And there is a Storm Coming (something I wrote when observing a beautiful Maryland summer thunderstorm)

And there is a storm coming.

Do you see thickening clouds forming an army?

Do you see them darken in rage and rumble thunder?

And there is wind and rain and a dark purple sky.

And I feel it.

I like the way the trees sway with anticipation.

The way the animals go quiet

And we, the enlightened, scurry to shelter.

I like the way I feel,

Intense.

Who is to say that God does not care?

Or who is to say the world does not feel?

I see feeling everywhere-

In the groaning thunder (or is it laughing?)

In the weeping rain (or is it singing?)

In the flustered wind (or is it dancing?)

I feel it too.

this is for Obama

Silky words

Smooth and sweet

Like honey

Honey we have tasted

for so long

That it decays our teeth

And makes our stomachs churn

We yearn for meat

To grind between our teeth

Savor the saltiness on our tongues

Swallow in chunks

Please,

No more honey

Are we just going to wait it out?

Let’s do something, something adventurous. I am tired of waiting for something to happen. A life of empty expectations, what kind of life is that?

Get in the car. We’ll drive—see where the road takes us, buy some coffee, avoid people we know and wish we didn’t. Run into people we are avoiding and laugh. This town is so small.

What are we doing? Just walking around, waiting. You are free spirited and I wish I was. Quick, back to the car. It’s safe with the music and the windows that make the outside world a little less real. Like a motion picture you wish you were a part of.

You laughed at my insecurities. I smirked at your forwardness, a mind sneaky with ideas.

Drive. That’s what we do. Talk, that’s what we do best. Talk about the future. What we want.

Wait, why are we talking? Words are nothing without actions. We do nothing. Are we just going to wait?

Take a left here, Old Pullman road. Still and dark. The raw beauty surrounds us.

Park the car at the crossroads with the hills on either side. We are surrounded by an ocean of faded greens and grays, rippling (like the sea). Roll down the windows.  Let the crisp air fill your lungs. I want to feel alive. Don’t talk, we always talk—just listen to the noiseless sounds of this untamed wilderness stretching down a gravel road.

Why are you crying?

I know. Life can be hard to explain. It’s like a ball of twisted yarn,

You said.

Turn the car on. Let’s take the road less traveled; maybe it will make a difference. And as we drive, let’s discuss a plan. No more empty words. What is our plan?  Not for the future, right now. How do we live in the moment?

Carpe diem. Barbaric Yawp. Bob Dylan. Love.

I am tired of waiting. Act, don’t react—(that’s what Dad says.) It’s easier in theory.

But we can’t wait for life.

Life is ours and we must chase it as our voices echo with laughter.

Bob Dylan San Francisco Press Conference, a tribute

I watch you in black and white,

sitting in that chair with microphones around your head.

You are answering questions while puffing a cigarette.

half listening,

half not giving a shit.

You look tired and strung out but babe

you are never sung out.

You are talking in that nonchalent way,

giving no one the time of day,

I like you that way.

We talked.

We sat out in the park by the swing sets in the freshly chipped pine. We sat in a circle talking about life and our love for you. The black blue sky was a canvas above us— speckled with stars, air brushed with clouds, enlivened by a full moon. It was a sanctuary of sorts and we worshiped in all our imperfection. And what we wanted most was to be able to love. Love you. Love others. Love life.

It seemed so simple.

A letter

Darling,

It’s been a while since we last spoke. We’ve both been so busy with our lives. Yesterday I contemplated all the things we have accomplished. It’s a lot, you know. But it doesn’t really satisfy me until I get to the part where we walked up the hill as the sun was setting and looked down at our world and realized how insignificant it was (from this point of view). I think that was the day we accomplished the most. And we were together. That was nice. I miss you. Don’t think of me too often. It’s better to dwell in the present, you get the most out of it that way. Love,

X

Chained to the Sky – K.M. Cavallaro

I agonize,
I lie awake,
Worrying,
Wondering–
What will happen?
Can I go on
As I have gone on
For so long?
I can’t even trust
That the earth’s still spinning
(Silence)
Through the night.

Breath bated,
I wait.

I keep holding on
For that moment when
The way things are
And the way they’re meant to be
Converge.

Glimpses are no longer enough for me.

I don’t understand
How that man could leave his wife and kids,
Or how the sun can scorch us so mercilessly
When all I really want is some rain.

But life keeps on.
I keep on.
There’s more than this, I know,

Sometimes I think this world will never stop.
(I want to get off)

Then I consider, ought I–
Seize the day?
Seize the moment!
Seize that second deciding
What shoes to wear.
Seize it before it slips away.
I’m not sure
You can’t miss
What you don’t know.

How much time have I wasted
Asking myself,
Will I—
Can I—
Justify this to the stars?
I should have just acted
And stopped asking.

Only one thing matters:
To know before Whom I stand.

To be (as I am)-
To act (as I do)-
To love-

This life was meant to be loved.

To live is to love.
To love is to die.
To live is to die,
Chained to the sky,
Inextricably bound and
Impossibly free.

http://kmcavallaro.wordpress.com/

I’m Not There- movie review

Take an eccentric ride through the many phases of Bob Dylan. Get tangled up in the complexity of a man difficult to understand. Enjoy music that cannot be categorized. Lose yourself in the confusion and the artistry. Get sucked in. And when it’s all over you will have witnessed more than just a movie about a folk singer. You witnessed a journey with no beginning or end. You witnessed a story with no plot. You witnessed a man with no direction home. Try to pin him down, try to label his music and this movie will tell you exactly what he would say:  “I’m not there.”

In the film I’m Not There legendary singer Bob Dylan is assigned to six different actors. Each actor personifies a different phase of his life. But director/writer Todd Haynes does not tell us Dylan’s story. It is not an account of his life. Rather, this movie is a nonlinear erratic collage that catches glimpses of the legend. These glimpses, interspersed with myth, are artistically woven into a visual masterpiece backed by a soundtrack of Bob Dylan covers and originals. The movie itself is a manifestation of a Dylan song: full of cultural imagery, seasoned with emotion, versatile in style, and unorthodox. As the scenes flick past, seamlessly compiled, Dylan’s songs take a life of their own. And though his name is never spoken, the six actors representing Dylan as poet (Ben Wishaw), prophet (Christian Bale), outlaw (Richard Gere), fake (Marcus Carl Franklin), celebrity (Heath Ledger), and singer gone-electric (Cate Blanchett), gather up his many loose ends and leave them hanging.

The Things I Love

What do I want out of life? What does anyone want out of life? There are so many options.

I don’t know.

I have not cultivated much of what I really enjoy, to my disappointment. But it is a start to at least know what  gets you excited about life.

I love music. I love the creativity and nuance of music. I love the ability music has to evoke a spectrum of emotions, I love how it inspires. I love lyrics, strumming guitars, drum beats, harmonicas, soaring and gravely vocals, piano, base, saxophone. I love it all. I love its individuality. I love how it brings people together. I love its endless possibilities.

I love words and writing. I love good stories. I love it for the same reason I love music: It’s beauty. It’s creativity. It’s emotion. It’s inspiration. It’s endless possibilities. Words capture a piece of the Aurora Borealis, a glimpse of heaven, a thread of the colorful tapestry that is this world. I love the magic in a story and I love it’s realism.

I love art, too,  history, dance, laughter, movies, food, culture…

I love to dip my fingers into a world brimming with mystery, beauty, love, unpredictability, adventure.

I love it.

I have yet to cultivate my love. But isn’t that what life is for?

A Brief Commemoration to Those Who Died on September 11th (by Kristen Trovato)

I am writing this to you,

You who will never read this.

I am writing to tell you that the world is still beautiful, and that people still dance and make love and kiss their children on the foreheads.We still haven’t quite figured out what we’re here for or why life can get so fucked up.

But tonight we take our breaths a little slower and love the world a little deeper– because we know that all of this, like you, could be gone so soon.

http://kristentrovato.wordpress.com/2009/09/13/a-brief-commemoration-to-those-who-died-on-september-11th/