Reflections by the fire Deux

“My old friend I hope you know just how truly cherished these times by the firelight are for me.” I said, watching a smoke ring slowly ascend into the dimly lit study.

“Yes it is for me as well.”

“Speaking of cherished things I was reflecting the other day on ghosts.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, you see, I have on frequent occasion been abruptly awakened out of sleep sticking to my sheets in a cold sweat and frightened beyond all reasonable measure. My eyes frantically dart hither and thither expecting to see a dreadful apparition. Like something from a Dickens tale!”

“Ho ho, oh goodness! Well have you seen this phantasm? And I thought we were speaking of cherished things, dear friend?”

“Yes yes, I’m coming to that. You see, I haven’t actually witnessed any figure manifestly present itself and for many tortured nights I struggled to identify the source of my infernal agitation.”

I took a minute to pause, dragging long on the pipe as the hypnotic crackle of the smoldering log spoke in our silence. My friend knowing me well also took the opportunity to look after his pipe and admire the fire’s unsteady glow.

“I came to the amazing realization” I continued “that I had been having pleasant and cheerful dreams prior to these evil awakenings. And not mere dreams of fantasy but concrete memories from times past. Friends and loved ones sharing meals, laughter, conversation, TIME together! You remember many of them I’m sure. Holidays, religious gatherings, or just the monthly escape from the monotonous trudge of day to day life.”

I took a second to swallow hard.

“They’re all gone now. They’re my ghosts and they are in the past with those memories. How on earth I have come to survive them I cannot say… but I consider it a curse. These moments with you, my most faithful friend, are of the scarce snippets of happiness I have left. My friends and family are all gone. I wish I had more time to eat and drink together, laugh together, and embrace. But alas, all I am left with are the ghosts of their memories. They haunt me.”

-CL Fuqua

Pixel love

Unnatural colors of neon dance across my face as I watch you dance

You move with abnormal grace in ways which leave my will with no chance

No woman ever looked as good to me as in this moment in time

No woman made my passion burn dispelling all reason and rhyme

What is good and bad? I don’t think I care anymore

Am I happy or sad? Just please me a second more

When we’re done will you still love me?

When the storm blows over who are we?

If only I could incarnate flesh for you my pretty pixelated girl

You could be as real as I want, my own touchable fantasy world

Neon shades of pink and blue glowing in the night with my lust

Automatic cybernetic dances pulsating sex with every lifeless thrust

All I dream of is you dancing for me while becoming whole

The more I dream the less human I feel as if losing my own soul

When we’re done will I be as synthetic as you?

Will my dying eyes finally forget what’s true?

-CL Fuqua

Love in World War 3

Persian sands glowing in the Arbian night

Blood rain falls with the old gods might

We made something new they couldn’t match

We made death on a scale they couldn’t catch

But I still wanna be right here hand in hand with you

Your wanting eyes illumined with a radioactive hue

We can fade away from existence embracing our everythings

You my one and only and all disintegrating into my nothings

What we had was fiery and uncontrollable as the Eastern sands

But the flame of our love can’t withstand the god of war’s demands

So breathe into me one last time baby

I only hope you live a second longer maybe

Our love was always doomed to be as unforgiving as the sea

Because you and me we had to fall in love in World War Three

-CL Fuqua

Inspirational dilemmas

I don’t know that anyone has missed my postings but I still feel the need to provide an explanation. I have the unfortunate dilemma of finding myself at my most “inspired” when I’m driving to work. The conditions are rather perfect. Except for the whole being able to write in that moment part. So finding the time to sit with just the right atmosphere and location to hammer out what I felt during that drive is most difficult. But enough excuses. I will try and do better. I am paying for this site after all! In other semi-related news I may have a writing project coming up in spring of this year. I’m brainstorming the details of it with a photographer friend. If it looks like it will come to fruition I will shed further light. Thanks to anyone who reads my site and hopefully finds something meaningful in it!

-CL Fuqua

Night drive

Low lit room with a hundred souls between us

Oceans of stories and desires filling up their lusts

Brown eyes killing me steadily in ways I know oh so very well

My blue eyes are a sea of passion but she’s not thirsty I can tell

So I smile at her, wishing she saw me for the man I aspire to be

If she only assented to hold my hand I would conquer the world for her freely

But aren’t all love stories best when tragedy looms ahead?

When we hope and pray for the princess but lose instead?

So let her perfection drive me onward to my end as long as I remember her wistful gaze

I can die a bleeding bloody mess but smile from that memory, lost in my romantic haze

-CL Fuqua

Suicide

So what’s left to say?

In the end if I hate less and love more

I think I’ll be okay

I made the wounds in my wrists so deep

I watched the crimson rivers begin to seep

My memories flooded like the blood

Triumphs and failures clear as mud

Ever since I was a boy the first thing I knew was sadness

I saw the slow dying of life and learned of death’s badness

So what’s left to say?

In the end if I hate less and love more

I’ll think I’ll be okay

I tightened the rope around my neck

Took my last breath saying what the heck?

My body tumbled down obeying gravity

Like the sins of my past in their depravity

The involuntary tremors making me flop like a fish on land

The body’s begging for a thimble of air or a rescuing hand

So what’s left to say?

In the end if I hate less and love more

I think I’ll be okay

Loading the pistol with the right ammo for the task

I need maximum damage for all the filth in which I basked

Would it take one hollow point to the brain or two?

How many girls were victim to my lust, just a few?

One is too many so I will load the cold gun all the way

Cock back and a flash sends my head into gory disarray

So what’s left to say?

In the end if I hate less and love more

I think I’ll be okay

Just one more my discerners I promise it’ll end soon

The tales I spin are pieces of a whole perfectly hewn

My final death was in oil and water among holy things

It was on a cross I carry daily while my angel gently sings

This suicide doesn’t evoke past sins and misgivings

It beckons me ahead to celestial glory and thanksgivings

It is certainly as bloody a death as all the rest

But it leads to the end with our one last test

So what’s left to say?

In the end if I hate less and love more

I think I’ll be okay

-CL Fuqua

Love I knew

Twinkling light dances off your hair and shimmering eyes

November night gifts me the sight of your breath in sighs

Barely perceptible but every bit a part of who you are

Such is the love between us burning and pushing oh so far

I found myself in places I said I’d never be only because it was with you

I stretched morality and conviction to the limits simply for the view

Waking up next to you still wrapped in passion and delight

Unforgettable if not a little regrettable in light of the light

But you don’t exist anymore as I swirl the memory in my brain

I could knock on your old door but the girl answering won’t be the same

The love I knew is no more and the whole world cries

A part of me died and won’t revive no matter who tries

Love I knew

Was not true

-CL Fuqua

Reflections by the fire

Lighting the stuffed pipe I shook the match until its burning tip extinguished into nothingness. “You know” I began, puffing a few times to get a good cauldron of embers going before continuing “I was writing a story just the other day, or I guess you could call it a poem.”

“Oh? What about?” Asked my friend who was sitting opposite me in front of the fire place basking in its warm glow.

“Romantic love, loss, heartbreak and regret. All the usual you know.”

“Hm.”

“But funny thing, I remember writing about such things ad nauseum in years past and it flowed effortlessly from the pen. Whether it was any good or not I can’t speak to objectively. But the point I’m stressing is the ease of working with heartache as a subject. It was the paint and the page was my canvas. I had it in abundance and filled up the canvas end to end.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve read all of them.”

“You have my eternal sympathy and gratitude. But with this particular poem I found myself at a loss for words. It was like pulling teeth getting the sentences on the page. I think I know why. It has been so very long since I felt the way about a woman in real life as I described in my poem that I couldn’t naturally produce it. I’m forgetting, old friend. I’m forgetting what it was like to love someone so deeply that losing them is like a nuclear winter. Losing the one you love is the pestilence which destroys your harvest…forever. But I don’t feel that for anyone and it’s been so so long. Would I even be capable of loving someone in such a manner?”

“Well…” my friend began.

-CL Fuqua

God made me

Why am I me?

Seeing so clearly

I know exactly the way I am

I know why those nearest ran

I can be the killer

Or maybe the healer

I have the blue eyes to melt your heart

I have the jagged teeth to rip it apart

God made me the way I am now

So did He leave me here to drown?

I wanna be wise as the serpents and gentle as the dove

But I only bite like a serpent and have no love from above

How long till God takes my life like a wisp of vapor?

This fruitless tree is better off being used for paper

Scrawl a warning over my body for all to see

Live as this vile youth and be cut down as he

But can I really be blamed?

For being merely untamed?

For all my faults and misgivings can you not see?

I am never more or less than what God made me?

-CL Fuqua

Death pulse

Look upon the one you love

See how her beauty resonates

Pay attention or you’ll miss it

Day by day her light fades

Until only a faint echo remains

Death creeps

Death seeps

Death pulsates

Death inculcates

The ones who raised you since you were young

Family surrounds you giving love

Teaching you all the ways to live life

But just wait and you will see the truth

One by one they disappear into the shade

Their instruction a parody against what’s real

Death is real

Death won’t yield

Death pervades

Death invades

Death surrounds

Death abounds

When will the endless entropy finally come to close?

Does the cycle of loss have its turn to lose?

I feel my spirit and life force inside me slowly slipping

I am not the youth I was just a day ago

And tomorrow I will be more decayed than I am today

Death

Death

Death

Death

Death

Death