Limbo

Fear. Paralyzing frozen.
No way to go back again.
Afraid to step forward.

This antimovement consuming
Everything.
Endless hope.
Endless possibility.
Arrested.

What if it happens again?
How many pieces are left
To be carried away?
What if it doesn't?

What if everything
I ever wanted
Is on the other side of that step?

What if cutting that final
Cord severs the last hope?

Frozen, terrified.
Won't stay like this forever.
Maybe just one more day.
One more look.
One last chance.

What if while I'm waiting
Hope is moving on?
This limbo
Is the closest to Hell
I'll ever feel again.

On the otherside
Endless unknown.

Loves wild ride

It starts slowly
A trickle
Soft, sweet, gentle
The promise
Like a flood it consumes
Everything

Swift as the tide
It pulls you under
Head below water
Captivated
Terrified
Softly it whispers
Surrender

Violently it spits you on shore
No explanation
Reason
Just gone
Spent, forever more

Love promises all
Consumes everything
Exiting
A meek skeleton

Rider beware
Hold onto your heart
It's gambling with your soul.

GIVE THANKS

There must be something in the air
Maybe in the water
That causes the heartbreak
I hear and see everywhere.

Is it this place
The economy
Or simply the time of year?

Happy families gather for their feasts
While other surrender
Solitude and tears.

In a world with such abundance
Why must pain be so plenty?
Can not even the least of us
Have just one somebody?

As you look across the table
Surrounded by family and friend
Remember at that moment
Somewhere a life alone ends.

In your revelry, gluttony, and cheer
Think of those with none to hold dear.

Think of the soldiers far away
The sick, the poor
The unwanted and lame.

Think just for a moment
Of true wealth
Not with distaste,
Those who would give everything
For a warm safe place.

Count your riches
Not in paper and coin
But in smiles, love, and home
For there will be many
All alone.
Nov 25 2013

Fading

There is a void felt heart to soul
The place made for you.
Like a fool
I built my life around us
For you to walk
So easily out the door.

It fills slowly
Like a sand castle
The water ebbs away at its sides
Tears begin to fade
Like your memory
In a shallow grave.

Yet for everything taken
So much more was gained.
The pain fades
Strength grows.
Slowly awakening
A long dead hunger for life.

The hinges on our past close slowly.
But close at last they will.
Thank you for showing me
There is life after you .

Let it Go

Tasting the salt of your own tears
understanding the pain you feel is yours,
yours alone
when you invest your heart
where it will never be nourished
the pain of the finality is one sided
deep like a razor blade
that lashes away at the flesh of the wrists
time
only time will close the wounds
the scars will remain
serving forever as a reminder
never let someone hold you when you need to be held
only when you are strong enough
to simply enjoy it
only then will it be worth the risk
only then will the cuts be closed enough
so as not to spring forth anew.
Let the salt wash away the pain
let time move swiftly.
Let one sided love die
so you can live to feel a love returned.

Fragments

Wrapped inside the shadow of your mind
Hidden
In plain thought.
Drinking in your proximity
Feeding
From the soul
I no longer possess
Your curse
My host.

Questions and Roles

How easily we become accustomed to our roles, routines. We wear them like shiny coats of armor protecting us from anything that might challenge our comfort. When new thoughts or idealizations meander through we quickly reject them as impossible. We build for ourselves a cage of comfort. It is only when we are at our lowest, our weakest that we must choose between holding tightly the armor or casting it off to the wind.
What dreams may come if we go naked into the world? If we let go of the safety rope and put everything we have out there bared. Few ever attempt such a feat. Fewer still dare to live their entirety as such. Why? Because society must have its order. We must label and categorize everything into a neat little rolodex quickly discarding anything that does not fit as insane.
Cookie cutters.
Even the most extreme of us cling to this at some level. Would existing any other way open Pandora's Box? Would stepping into the world bare, no plan, no safety net unravel a human being? How long would it take?
I offer no solutions this time, only questions. Where is the beginning of a dream if we are no more than our own reality?

A writer's Prayer

The characters are dancing through my mind. Swordplay of words from whence I can not escape. They hold captive my imagination as scene by scene their story unfolds. I wait with anticipatory patience as their tale unwinds. What will this ending hold? Who is the villain? Where does this story go? For now I must watch as their tale escapes through keystrokes. I must wait as scene by scene I try humbly to describe. Please let justice be done in this telling. When the end is written let me marvel in amazement at they way in which they have coiled me inside their world. A world for now in which I am a mere guest, an observer, a court reporter trying to do justice to the tension filled court room. Let this be the beginning of a masterpiece. Or at the least, let honor be done to my stay in their world.

A Boy and his Turtle

Remarkable is the devotion between a boy and his pet. This little turtle follows this child like a puppy. They sleep together (until a concerned parent gently removes the turtle to the safety of its tank once the child is asleep). They play together, eat  together,explore together, and honestly love each other.

As an individual that feels strongly against animals being kept in cages I had originaly tried to "free" the turtle to wild. Tater was allowed to mark the turtle's shell so he could easily spot him in the yard and the turtle was set free in a safe area not far from the house.The crazy little thing came back and stood at the door waiting for his kid to come out.

He is now part of the family. Definetly not a captive, a guest. How long will he choose to stay with us? I honestly don't know. But for now, I sit in amazement at the daily turtle videos (at 7 Tater is a pretty good camera man), the daily adventures (not sure how they come up with the ideas but there are some doozies), and the nightly turtle relocation. But mostly I sit back and marvel over the devotion between a boy and his turtle.

Random ranting of an unoccupied Mind

Are we all just fish in a sea to which escape equals peril?

To be wise and simple
A contradicition in itself
Wisdom is seldom simple
Simple is seldom wise.
Yet complexity is mind boggling
Slowing down possibility
Thus complexity is wise
But only at distance.
Distance is rarely easy
For long roads traveled lead to fatigue.
Fatigue slows thought
Therefore distance mustn't be wise.
What then is wisdom?


Random Ranting of an unoccupied mind
RM Brandon 2013 

Quote

The past is not meant to be a boulder to weigh down your journey. Place it beneath you feet and let it pave your road to success. ~R.M

Universal flow

Deep inside of each of us is a world within a world
An unseen river
Flowing with the fiercest of currents
To the pulse of a cosmic flow.

Knowledge unattained
Burns within
A keg waiting to be tapped
If only the souls becomes thirsty enough to drink.

Nectar of the Gods
Pure knowledge is.
It makes a fools head swell
A humble man beg.

Believe then what you will
Dare to swim in its current
Or stand idly upon its shore.

The river flows seen or unseen.
Experienced or ignored.
Choose wise if you will
For the river is far more than a great well.

Unspoken (lyrics)

She never talks about Minnesota
 The pain lingers there
Vacant buildings, sharp needles, cold empty stares

She never talks about the misery
society's cast away
never speaks of the gun shots
tears would stream down her face

Long hidden are the memories
that cold winter gloom
begging for absolution
lives taken too soon

the nightmares still come
screams in the night
Begging, praying something will make it all right

She never speaks of Minnesota
or the Summer that lead her there
Never speaks of the loneliness
Emptiness buried there

A face of kindness
Peppered a sea of hate
she never speaks of Minnesota
although her innocence never left that place.

Buried deep within a closet
shouts, gun shots ringing out
drug induced sleep
months swept past like weeks

Never does she speak
of wasted youth
lost love
Daily she remembers being sheltered
by something from up above

She Never speaks of Minnesota
only lives it in her sleep
the days of Freedom
time does not keep
When flesh is sold

Drugs peddled down the lane
flesh is always the source of the pain
She never speaks of the sound
change jingling in expensive suits
the sweet taste of relief
from a lone bowl of soup

Her soul died in Minnesota
innocence torn away
her heart was already gone
lonely, waiting by a lake

She never speaks of Minnesota.

(c) R.M Brandon 2013

Today

I saw an old couple today grey hair billowed in the wind on the back of a tricked out Harley they smiled and waved as they drove away.
I saw an old couple today side by side the rocked gently in the front porch shade I smiled and waved as I drove away.
I saw an old couple today he carressed her hand while silently she laid. I could hear the soft buzzing of the machines as I closed the door and walked away.
I saw an old couple today they laughed and reminisced across the table. He gave her half of his cheeseburger as the waitress smiled and walked away.
I saw an old couple today she peered into the darkness as his casket was lowered away. Tears graced her flushed, pale cheeks as one by one the mourners walked away.
I stopped for a moment to remember how swiftly life passes away.
(C) R.M. Brandon 2013

Untamed

Fickle is the wild heart. Brave are those who dare to tame it. Like a stallion or the rivers wild some things are made to stay free.

Reincarnation or Happenstance

If this existence is a mirror of another will the path taken be the same? Will ever there come full circle the meeting of this long condemned soul? What footfall will lead to a road as yet untraveled?  In which flesh do we stand condemned or soveriegn man? Do the choices change with standing?
The oddity of continuation within a world of resurrected perishables. A world in which memories borrowed become a roadmap to the stars of souls. Idiocracy, musings of an erratic, unsound mind most would say. Yet, what if this fishnet of time and space, this intricate orchestra of life plays on a scale far grander than imagined? Who is the playwrite, who are the players or is it simply a symphony our souls dance forever through?

Davey Jones Locker

Beneath this twisted flesh
emotional wreck
beauty lingers waiting
for one to see without eyes
to feel what words can not speak
to hear the music that has no written melody

Beneath the scars
the too many times broken heart
a flame dwindles remembering
the long lost spark of its creation

Will ever the flesh know
the love promised long ago
will ever this heart rejoice to the return
the melody that lit the fires burn

Like a ballerina hidden in a music chest
it waits patiently
for one who cares enough
to look inside
to what s hidden beneath the flesh.

 (c) R.M. Brandon 2013

Dance

It's ok to let go it frees your hands to hold onto something better.
It's ok to cry. Letting the pain out of your body makes room for more love.
It's okay to laugh. Laughter releases the creavtivity trapped beneath the daily routine. Find a reason.
It's ok to be flawed. Imperfections exist so that we may grow into something better.
It's ok to demand respect and walk away from anyone that you have to ask for it from. Every person, every life is priceless. Some pieces just don't fit together.
It's ok to fail. Fail a million times if you have to just never stop trying.
It's ok to believe. Magic happens, miracles exist, you don't have to understand to for it to be real.
Today maybe trying but get up and try on. Life is a dance once the music stops playing there will be plenty of time to watch the highlights until then bust your best moves.
Never let the world make you deaf, dance to your own beat. Even if they laugh, it's ok.
(C) R.M.Brandon2013

New Release!

Ladies and Gentlemen, and of course my faithful followers of the furry persuasion (yeah I saw my cat skyping the other day) Drum roll please! I have released a new story! Whispers of Dead has turned into a monster that is steadily growing. However its counterpart, Broken Screams, has finished telling itself and is now available for purchase. So please GO read the ramblings of a twisted mind that have taken on a life of their own. Enjoy, share, and as always, tell me what you think. See you soon. Download Broken Screams here

Sponsored Listing also available at Smashwords
Fat-Free Marketing by Jeff Kontur. $9.99 from Smashwords.com
An indispensable guide for marketing a small business. This book covers an almost mind-boggling range of promotional ideas, yet remains a quick and easy read.


 

Deep Thinker

Take that step if you dare
walk out the door
do the one thing you have never done before

Time has been wasted
Time has been lost
When it comes down to it
Living without life is the biggest cost

Dare you do it?
Dare you try?
Walk that line
live the dream you never tried before?

What if you fall?
What if you fail?
What if you die and never get to say you tried?

The death of the soul
Wrapped in roots
because you were to afraid to use your wings

Deep thinker
head full of notions
trapped in a body without motion.
Will you ever step up?

Get out of the life you are dying
live the life of your dreams.

(c)R.M. Brandon 2013

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/307865?ref=rmbran  

Exerpt WIP

"What did she see? Was it the monster behind the man or the man behind the monster? Would she live to know for sure? If she did, would it really matter in the end? It was him or her and she was by no means ready to die. If Derby had given her anything it was an uncanny ability to keep fighting, no matter how many times she was hit, or how big the attacker she wasn't about to stay down."


 

Broken Screams

Freeze Frame

Too many thoughts at one time. Stories running together, swirling and then collide. Please don't let them stop. They must be told. Could it slow down just a bit. Apparently my body has grown old. Trying to tie together the plots. Making sense from the madness. Precious is this gift inspite of the sadness. Yet I ponder as they flow, who story is it that must be told? Are you real? Are you out there? Will you know when it is done? As the plot thickens are you coming undone?
If it is true, if there really is a you, please be patient with this feeble old me. I am writing the rest of your story.

Food Chain

He was weak. Weakened by the flesh, by pride, by need. He needed desperately to feel wanted to feel irreplaceable, to simply feel. He had killed one already. Not the flesh and blood death that ends suffering, the spiritual death. A kind of dying more painful than the flesh because the dead are completely aware of their demise.

She found him in his weakened state of manhood. Like a spider to a fly she carefully spun him into her web. She cocooned his psyche. Stroked his needy ego. Filled his mind with everything he wanted. she gave him purpose. He gave her passion. The while, the dead kept on living. Filled with her confidence he struck out again. "You don't give me anything. You don't show me passion. You don't appreciate anything I do for you."

The dead simply listened. Weighed carefully her empty words. Slowly choking on the real tears of a death without release she replied, "You are right." That was all. Simple. Three words as empty as the three he promised her long ago. Time carried her empty flesh away. Drifting final,y facelessly across the face of the earth. Peace at last.

The spider kept her fly. The fly would soon be consumed. Ironic the words she used to entrance her victim actually freed his. The food chain carries on.

(c)2013 R.M. Brandon

Open your Mind Stop the Hate

Recently tension in the news related to Gay marriage has resulted in more violence. Far too often, as the case has been through out history, religious zeolites are screaming condemnation while hiding behind a guise of "It was written". Under no circumstance should violence and hate be justified. Period! With that said, I simply ask the following.
They say we are spiritual creatures enjoying a human experience. We were perfect. Without flesh we beamed of light exceeding the magnitude of stars. Color, gender, race are experiences tied strictly to the flesh. As spiritual beings we formed families, found love and created bonds so strong they can on rarity be rediscovered as flesh. If upon completion of this journey of humanity our goal is to return to that perfect spiritual existence once again answer this question.
 If we where perfect without gender, race, or color, if our spirits knew love without flesh, is it not possible for soul mates to find each other in flesh as the same gender? Is it not possible when it is all said and done instead of fire and brimstone we will discover an existence without hate and condemnation? Is it possible to behave as the perfect non judgmental beings we started as while we enjoy this human experience? Just think what we could achieve  if we weren't stuck on our differences.
Please feel free to rant. Express your opinion. It is a beautiful freedom we have to be able to speak openly, frankly, and without fear of someone taking our lives based on our feelings. Now think about it again. Can a gay or lesbian individual express their feelings, the most joyous of all emotions love, without fear of someone taking their life? Remember a time in history when the people who believed as deeply in their love for a book were murdered for that love? Nice way to uphold their sacrifice, kill in the name of the book they died for.
Look at the world through another's eyes.

Silent Scream

Searching endlessly
Begging to find
A place to rest this tattered mind.
An escape
a release
silent tranquility I seek.
The screaming inside
Is driving me out
pieces crumbling
sanity gone blind.
Just for a moment
let this mind be laid to rest
ease the burning within this chest.
The lips must remain sealed
not a soul can be trusted.
In the end they all judge
leave you lonely
busted.
Inside this madening shell I must stay
Silent
Stoic
Yet screaming all the same.
The world must never know
the pain it truley caused
So in solemn revelry
Mind and soul are lost.

(c)R.M.Brandon2013

When Life Makes you an AssHat

When life has kicked you down and you feel as if everything has fallen apart, remember there is always someone who wishes they have it as good as you. Lately life has become an overwhelming catastrophe. Weathering the storm had become gasping for air as my head bobbed briefly above water.

It all started about three weeks ago. A close family member had a heart attack, the flu took up residence among my kids, the partner went down with kidney stones, the electricity went out of one of the bathroom walls courtesy of a mouse that didn't survive the last nibble, my pet bearded dragon of seven years passed away, the work load at my day job doubled, the engine went out of my car, and now I am down with the flu.

Wow that was a long sentence. In my fever induced delirium I meandered to the kitchen tripping over laundry in the hallway. Through blurry eyes with swear words lingering on the tip of my tongue I open the refrigerator door wanting nothing more than a cold drink. Empty. Briefly I swear I heard the ketchup bottle laugh at me. Point break. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes. Frustration mingled with abdominal spasms intensifying a fresh wave of nausea. Closing the refrigerator door self-pity rose to the fore front of my mind. Why is life so hard?

The flutter of a paper caught my eye. Hanging proudly on the outside of the door was a colored page by my youngest a giant heart and the words "I Love You Mom". In that moment I felt like a complete asshat. It was only months ago I didn't have a refrigerator or a stove. There was a time in life I didn't have a home. But it wasn't the things that made me feel like an ungrateful twit. It was the realization that everything I truly need in this world was right there on that colored page.

After all, isn't that the reason I work? The ability to give those little people every opportunity I can in this world. The flu is nothing in the grand spectrum of disease in this world. Having seen firsthand the effects of childhood cancer, Alzheimer’s, stroke, heart attack, MS, Cystic Fibrosis, and numerous other diseases how can I feel sorry for myself over a stomach bug?

After knowing firsthand the fear of sleeping with one eye open beneath a blanket of stars and the pain of going without food for weeks at a time, how can I be so blind?

What is my lesson in all this? There was a time in life I would've gladly accepted the problems I have now and laughed them off as mediocre. There was a time I wished I would have it as good as I do now. Yeah it has taken a lot to get here and by no means am I at the top. But in retrospect, even at its worse, life really is beautiful.

 

Who is writing your story?

Inside each of us there is a child fighting to be remembered, a lover yearning to be unleashed, a dreamer longing to escape the bonds of flesh and fly. So few ever allow what is inside to surface. Why? Why do we falter to fear? Why do we allow someone else to dictate the story of our life?
Can you stand in a room full of black ties wearing polka dots? Can you be confident enough in your own skin to not only accept your differences, but embrace them?
Anarcy I mean not. Respect,compassion, empathy, should be common place. When was the last time you shrugged off a judging look? Criticize yourself less. Smile more. Let your inner dreamer fly.
Life is a short dance don't let the music stop before you have even stepped onto the floor.
Age is no constraint. Challenges are simply that, challenges. It is only what you allow to stop you in life that will.
Be Shakespear. Be Dr.Seuss. Be smart, be silly. Just be. Try not to let a single sun set without looking at the clouds, even if it's only through glass.
My point: live in your dreams, live in your flesh. Make each moment count before there are no moments left.
~2/19/13 R.M.Brandon

Lyrical Release: Inside Out

Sharing some lyrics I wrote recently. Can you hear the music? Tell me what you think.

There's an elephant on my chest
Can't take it
Can't take it
Too much stress
You're love is killing me
Eating me up
From the inside out
Can't take it
Have to break this
Trying to find the way out
This life is slow dying
Waiting,begging,trying
No escape
The pain it builds
No release
Praying for peace
Can't take it
Need to shake this
The elphant on my chest
Stress without release
Have to break away
Need to getaway
Runaway from the knife
Cutting with each breath
Can't take this
You can take this
Keep this
I'm out of this mess
Put the ring from my finger
On the elephant on my chest
Lock it up safe
I'm done with your stress
Can't take this
Not going to take this
I'm out the door

©2013 R.M.Brandon

Exerpt: Whispers of Dead

This is an excerpt from one of my current works in progress :Whispers of Dead. Let me know what you think. I LOVE feedback!
The strangest of occurrences. Aghast with fright, eyes wide, pupils straining to turn murky shadows into solidity. Sweat beads across my brow. The thundering beat of my heart moves steadily from ears to throat impeding what little air my lungs are able to acquire.  The increasing rhythm of a taxed cardiac system falls slightly as my the heightened sense of hearing turns every minute noise into a deafening boom.
A steady squeak. A long creak. Pop. The air becomes chilled as the heat escapes outside. The back door. Frozen with fear eyes more pupils than whites peak through a sliver beneath my heavy comforter.
Voices. Muffled like someone talking to me while my heads under water. A soft snore sounds from the pile of flesh beside me. So much for the protection of a man. Why isn't my dog barking?
Is the teenager sneaking out? Dragging my trembling knees from the false safety of bed I tip toe to investigate.
The door is closed. Everyone is sleeping. The milk jug dangles mid air in the yellow light of the open refrigerator door. I can hear them drinking from the jug. I see them jug. Before my very eyes the lid is replaced, jug is returned to the shelf, door swiftly closed.
Darkness. The aroma of a lit cigarette. A distant sound of running water. Silence.
I lingered frozen with fear, convinced my night tremors must've returned from childhood. The dream test!
Slowly I made way back to the bedroom. Lifting the paper from the bedside table I read the date out loud.
Its not a dream if you can read. Diving back to the safety of the covers my head swam with confusion.
Questions. Fear. Must hold onto reality. I can't tell anyone.
This is just what he is waiting for. If he finds out I fear the cheese is sliding from my cracker he will be able to safely lock me away. They can take everything I have worked for and leave me to a padded room with crayons for company.
No! I must be vigilant. There is a truth here and it will be revealed. The possibilities weighed heavily on my mind manifesting themselves in vivid dreams.
The journey began. Looking back now the terror felt in those first dreams paled in comparison to the nightmare of the truth.
One question is left to be answered: Is it I that haunts her or she that haunts me? Which of us is dead?