~ Love’s Numbers ~ ~ What matters it to you, if I don’t love one, but two? And what matters it to me, if you don’t love two, but three? Should it matter still more, if we don’t love four, but ten-score? Or could love’s true number be five, is this the number for which we should strive? Father, mother, sister, brother, and spouse… Yet this leaves no room for our children, thus this number would make us… a louse. So perhaps love’s true number is six? No! No more of these numbering tricks. Numbers and numbers that climb, but what when these numbers decline? Love isn’t about numbers at all, love is the song of a passionate call. One doesn’t take love from their brother, in order to grant said love to another. Yet Love always matters my friend… ~ Especially, when we fear that, for us, love might …end… ~
Love is such an inadequate word isn’t it?
Love comes in so many shapes and forms, each unique. Love is never the same, it should never be cause for blame, though sometimes it seems to be cause for shame. Love is not a structured, demarcated thing, yet we are continually compelled to make it so.
Society, in my mind the source of blame for so many things, tells us how and who we should love. Society demands that we love some people unconditionally, while placing innumerable, unspoken conditions on how we love others. The organized religions approved by society dare to impose laws on love’s ultimate commitment, namely marriage. When it comes to love, all society and religion seem to do is confuse. Do they not understand that love is the one thing the world needs in excess?
Love is incredibly important to me. I truly believe it improves lives. When we love others we care… and to me, caring is immeasurably better than indifference.
~ An Artist’s Eyes ~ ~ Perhaps the mark of an artist’s eye is that where others see clouds, we perceive a sad sky. Where others see ugly, we see beauty, covered by a lie. Where others see hearts torn asunder, we see love, eagerly awaiting plunder. Where others see storms, artists see all, illuminated by the lightning, that strikes before thunder’s fall. ~
I hope you enjoyed that little poem. If you’re interested in my motivations for writing it please read on.
There is truth in all things, we have only the need to find it. Yes, sometimes the truth seems dark and dismal, however it never is. That which is dark and dismal is the deeds that the truth illuminates.
Likewise is natural beauty found in all things, we merely need to look more closely than we do. Examined with more than superficial curiosity even a dusty little piece of gravel, something we trod on without the slightest thought, transforms into perfectly formed crystals more intricate than anything humanity produces. Are not the most wonderful patterns, and the most varied, to be found when something we define as “transparent, odorless, and tasteless” falls from a chilled sky. Cold grants a new form, and a truly mystical beauty, to water as it is transformed into snowflakes.
Why do we shy away from those with a broken heart? Do we fear their pain is contagious? Are we so cowardly we fear we might feel it too? Like so many chances missed due to our own inner fears, even a broken heart is filled with opportunity. Broken hearts bleed love, while mended hearts don’t stem that flow. When we perceive pain we should rush to the aid of the injured. It matters not if that pain is physical or emotional, pain tended is pain lessened. Pain shared in comfort forms powerful bonds.
In modern society so few seem willing to argue. They would rather close their eyes, their mouths, their hearts, and their minds to the chance they might be incorrect. An argument is like a storm. Voices raised in passion are the thunder. Insight into our antagonist’s point of view is the lightning that illuminates who they really are. And as for us, our revealed passions grant them chances to see us as we truly are. Recently I tweeted this thought –
Please consider these thoughts the next time you find yourself timidly closing your mouth instead of speaking your mind. The real you lives within your passions. Don’t you want the world to know that special, unique individual?
{P.S. Within Malmaxa the number six, the precise number of segments to every snowflake ever formed, is held to be the “The number of the Gods.” Why might this be?}
That is a remarkably difficult question to answer. Malmaxa is my vision of a perfect world, filled with imperfect people. Malmaxa is my Philosophy, couched as Epic Fantasy. Malmaxa isn’t poetry, however a little free form poem I wrote captures a few of its most essential elements. The poem appears below. Perhaps it is first proof of my claim that Malmaxa is like nothing you’ve ever read…
~ Malmaxa ~ ~ ~ How would a just world be? ~ No rich, and no poor. No government, and no governed. No served, and no servants. No clergy, and no lay. No owner, and no slave. No one able to force you to their way. No one to prevent you having your say. In two words, no disparity. ~ A just world might seem harsh. Death would be an end, and a new start. Cherished symbols, would be etched in flesh. There would be war, with no victory. Neither peon, nor royalty. Wealth, yet no poverty. Farmers, but no famished. ~ A just world is a world where loving family are all around. Where to be free, we must be bound. Where children are safe to play. Where people may move, or choose to stay. Where cruelty exists, but is held at bay. Where none are forced away. Where character is held in high esteem. Where we all must fulfill our dream. Where while lineage means everything, it means nothing too. Where we must be who we are, not who our parents were. Where coins are bartered, they are not spent. Where prophetic dreams, from the Gods are sent. ~
A “free” offer.
Is any offer ever really free? Not in my experience, however the one I’m making here might only cost you your time. Your time… the most precious commodity any of us possess.
We all like to receive something for nothing, yet on that something we generally place little value. After all isn’t something we get for nothing too often worth precisely what we paid for it? Okay, stage set, here is my offer…
Two books, for the price of {N}one. If you subscribe to Amazon Prime you can check out Beltamar’s War for free, that’s the “none”. Otherwise you have to buy, that’s the “one”.
But that’s only one book! Why does my offer say two books? I am quite proud of saying what I mean, and being mean in what I say. {Or is that “meaning what I say”?} So yes, I do mean two books for the price of {N}one. How do you get the second book? Simple, by wanting it. Once you’ve read Beltamar’s War you’ll know if you want to continue reading the tale. If you do, then all you need to do to get the second book in the series, is ask for it.
And how do you ask for it, you ask? I’m glad you asked! Post a review on either Amazon or GoodReads, reply to this thread, and tell me how to find your review. While I ask you to be as honest as you’re able, I make no stipulations on how you rate the work. Replying here gives me your email address, I’ll check out your review, and I’ll send you a Kindle eBook version of Malmaxa II – The Pilgrimage as soon as it completes the editing phase. Currently that should to be in August 2014.
Amazon Kindle
Paperback
And thus you’ll have two complete books for the price of {N}one! This offer will expire, so please act now.
As an additional incentive, you’ll also have the second book in the series in your hands for at least 30 days before it becomes accessible to the public.
Still not sold on a potentially zero cost item? You’re a person after my own heart! Don’t do anything at all until you decide Malmaxa is for you. But how can you decide that? Hop on over to the sample, right here on my blog, and start reading. The browser you’re using right now is all you need.
However, before you start reading, be warned.
{You knew there had to be a catch, didn’t you? There isn’t.} Malmaxa is not what it seems. It is complicated. It is metaphoric. It is foreign. It is harsh. It is forgiving, and unforgiving. It is unique. Malmaxa is quite literally like nothing else you have ever read.
One of the things I can’t abide is the statement of opinions as facts. But didn’t I just do that? I said, “Malmaxa is quite literally like nothing else you have ever read.” Yes, I stated that as a fact, and yes, I stand behind it. Read Malmaxa, see the words between the lines, and compare it to any other work of any kind you’ve ever read – you’ll find differences both dramatic and subtle.
Thank you for your time. Should you take me up on this offer, I hope that not only does Malmaxa raise questions worth pondering, but that you also enjoy my literal world. ~ Charles
~ imaginary friends ~ ~ It’s where the path ends, And the trees start to bend You will find me here with my imaginary friends. Deep in a wood. the trees start to talk, the flowers start to walk. Only here will you find behind the vines the friends I gladly call mine. ~ I may be told to grow up. To forget this silliness. But, In my life I have never met a human as kind as a tree. One that smiles brighter than a fairy. Sings with more soul than a nymph. never have I met a better trickster than a satyr. ~ If to grow up means to forget, To leave behind Then I will always have my imaginary friends. ~
{I threatened to steal it and use it in my Fairy Tale, A Crystal Tear, should I ever finish it… I might still.}
A poem by my niece, Bronwyn, who I am sorry to say I have never had the pleasure of meeting. Perhaps one day I will be so lucky.
~ Tripwire ~
I grasp for memories as they fall before me, Like grains of sand too small to see. Little things now forgotten, Oh whatever could they be?
Steam blocks your face, I cannot see Whether or not you look at me. I find it odd but say nothing more, ‘Cause you’re closed behind that door.
The maze I’ve built around my mind, Guards me from clear thought. With layers wrapped in meaning, But too obscure to unbind. Where do I reside in my mind?
Tears come too fast for my liking, But I shed them with a smile. They betray my weakness, But also my pride. Because I gave my tears a name. They are called “humanity”
I’m not witty or clever, Nor light as a feather. I’m not gentle, nor meek, More like a freak. I view the world as a two-sided mirror Not blind to the pain and horror.
I count my blessing And mock those who don’t. I accept those around me, Whatever floats their boat. I prefer the cold of reality to the solidarity of the mind. And whether friend or foe, I treat you in kind.
Smiles that cut. Words that bruise. What has anyone got to lose? “An eye for an eye.” That’s what they say. Will it save anyone at the end of the day? Smashing glasses, breaking plates Heated words and twisted fates. Pains that run around in circles. Lies that cease to have an end. I can no longer see around that bend.
‘Tis no secret of mine, I swear, That I wander without a care Going left or going right I wander on my hands at night I close my eyes and see the world Dancing feet that never twirled Catching clouds inside my fist Such thoughts I cannot resist Bleached tears adorn my face I cheer for those that lose the race Crying second, laughing first Nothing seems to quench my thirst None too far do I see For all the others ahead of me. ~
I hope you enjoy Bronwyn’s work as much as I do. While you’re here, look around, other poetic pieces are strewn among the chaff.
My greatest fear is injury, not an injury to me, but to others who I touch in deed, or word, it matters not nor whether the hurt is real, or simply the unheard song, of an unseen soul’s appeal, every injury, is real… even if it is only in a dream.
The things that make me beam the little things, of which I dream the unseen sound of souls that sigh, the clear essence of two souls that cry tears that start their path as joy wend their way through guilt and by path’s end, are never shed. True love lives on, it is never dead.
No worry that we can’t walk back, can’t turn about, can’t find that track, our footprints fade, they must, dark dreams crumble into dust, face our fears, face the front walk toward a future bright walk together, in each others light.
Wonderful memories, illicit, delightful dreams, explicit, our memories may never fade though some cut deeper than any blade.
The path we walk this way, would that holding hands we may, as friends fingertips do touch, jogging the others memory to breathe, that their hearts beneath such love don’t crush, where we are today… is a far better place, than yesterday.
Rather than dwell in errors past, let us form a friendship, that will last.
Eternity awaits, my dear, and yes, I will take you, there. ~
I hope you enjoyed this poem. If you like lyrical literature, please try Beltamar’s War. I can promise you it is nothing like anything you’ve ever read, and I would really appreciate your support.
A poem written by an unknown soul, for our precious daughter Julia, who turns 15 today.
~ For Julia ~ May Julia be happy and bright From this morning to this night Let her happiness last all year through With all the things in her heart That are meaningful and true
What a joy and pleasure As there is nothing better Than your little girls love Which should always be treasured Now And forever
Wishing your little girl the best day and a very Happy Birthday!
+++
~ For Julia ~ And a poem from a man she knows, her father, who loves her so. Every word of this is true, and so I cast them, from me, to you. ~ Julia, who so seldom cries, thoughts within her heart, she hides. Shows the world her pretty, smiling face and to her family, has never brought disgrace. She can’t abide unnecessary silk, and lace, embraces Buddha in her dreams, and won’t fall for silly religious schemes.
A note left on my desk by my youngest daughter, Julia.
~ Papa ~
Sometimes my roses aren’t red And my violets never quite a shade of blue But one thing that will always remain I love you. So when your roses aren’t red, and those violets aren’t blue Please remember I will always love you
I place inordinate value in true friendship. Likely because I have so few. So what is True Friendship, to me?
~ True Friendship ~ ~ We can talk of many anythings, and understand. We can talk of many anythings, and never judge. We can talk of many anythings, and be forgiven. We can talk of many anythings, and still feel that we are loved. ~
To me, this is the nature of true friendship. I have, and have had, only three that meet this test. And yes, true friendship is indeed something you should never test.
Some of my thoughts on friendship from Twitter appear below, perhaps you might enjoy reading them. If you’re on Twitter you can forward them to your friends by retweeting them from right here, with the button inside each tweet.
While you consider my thoughts on friendship, ask yourself how many true friendships you have, and how much they mean to you. To me, mine mean the world.
The blood that binds friendship, flows not in veins. #thought
How is friendship formed? From mutual likes, respect, and trust? Perhaps knowing you can reveal your true nature, without fear of judgment?
{If you enjoyed this please look around, you’ll find [Samples] of my work to read, and perhaps some pieces that might be even considered poetic.
Indeed, you’ll even find a poem about friendship, }
~ How Measure You Success? ~ ~ By the count of downy feathers with which you line your nest. By the plushness of the pillows, on which you lay your breast. ~ By the count of coins, stashed in your hidden chests. By servants you train to pander, to your most trivial behest. ~ By the count of people, you think you have impressed. By the loyalties, you so sorely stress. ~ By the count of homes you hold, yet in which you never rest. By the adversaries you’ve defeated, and then have laid to rest. ~ By the count of lovely women, who you’ve managed to undress. By the tender delicacies, that you so voraciously ingest. ~ By the count of supposed friendships, put to unnecessary tests. By levels of anguish imparted, and your enemies’ distress. ~ By trivial counts of truly irrelevant things, you’re certain you possess. By other people’s woe, and pleasures purely of the flesh. ~ How measure I success, by the living beings, with whose love I have been blessed. ~
P.S. Since it holds very powerful religious overtones to which I do not subscribe, I didn’t particularly like the choice of the word “blessed” to end this piece. However, my intent is to condense a couple of thoughts into a single word and it does seem to fit. Thoughts like… joy granted, both given and received, and any form of aid in even the most rudimentary way. Are these not real blessings that even the most materially impoverished can impart and accept? Share blessings without expectation of gain, and receive them gladly with an open heart. Always be generous with your love.
{If you enjoyed this then look around, you’ll find [Samples] to read, and perhaps even some pieces that might be considered poetic.}
