The Twilight Blue: December 2013

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Rhyme is Alive!

The first ever Twilight Blue Initiative focusing on rhyming metered poetry was concluded successfully with the contributions of 3 very talented writers. I thank each of them wholeheartedly for participating. Future Initiatives will likely focus on poetry more broadly. You can check out their contributions and find links to their websites through the links below.

Jim Scott (2 selections)

•

The Ending

•

Wrecked

Lynn Gerrard (aka The Grumbling Gargoyle)

•

The Session

Glenn Ghiazza

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Untitled #13

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Wrecked by Jim Scott

The Twilight Blue is pleased to introduce the fourth selection
of The Twilight Blue Initiative...

Wrecked...a poem by Jim Scott

Wrecked

He’s dreaming of the shore that he’ll never see once more

And lamenting now his fate so cruelly tossed.
He never thought that life could go so fast,
The shadows of the past are merely all the ghosts of what he’s lost.
He used to run so free when he sailed upon the sea

Never knowing of the ports to which he’d call.
Adventure borne on every southern gale
Which filled his vagrant sail to take him every place and see it all.

And love he surely knew, whether false or whether true,
From as many girls as he’d seen distant lands.
But now his eyes look back toward the truth,
So hidden in his youth, and tears flow as he quietly understands.
He chose to sail alone, now he’s stranded on his own
With no other soul with whom he might grow old.
He should have settled down and made a home,
But chose instead to roam in search of what adventure’s path might hold.

His journeys ended here where the waters run so clear,
And tomorrow’s been decided by the past.

He didn’t feel the turning of the tide,
Nor knew the sea might hide the dangers where his future’s now been cast.
He’s grounded high and dry, as the ebbing tide flows by,
In a distant land he’d tried so hard to find.
He wished now that he chose the other tack
That would have sailed him back to places he now yearns for in his mind.

His keel’s been broke in two. He’s no strength to build anew
And he hasn’t got the spirit, nor the heart.
He’s only got the memory of what’s gone.
He wants to carry on, but doesn’t see at his age how to start.
If only he’d have known of the pains from being alone
When the wind drove him upon this leeward shore,
He never would have set that wayward track
That never took him back to where he thought of settling down before.

And dreaming of that isle brings a melancholy smile
As he thinks of all the happiness he lost.
That lass he’d left there waving from the sand
With flowers in her hand. This empty soul his wanderlust has cost.
He turns to let the spray wash his bitter tears away
As he curses loud the calling of the sea.
His fists are clenched in anger at the thought
Of life so come to naught. Of prison made from striving to be free.

He stares upon the waves and imagines there the graves
Of his fellow sailors similarly cast.
He puts another bottle to his lips
And while he quietly sips, the present seems to blur into the past.
And once the bottle’s drained he has youth and heart regained
And forgotten all the sadness of before.
He’s running free again before the breeze
And challenging the seas to carry him away from memory’s shore.

While stumbling to stand with the bottle in his hand
He is hoisting every sail his dreams can find.
He sees the dolphins phosphorescent trail
Beside the leeward rail. The alcohol, this time is being kind.
And sailing to the shore that he’ll never see once more
He is laughing at his fate so strangely tossed.
Reality could never live this fast,
Through shadows of the past, and wasted opportunities now lost.
His mind is running free as it sails the open sea
Never knowing of the ports to which he’ll call.
A memory on every southern gale
Which filled his younger sail, to take him every place and see it all.

………….A memory on every southern gale…………
But now those winds must fail………….
There’s no more dreams to sail ………
…………..He’s dreamed them all.

Jim Scott was raised in Old Shoreham in the south of England and since leaving school as soon as he was able has travelled pretty much the rest of his life covering "five continents and three oceans" (the title of his first book). Merchant navy apprentice in India, attacked by a rattle snake on the Inca trail, farming during African insurgent war, shipwrecked in Portugal, surfing in Morocco, making dream catchers with a Mohawk shaman in Canada, battling Caribbean hurricanes, coordinating maritime search and rescue missions, commercial diving in the Mediterranean; his numerous real life adventures have inspired the dozens of true stories and scores of lyrical "songs and verses" (his third book's title) he has written. Now at 60, having raised three great kids, for several years as a single dad, he melds the unique experiences of an incredible life with a passion for writing and is soon to publish book 2 to complete the "Wanderings and Sojourns" trilogy (published out of sequence .... a little like his wayward life has been) "On Tropical Islands and Sparkling Seas".

To learn more about author Jim Scott, visit http://www.caridiangroup.com or http://wanderingsandsojourns.com

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

The Session by Lynn Gerrard

The Twilight Blue is pleased to introduce the third selection
of The Twilight Blue Initiative...

The Session...a poem by Lynn Gerrard

The Session…

The psychiatrist’s name was Molly

She’d been dead for about 60 years

Her job was to greet the newly deceased

And assuage them regarding their fears.

She’d a nice little vault in the cemetery

Where her counselling sessions took place

But the one she was dealing with currently

Involved a most unusual case.

A living soul weeping and wailing

Crept into the crypt one bleak night

Unaware of the councillors presence

Too consumed by her pitiful plight.

Trembling hands held between them a locket

Within which sat an image of old

Where a handsome and happy young couple

Still had all of their dreams to unfold.

Molly watched from the shadows with worry

As the old woman, bent in her pain,

Took a packet of pills from her pocket

To be back with her Joe once again!

Now whilst it was never the done thing

For a spirit to interfere with the living

Molly knew if she didn’t do something

She’d be full of ectoplasmic misgivings.

So she looked at her list of arrivals

And sure enough there was old Joe

She recalled how he’d settled in nicely

After their chat about one week ago

But her need now was to aid the woman

Whose agonies racked her form still

And persuade her that life was worth living

And stop her from taking the pills!

Molly approached the old woman

Whose terrible misery was such

That she had no fear of the apparition

Indeed welcomed her ethereal touch.

Gradually her sobbing subsided

As she listened to Molly’s warm words

Expressing how Joe would be horrified

If she chose to depart from her world.

She went on to explain how Joe told her

That Maude was the love of his life

Said he’d look forward to spending Eternity

With his love who had never caused strife.

Molly smiled at the woman and gently

Reassured her that all would be fine

But for now she’d to stay with the living

Until the day it was her time.

When that day came Joe would be waiting,

And off they would go hand in hand

Together forever and ever

A joyous reunion as planned.

The old woman seemed much recovered

As she stood and thanked Molly for caring

Her facial expression was brighter

Quite detached from the one she’d been wearing.

She told Molly she’d every intention

Of now living her life to the full

Considering what she’d discovered

Her new life would never be dull.

Molly looked lost and quite puzzled

The old woman’s mood had so changed

So she asked what she had discovered

To make her reaction so strange.

The woman’s eyes looked somewhat steel like

As she then told Molly the cause.

Her name was actually Gladys

Her deceased best friend was called Maude!

Lynn Gerrard (aka The Grumbling Gargoyle) is an accomplished poet. Find more of her incredible work at www.thegrumblinggargoyle.blogspot.com

Follow her on Twitter @LynnGerrard

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Untitled #13 by Glenn Ghiazza

The Twilight Blue is pleased to introduce the second selection of The Twilight Blue Initiative...

Untitled #13...a poem by Glenn Ghiazza

untitled#13

wintry mix, well fuck that shit

let loose the hounds and don't lose hope

full steam ahead it is my friend

and damn to hell that slippery slope

a deluge sunders heart and mind

so ride the crest and surf the swell

ferocious gale or salty brine

the battle's on, go give it hell

inferno that we hurtle towards

that searing mass of false intrigue

it's this and that and then some more

so soldier on, don't claim fatigue

ashes burn, a filthy scar

sense memory, a long lost trail

we forge a path, let’s not forget

the bloody war from which we pale

a maelstrom that surrounds us all

and draws us to the great abyss

there is no rest or sweet respite

it‘s life or death or sweetest bliss

and so we stop and draw a line

the shifting sand, it’s hunger shorn

it buries life’s forgotten souls

and from it springs a life reborn

Glenn Ghiazza is an enigma. Discover more of his work at http://saxophotography.com or
http://lacucinacastano.com

Monday, December 2, 2013

The Ending by Jim Scott

The Twilight Blue is pleased to introduce the first selection
of The Twilight Blue Initiative...

The Ending...a poem by Jim Scott

The Ending

In passions of beginning, accelerating thought,
Our dreams of love were spinning the webs in which were caught
The hopes that should have born us on toward the life that now is gone.
The life that never was, nor could have been.
It died before conception. Before it witnessed light.
Devoid of loves affection in solitary night
The quiet words we tried to speak of what it was we’d strive to seek
Were never heard, and tears were never seen.

Our lives were lived in lying. Hiding what was true.
Consciences denying, everything we knew
Of all the years that lay behind, with scarce a smile that we could find.
With scarce a word that we might try again.
And knowing it was ending we turned upon the past
Exhausted from pretending that we might make it last.
We turned upon the dreams we dreamed with hatred for their lies which seemed
To magnify our anger and our pain.

So now as we’re departing from what our dreams became.
Alone, are we restarting, or merely just the same?
Though traveling now by different ways through different lives, the future stays
A product of the differences we shared.
We’ll walk in two directions, impossible to cross.
We’ll bear our own reflections of compromise and loss.
And given up we can’t look back to where we left the severed track,
Nor where we joined …........ to see how much we cared…........
…...... When passions of beginning, accelerated thought,
When dreams of love were spinning the webs in which were caught
The hopes that should have born us on …….
……. toward the life that now is gone.