Lyrical Musings an emotional journey via train of thought

Until Next Time

December 29th, 2017

It comes


Or none

a t a l l

there is no in between

and nothing we can do

feast or famine.

Personally, I prefer a feast,

that is, until I have gorged,

reached such gluttony

that I feel sick — to my stomach and of the sight

of the plate or, in this case,

the words

that I have eaten or writ or swallowed (like my pride).


I would scream if it weren’t so damned impolite

Instead, I push away

the plate or the screen.

I excuse myself from the venue

and swear off the glut.

Until next time.

Next time, when I cannot control myself,

or is it that I will not?

Perhaps I’d rather regret indulgence

than experience nothing at all.

Find X (Greater Than One)

December 29th, 2017

Once wasn’t enough, I see that now

I had to have you a second time, then

athirdafourthafifth and more

Once is never enough because

you don’t know if the first time was

mediocre and awkward

because you didn’t know my rhythm

and I couldn’t find my voice

Nor can we know if it was a fluke

that cannot be repeated,

no matter how hard

or how many times

we try

So I had to have you again,

and I have — some of you

Some of you elude me

I wanted you more,

and you gave me less.

And the less you gave,

the more I wanted of you

A vicious cycle to be sure

Sometimes, just sometimes

once is enough

more often than not,

once is too much

it threatens to pull me

every which way

and I cannot

Ironic, I suppose,

that I’ve felt this

compulsion for more,

knowing that once will never be enough,

more than once.


The only time when

once would be


The Easy Way Out

December 28th, 2017

I know I’m not in love with you

And do you know how I can tell?

Because I haven’t written you into a poem, used words to craft your homage

I’m not doing that now, in case anyone asks

and if they ask, I could not tell them why

why I am not in love with you

by this time, I normally am

if this were my first or second or, hell, seventh, heartbreak

I’d be sure of how I feel and what I want

I’m always so sure

ironic, then, how it never works out

maybe the difference is doubt

and I will proceed with caution

and just a bit of trepidation

maybe it will not be incendiary, and that’s okay

or maybe you’re just another not-the-one

that’s the most likely scenario

whether I cannot stop my heart from escaping my chest

or the tsunami of thoughts from overwhelming me

is not the measure of success

just another trip down lover’s lane

a fall that’s all too easy for me

so if I am not in love with you, maybe

maybe I am finally learning not to take

the easy way out

I Don’t Write Year-Ends Letters

December 9th, 2017

I do not write year-end letters. Yes, I receive them. I read them and smile. I send off a quick email to let the sender know that I’ve seen and appreciated their words. But I am never the sender.

If I were to write a year-end letter, I suppose I would have a lot to say about this year. I might comment on all the big plans that were brewing in my mind and how it took me months to finally bite the bullet and act on them. I would start with a mention of my trip to California, which included my first American train ride (and three more to boot), a journey across the country and days spent connecting with family members and touring a state I had never before visited.

But I do not write year-end letters.

Still, I cannot help but think that if I did, if I did, I would mention the many smaller trips within the state and without. The overnights to see concerts and movies, share laughter with friends and family and visit museums, cemeteries, and zoos. I might comment on lamentations over dessert and on walks with friends and family members who shared my same frustration at the current political climate.

Remember, I am not the type of person to write a year-end letter.

Though were I to consider such a feat, I would be remiss to mention another trip: one to view the full eclipse, a trip for which I was so excited but woefully unprepared. Yet, somehow, it still happened, and while I spent my time with viewing the solar eclipse with different company than I imagined, I was still fraught with excitement and managed to shed a tear.

You will recall that I will never write a year-end letter, of course.

Perhaps, had I such an inclination to write a letter, I might mention the joy that I experienced walking many miles, playing various games, listening to multiple podcasts, researching myriad topics, and reading more books than in any single of the previous 31 years of my life. I could recount the countless meals partaken or discuss new friends made, memories shared, and weddings participated in.

This is not a year-end letter, you will notice, but those are the types of things I would write in one.

If I sat down to type a year-end letter to mail to my loved ones, I would undoubtedly find myself struggling not to mention the difficulties that the year had lobbed in my direction, namely the passing of a dear friend and an injury that plagued me for much of the year in an attempt to further keep me down. Both succeeded, for a short while. I might pontificate on the ensuing struggles, you know, if I was doing that sort of thing.

A year-end letter from me would also have to include mention of the story that I had published at the Radvocate as I ramped up efforts to write more and publish. I might also have mentioned how I toiled (okay, perhaps not toiled) on my novel, wrote other stories (one of which took me most of a year to title), brainstormed a graphic novel, and began to plan a more serious future as a writer.

The type of writer who doesn’t pen end-of-year letters, you see.

This isn’t a year-end letter, no matter what you might think. I don’t know what the hell it is. But it’s certainly not the type of letter you write at the end of the year to recap the previous twelve months.

I wouldn’t do that.

Originally posted on Her Realm.