.

My head begins to nod,

Drowsiness comes to tease,

Off again to bed I trod.

*

Again, beneath the covers

My body comfortably in

Tune with my mind,

The damned cat pounces

On my naked form and

Decides it’s time to unwind.

*

A Restless Poetic Effort by BR Chitwood – October 4, 2019

*

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Not To Be Again

Not To Be Again

*

Long auburn hair bouncing

In gay amusement

Upon sun-tanned shoulders,

So casual,

So impetuously serene,

So provocative,

And,

So delightfully tormenting

To a nascent longing

In her merry laughter and stroll

Along the tide’s ending wave.

Her white bikini so enjoys

Its rhythmic stroll

Along body curves

That sway in the breeze.

Ah, so much a Goddess

This creative design

Of a Deity’s brush.

I remember her well…

*

©BR Chitwood – September 30, 2019

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Hail, The Neon Beacon of Debauchery

(-Image art: Aziz Acharki – Unsplash-)

Hail, The Neon Beacon of Debauchery!

(Short poetic prose)

*

Hail, the neon beacon out ahead

Guiding, leading the man onward

Toward wakeful dreams aspired.

Hail, the beacon is subtle in its

Duality of promise and purpose.

Its laser flashes In frenetic frivolity to

Elixirs and forlorn witches of the night.

*

So, the shadowy evening passes hastily,

‘Last Call’ too quickly ends the charade.

Awaken, ignoble knight of no honor

To a brutal morn of rueful regret.

Face the gallows of vicious thoughts

Cascading mercilessly against the

Dull temples of intemperance.

*

The new sun gives way dimly to

A pitiable litany of remorseful chattel

And self-indulgent curses to the

Demons of meek, repentant mockery.

Meager, modest work efforts ensue,

A duplicate day of detritus, alas.

Then a misty miracle convenes:

*

Hail, the neon beacon out ahead

Guiding, leading the man onward

To yet another night of wistful witches.

Hail, The Neon Beacon of Debauchery!

*

©BR Chitwood – September 26, 2019

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Do You Know This Man?

Do You Know This Man?

No? I knew him, not so well, some forty years ago…he was a habitue, a devotee, of the Phoenix neon night life, searching for parts of himself he lost along the emotional road from Appalachia: lost in an abusive and disoriented childhood; lost in a flawed and impetuous marriage; lost in the glittering promise of booze and women. Yes, I knew him, not so well, as he made all his stumbles along the way, losing not only himself but the connections to family and friends, to the people who loved him.

Yes, of course, I’m the man in the photo, and there’s a lot more to the story…hope you’ll read THE CRACKED MIRROR, Reflections of an Appalachian Son, by Billy Ray Chitwood.

Excerpts from “The Cracked Mirror…”

***

In the end, my story must be like so many others, a story of a simple kid who grew up eating emotional soup and spending a lifetime trying to digest it. There are no spectacular or heroic moments. I’ve been in the United States Navy, but I’ve never fought a war—except the one I’ve declared within myself. So I know not the pain of holding a bleeding comrade to my bosom as he or she gasps the final breaths. I know not the anguish of a parent losing a child in an accident, or, in war—unless losing a child to drugs can be comparable. I’ve loved and been in love, but I’ve never stepped far enough from myself to know the true and natural profundity of its happiness and joy. I’ve been born but never died—unless the demon of the past is segmented death. The prospect of dying scares the hell out of me—not so much the prospect itself, but the pitiful legacy that is left behind. I’ve known insecurity and fear, along with self-confidence, loyalty, and pride. There have been the sins, small enough, I hope, to keep me at least somewhere in the thoughts of those I’ve loved. At times I’ve longed for ‘Nepenthe,’ the drug mentioned in ‘The Odyssey’ as a remedy for grief, the potion used by the ancients to induce forgetfulness of pain and sorrow. But, then, without some pain, can the soul truly seek refuge when the long journey is over?

***

The jail cell brought back sobriety and a stark reality. Sitting on a hard dirty ‘bed thing’ in the dimly lit, tiny barred enclosure, the demon thoughts came and possessed me. My world was disintegrating around me! The claustrophobic cell was my coffin of contriteness, a veritable symbol of my languishing life. There again was the ‘dark closet’ feeling within me, an anxious and suffocating hell! Grabbing at the bars I pitifully called out to the jailer, but no one came. Within the limited space I paced, stopped at the ugly stained wall, splayed my body against it, and tapped my forehead against its roughness. The jailer eventually came. He showed me a smile of compassion and told me that morning would come soon; then, I would be arraigned. The fitful night would pass.

***

It is Time that wears down the acts and deeds of man into something forgettable, mundane, heroic, noble, historical, and unforgettable. It is Time that leads us warily toward the greatest secret of all: That which lies beyond the dark veil!

***

“…There are men like you in the world, Prentice, through whatever kind of intervention, divine or otherwise, who must make us cry and laugh, who record for us the stirrings of the soul which we might otherwise never know.”

*

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Okay, here I am today, no longer chasing those windmills, still trying to figure out this ‘one foot in front of the other’ thing. There are times when it seems I’m pretty close to figuring out this grand production, but those times are little teaser moments to stir something in the soul…sort of like a dreaded visit to a doctor or dentist, getting the car repaired – feels great when you find out the blood pressure is normal (thanks to a little round pill), the teeth cleaning and exam present no new cavities, and the car now carries no shameful dent.

All in all, the rolling bluegrass hills of Kentucky, a good wife, an aging, lovable cat, great daughters and sons, have given me happiness and joy. The past still gets in my way at times in inscrutable ways…a misty longing or something valuable I’ve left behind. I’ve never abandoned my faith, though fragile it might be, and there are many more good days than bad,

With all this said, I’m still writing, still searching…guess that only stops when mortal time gives up on me…

Billy Ray Chitwood – September 14, 2019 ( From archives, May 22, 2015)

If you like books of mystery, suspense, action, romance, many of which are inspired by true events, please visit my website at https://billyraychitwood.com – after a short bio, just scroll down the ‘home’ page to preview the books.

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Corrupted Memory

Corrupted Memory

*

Through the worn pages of a simple Past

My slow and labored steps wander

With memorable moments no longer

Relevant or necessary to invoke,

Always to return to Now, this moment,

Passing as I breathe and wonder…

What was it all about, these cluttered,

Fanciful swipes of frivolity and time?

What Muse am I to discern follies and loves?

The mere poetic nothingness in the more

Noble distribution in years of memory?

Still, the mind continues its laborious stroll

Down through the trough of Time

Beckon me onward down these dusty paths

To the utter halls, I fear, of Madness.

*

BR Chitwood – September 12, 2019

*

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Life

Life

Life cannot begin

Lest you live it!

Awaken your dreams

Get out of the pit!

Find value in you

Don’t seek it in me!

Look inward/outward

Set yourself free!

Awaken to sunlight

Though dawn be gray!

Expand your horizon

Give in to the day!

Create your mantra

To repeat on the go!

Steady your rhythm

Go with the flow!

Walk with sublimity

At a joyous gait!

Reach for the stars

Therein lies your fate!

At day’s end

Rejoice in your worth!

Finding love heralds

Your peace on Earth.

 *

Billy Ray Chitwood – September 9, 2019

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The Wonder of It All

-Art work by: Marcela Laskoski – Unsplash-

The Wonder of It All

There are many times in my life when that fickle finger of fate has poked me in both eyes, blind-sided me with its perfidious promises of ecstasy, left me with helpless despair and loneliness, leaving me to learn that each subliminal moment must be offset by its presence.

Exceptions to that neat little summary?

Of course!

It’s all there in the gene pool which we all cast our ‘wonder’ at its origin.

For some it will be a life of great achievements along with the countering obstacles that must come calling. For this group of blessed mortal beings they are capable of humbly dismissing the vagaries of their lives, able to accept treachery and deceitful moments. This group is also able to accept, acknowledge, and with humility thank the ‘origin’ for the blessings.

This group passes through those dark and light dualities with dignity and honor. They live their lives with a blessed and most generous blend of gene pooling.

For some it will be a life of second-guessing, a balancing of dark and light shades of their existence, chasing their windmills in the darkness, waking to grim awareness in the light, and cursing the very nature of their mock-up. This group can also with varying degrees reluctantly acknowledge and perhaps not so humbly thank the ‘origin’ for their existence.

This group passes through the dark and light dualities with not so much dignity, honor, and order.

Identify the first Group as ‘A’.

Identify the second Group as ‘B’.

Which group do you think will be the poets, the writers, and the dreamers among us?

Which group do you think will be the ‘Movers and the Shakers’, the Architects, the barons of business, the politicians among us?

The ‘Origin’ is known by some, believed known by others, not so much by many.

Ah, ‘The Wonder of It All’!

Billy Ray Chitwood – August 31, 2019

 

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