Autumn Memories-

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dedicated Poems

Some things are meant to last, forever.
The day you learned to smile with a friend,
an autumn wind as it lifts your spirit.

Some things without reason
Are moments of change and subtle tide
inspiring thoughts that deny the seasons

Some things are perfect
to me they will always remain so beautifully so.
As I am not without memory, just what I know.

Some things, not all
hold me up when I almost fall,
touch me again and again, in every way

Some things, the best of them,
remind me of a day when no one else can say
how you are, so brilliantly perfect

Some cafe writing

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Creative Writing

These are just two quick pieces of creative writing that I’m working on for one of my books.

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Some people have a moment in life when they realize what matters most to them. I have this feeling every day of my life. It is a matter of personal dedication, of pushing yourself to a point that very few can even imagine.

This is where the blessing of personal faith and the horrors of reality intersect, the moment of crisis when a dream becomes a nightmare and you lose the ability to see the details of your own life. This is not a second in existence; this is the eternity of feeling everything, each and every day, with every breath you take.

I do not claim to hold this truth, merely to be burdened by it. To have it be my companion in a journey of incredible depth.

My choice is to live such a wonderful conundrum, to focus on the point of my destination so feverishly that I find comfort in a trail of broken cobblestone beneath my feet. I do not pay attention to the nature of each step, merely experiencing the motion of my body as it moves just a little bit closer to my goal.

So I say, with one breath, like the wind that carries a ship through the rough sea; I love this life. The destination I am sailing towards is just over the horizon, a perfect blue sea, the lush green grass of welcoming embrace. I do not falter against the storm, I do not fail to keep afloat in the torrent of change that pulls my voyage into unchartered waters.

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The panic in my heart, the burst of adrenaline and apprehension as someone I love dies in my hands. I do not let go as my grip becomes weak, as my heart tightens like ice around my soul. I feel nothing, except for knowing part of my dream is over. I look down and question, if I could only try harder, would my courage have been enough to keep death from embracing someone I love?

I do not know.

I chastise myself for questioning how long my hope can survive. This faith is not a passion, for the emotion of my desires is not something that last… or is it? Are the feelings within my soul immortal, as if destined to define themselves by the chapters of my life, holding themselves from a closing verse, keeping itself in a solid definition of exacting nature?

I do not dare to believe in life, or death. Trapped in the chasm of two opposing forces and becoming something entirely different, my only hope is that the purpose of this space is limited. I can only hope that it has been designed with an ending, to resolve itself, or else I find myself entrapped by a facet of life that reflects upon itself a thousand times over.

If this prison of my life is not made of glass, I worry that the colors of a diamond hue will have invaded my paradise and destroyed the ways my life has become so articulate.

As the Rain Falls

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Creative Writing, Dreams

Today I arrived at a place, called home.
My son was in the car with his friend, laughing.
I was carrying my keys, holding his hand.
Telling him how wonderful life was, if only a moment to enjoy.
The sky was blue, with tender drops of cool rain falling down.
Yet we were happy, in peaceful seconds as father and son.
He does not wonder as I do, about how these days may pass.
But he teaches me more than I can learn, if only to be a child once more.

Into the Looking Glass- Chapter I

Posted by Barry Hurd in Creative Writing, The Looking Glass

I lost myself, if not for a brief moment of my life, the very thought of failing to fulfill the burden I had sworn to was daunting and inescapable.

The tapping of my fingers on the delicate carvings of the staircase left me wandering in ideas about right and wrong, good and evil, and exactly where I stood amongst the other pawns of this game I had been sucked into.

The noise of the crowd below was relaxing in the strangest of ways, it was almost loud enough that I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. Watching the ballroom from my vantage allowed me to see everyone trying to act casual in such a formal setting. The ladies were all beautifully adorned by lavish dresses, sparkling gems, and amazingly expressive attitudes. The men tried to compete with the ladies, wearing fine Italian tuxedoes and offering the most practiced responses that only a ivy-league graduate could hope to remember.

Yet I was here looking down on them, wearing a fine Italian suit and pretending to understand those same nuances. I’d rather be sitting in my jeans, spending time with my family surrounding a board game and sharing a few heartfelt jokes.

How I ended up here I didn’t know.

The waiter, butler, or guy carrying the food tapped me on the shoulder. I asked him what his title was as I grabbed something that looked like a shrimp of his tray. He said “Evening auxiliary, good sir” and walked away.

What the hell is an Evening Auxiliary?
I guess that I would never know.

The flavor of the shrimp was melting in my mouth, I didn’t dare question what a cracker with shrimp had cost tonight. It probably would have made me laugh uncontrollably or become sick to my stomach. I just had to accept this suit I was wearing was only a temporary requirement to surviving the evening.

As I sipped the last of the red wine from my glass, I saw Katherine walk into the ballroom. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. She had an amazing presence to her and she was comically poking me with sweet irony by wearing that red gown I had given her on our anniversary. She always knew how to dress the part and to attract attention to herself.

I should have remembered our connection was a strong one, she spotted me within seconds a hundred yards away. I don’t know how she always did that, but I couldn’t complain that a beautiful lady could find me in the crowd.

I just wish that I had some idea of what I going to tell her about what I did tonight. I hope she would forgive me, or at least understand that none of us have any choices anymore.

Walking Coffee

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Creative Writing, Daily thoughts

My hands were still trembling from the bitter cold outside. I carefully held onto the handle of the glass carafe as I breathed in a subtle sigh while pouring a fresh cup of hot coffee. I wondered if my thoughts of being honest were any different from the gentleman waiting patiently next to me, or if I was simply insane and the caffeine in my veins was the only reason my heart still seemed to function

I glanced over to the man through the corner of my eye, feverishly waiting for the aroma of the French blend to reach my nose as I stirred it with a single dash of sugar. He looked at me for a moment and I felt something inside, a brief connection to someone who shared my youthful nature.

I handed the carafe over, comically saying that “I saved some for him.”

His reply was simple, yet told me so much- “There is always more where that came from.”

I nodded with my agreement. He was right, there is always more where that came from. He calmly poured his cup with an almost artistic manner as I commented on the chilling rain coming down outside.

We both wandered to the front of the store and paid for our drinks as we both somewhat comically chatted with the clerk who was obviously bored and alone. When we were done talking, we both stood quietly at the glass doors looking at the dark midnight sky and the sparkling rain falling like glistening stars as the city light reflected off each drop.

With odd coincidence we both said the same words in unison; “Falling stars.”

We didn’t say anything else. We looked each other in the eye, smiled from the corner of our lip, and then shrugged our shoulder as we continued watching the water cascade from the clouds. For a moment we were two guys drinking the same coffee and pondering the same questions of life.

I thought- whenever you feel alone, someone else is there to prove you wrong.

I brushed my wet hair back and turned up the collar of my wool jacket. I sipped one last time off the rim of my coffee cup as I told him to enjoy the rest of his evening. My hands didn’t want to lose the warmth they were holding, so I pushed open the glass door as I backed through it in reverse, hoping to shield my face from the abrupt wind carrying the chilling rain.

Every step I took felt like one in search of something. The bright light of the little café seemed to fade almost as quickly as the warmth of my coffee. The freezing rain was an unkind reminder of how the sensation in my heart was different than that of my body, my face was numb within a minute of walking and my soul felt like it was looking for the same loss of sensation. My feet kept in motion, not missing a single step as my thoughts wandered aimlessly amongst the neighbourhood streets of long forgotten memories that didn’t seem so far away tonight.

Trying to light a blaze?

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Defiant

Subtle, chance fire.
The kind of dream you have awake.

First and foremost,
Love of life, a life of love.

With caution shattered by desire,
and a swift belief in a moment of destiny.

Trying to become, breathing to survive,
while cherishing every second of motion.

This is my life, the life I share,
with everyone, if only to enjoy myself.

Mixed Signals

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Romantic

I recall, fumbling my thoughts
pressing each number once, perhaps twice.
Trying to faithfully remember why I spoke
as I laughed at my own emotions.

My phone cleary said, “inteference free”
Yet the technology of life had failed the process
of connecting my spirit to another,
as if I was in a place with no reception.

If no one else understood,
how I perceived the blinking red light,
telling me my battery was low,
and questioning if I could try again.

I redial once more,
waiting for the voice of someone I adore,
one ring after another,
only to hear their voice asking me to leave a message.

My thoughts try to sound care free,
yet my heart comically faulters my voice,
and defines me as a fool, as I listen
to the humorous words of my own creation.

I wonder, if I try one more time,
Could I recall a brief moment,
when my words are perfect, without question,
and I press the button to end my call.

The Path of Dreams

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dreams, Spiritual

I’m sure, that you may agree,
That our dreams may hold the answers.
The memories of our life, the notes of all our desire.
Every phrase of care, of loving words that we have spoken.
The moments in the fire that defined our lifelong yearning,
and of cherished times laying at our feet that feel so broken.

These dreams are the stepping stones to wonderland.
Each and every one, perfectly laid into a path,
so that we may journey down them one at a time.
Built of hope and of fear, of love and misery,
they hold us only long enough to experience them once.
As they crumble to dust and we faulter forward.

Before our world, the life we define seems so solid,
yet dissolves under the wieght of our hopeful living,
becoming pebbles of memory that fall upon the water,
and land peacefully in our dreams as echoes of our past.
Every family joke, every friend that said good-bye,
The moments we asked why, and every heart we broke.

Yet in our journey, as in all,
we pause, finding our journey at an end,
and the foundation of our dreams no longer holds our wieght.
We fall into the deep lake of our consciousness
and for a fraction of our life become aware
of the dreams beneath our feet that are always there.

Cloudy Dreams

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dreams, Friendship

I wondered when the gray sky would clear,
for in the day,
it was the sun, for whatever reason I adored,
and at night,
the brilliant sparkle of so many dreams above.

I wondered, as I looked to the heavens,
was this a childish fantasy,
to believe in something I couldn’t see,
a dream being lived,
or memory long forgotten.

I wondered, if my life had been defined by fate,
as I meander through my friendships,
offering a hand to those I for whom I care,
and daring to believe it makes a difference,
in a life no one realizes is there.

I wondered, as my dream becomes so obscure
hidden behind the clouds,
of everyone’s lost perceptions,
do I bare the burden of my believing,
as my life is left unseen.

Dreaming of the Search

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Romantic

This was not about experiencing the unremarkable days,

But about the amazing moments of absolute bliss

and the sudden flashes of daunting challenges

It was about that day you said “I love you”

when I knew you cared for me more than anyone,

and the simple feeling of your heart pressed against mine.

This was not about anything we had decided,

Just a moment of divine intervention beyond belief

When everything was only defined by “perfect”

I do not know you yet, or perhaps I do.

This heart of feelings trapped inside of my personal searching,

And when I find myself, I know you’ll be there waiting.

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