Divorce, Single Parenting, Dating, Sex, & Self-Recovery

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physics between us

off-physics

[from strange horizons poems]

i’m keeping an eye out
and ear to the ground
putting my love on the air
crafting words and notes
running harder
eating less
hoping bigger than ever
and yet…

somewhere out there
she is feeling deeply
smiling happily in spite of it all
imagining romance will eventually return
hoping for the best
being mindful of her body and spirit
in a content place

like a positive and negative electron
we are already bound in our spiral
while our trajectories are unknown
their eventual intersection
is a matter of physical law
and time
plus energy

there is no waiting
there is action and motion
momentum and improvements
aspirations and accomplishments
joy and the awareness
of another’s love

it could be close
it could be far
the eventuality is certain
the anticipation is delicious
if i can remember
to strive less
enjoy more
and be
happy
alone

12-18-14

image: particle physics, kevin dooley, creative commons usage

dateless

off-dark

[from strange horizons poems]

i’m struggling in the dark again
striving against feeling alone
and failing
it’s
a long night ahead
and how your ear should be curled about
and whispered into
sweet poems
and
later
a kiss

12-17-14

image: dark, ekaterina nosenko (katia), creative commons usage

The Self-Regulation of Poetry and Longing

OFF-songwriter

I understood something tonight for the first time. It came about after I wrote a post on depression and the artistic temperament for one of my other blogs. As I was explaining how my art is often a form of self-soothing, I cracked open a tiny window into my own current situation. I’m not depressed, but I am highly activated and in an artistic spurt. Tonight as yet another love poem (or poem of #desire, as I’ve come to call them) surfaced I caught a glimpse of myself, doing my thing. And I noticed the effect. The poem of longing seemed to relieve some of my suffering. It gave me a lift even as I was expressing my dismay.

In touching the sadness in words I can begin to unlock and feel them in life.

By telling my story, even in poetry, I am giving voice and awareness to my inner voice, my inner pain. I don’t admit my sadness or loneliness much these days. I’m too busy, too creative, too “happy.” But tonight, something in the back story of the love poem signaled from my subconscious creative brain to my rational and self-assessing brain that there was a problem.

Again, it’s a poem. But as I look back on the two books of poems that have come out of this period of my life, I began to understand, tonight, that these were as much a narrative as my prose. When read in sequence, you can see the arc and trajectory of my heart out of darkness and into hopefulness. I even achieved several moments of “love.” Even when the relationship couldn’t hold the feeling, in the poems I captured a tiny sliver of the potential.

Women of potential. My muse.

And tonight, as I was writing this poem, about something as simple as noticing a woman’s dark shiny hair, I was also able to hear a bit of the ache that I long to medicate with a relationship. And barring that, a love poem.

In the act of desiring, in the writing of a romantic epistle, I am releasing some of the tension I feel. In touching the sadness in words I can begin to unlock and feel them in life. Again, I’m not sad, but I’m lonely. As creative and inspired as I am, my seeking is consistent and unanswered. I have learned patience. I have learned the language of love. I have taught myself to compose songs. And yet… I’m alone.

Another moment occurred this weekend that opens up a bit more of my thinking about relationships, and “what’s next” for me. I had taken a long Saturday afternoon to drive my daughter and two of her friends to the local outlet mall for her birthday. That afternoon, when I got home, alone, I was exhausted. After a quick nap I arose and felt inspiration hit as I was trying to put down a song idea with my guitar and computer. An hour later I was one song richer, and again, slightly exhausted.

And at that very moment what I wanted was someone to share my song with.

It’s sort of romantic, and productive, all this being alone. But it’s not a condition I aspire to, it’s merely where I find myself at this moment.

I contemplated going out. There was a local band playing, and I knew the woman who books the club was newly single… But I was tired. Fulfilled somewhat with my creation. And still, aching for connection. So some of what I am longing for is simply being seen. Having someone to share my new book of poetry with. Or even a new poem. Sure, I’d like someone to come along who can trigger some of the “loving” sides of my poetry and songwriting, but I’ll settle for a confidant. Well, perhaps a cuddling confidant.

I know that I don’t want to become addicted to this state of longing. It’s sort of romantic, and productive, all this being alone. But it’s not a condition I aspire to, it’s merely where I find myself at this moment. And clearly, for a few moments more.

All is well. A new poem is written. A song released inspires yet another. My creative heart flows and flies.

And. Longs. For. Connection.

Sincerely,

The Off Parent
@theoffparent

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image: the author, kristy duff wallace, creative commons usage

dark falling

off-anticipation

[from strange horizons poems]

i fell into the black hair of a woman today
and i couldn’t get back out
i followed her for a bit
but as she got into her car to leave
i knew i was in trouble

it’s not working
whatever i’m doing
the winter chill has arrived
and passed right through my bones
and the bed is colder and wider
than i can ever remember it being

she’s moved on
in some unknown direction
towards her loved ones and family
it’s the family time of year
and i’m stuck in the dark
whistling to keep myself company
wishing i knew some secret
for calling in a lover
or even a snuggle bunny

of course
i’ve sworen off the pursuit
of course i have
it’s easy
don’t feel
don’t think about it
eat well
see movies
work hard
and forget about the lump below the breastbone

there’s no time like the future
when she arrives
i’ll have to contain my enthusiasm
so as not to scare her right back on her way

it’s been a while
you see
not as long as i has been before
but long enough
that i’m beginning to thrash
and fall
into passing shiny lengths of hair
passing by
she could’ve been 100 years old
i only saw the sway and shimmer
of the deep place
where i curled up
in the seconds as she passed by

i can still feel my hands and feet
so i know i’m still alive
this is no dream
and i am still wanting
dark
seeping
feelings
and smells
of
a
woman

12-15-14

image: lonely places #3 – anticipation, leda carter, creative commons usage

shooting arrows at the moon

off-arrowsatthemoon

[from strange horizons poems]

i have work to do
and i’m thinking about women again
the absence of them, actually
in my life
in the romantic sense
i’ve got sister, daughter, niece, and mom
and not a single bosom to lay my head
this time of year
it’s a problem
or at least a hardship
of course, it is no different than last year
except i’d just come off a deep jag
with a beautiful young mom
who had a penchant for silences
and filling them with music videos
fancy meals and drugs
i couldn’t sustain
the celebration
long enough to understand or feel
how our connection might evolve
into a higher…
wait!
a more solid…
no!
it wasn’t about that
let’s be honest
she was 11 years younger
she was beautiful
she was willing
is there any further explanation needed
still
i would do with her comfort today
tonight, rather
and yet, i wait and hunger
with intention
it *is* the evolution i’m seeking
a transformation of some sort
of me
of my trajectory
and flights of fancy
my arrow is aimed at the moon
and i will settle for nothing less
than overwhelming joy

12-14-14

image: goldion moon, johnathan leung, creative commons usage