A realization of life.
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Blog, Loss, Other Poets
In all honesty, my mind is often a flurry of creative thought and motion. It is hard for me to be “at rest” , and the few times I have noticed myself in a moment of perfect calm and quietness has been a notable experience for me.
In my daily life, this is something I can attribute to the first real loss I had in life: my daughter.
A very small handful of readers here on this site have noted there is only one other poet that I have listed in “other poets” is E.E. Cummings. The reason for this is simple, the first poem “I carry your heart with me” was engraved on her urn, which reminds me of the necessity of love. To know that which you have loved, will love, and will always love.
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)
It is not something you can disregard, nor is it something that others can see. It is something like faith, honor or trust – that while unseen, is worthwhile, tangible, and real.
It is something so rare, to have realized the awesome power such knowledge and acceptance brings. To know of myself, a decade after loss, to have been transformed into someone better.
Why does this matter?
In my professional life that is controlled by a world of metrics and business spreadsheets, I am often asked questions like “where did you learn that?” or “why do you know that?”
The first answer, which is typically a professionally minded business one, usually revolves around attending some seminar or spending countless nights practicing my trade.
The second answer, which is entirely metaphorical and of personal significance, is simply “I had a daughter.”
The first answer is merely an action, a choice.
The second answer is the motivation, the reason to which I have made the choice.
Connecting the dots
While losing my daughter was the first loss, she was unfortunately not the last. Mother, grandmother, friends. Many missed and noteworthy people.
To these people I owe a great debt of gratitude. They were the ones who taught me to know “that which you have loved, will love, and will always love” and “that while unseen, is worthwhile, tangible, and real.”
Final Thoughts
I can only tip my hat, say my words of remembrance, and share these words of insight with my heartfelt “thank you.”
to leave today, with a final line:
“The most wasted of all days, is one without laughter.”
e.e. cummings
The Looking Glass
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Blog, Inquisitive
I realize that for the longest time the notes I made around my poetic writing gave insight to my thinking and the frame of mind I had when words described idea. Some of my older writing was focused on this, revolving around my perspective (instead of the end result.)
Within this framework I shared a great number of pieces with a great number of people. Whether through books or publishing online, I always felt as though the special nature of introspection did my writing more justice.
Some of my friends know that I am fond of the concept of “the looking glass” or “sliding doors.” I am often very cognoscent of actions leading to other actions, of the notion that my decisions today are based upon the decision of yesterday. With that said, I never wanted to lead anyone down the proverbial “rabbit hole” – or to take away the personal realization a reader could have if they had not been encouraged by my own thoughts.
As my years progress and I see more history behind me, I am more aware of the fact that my life has been somewhat different than the typical rabbit.
This is a piece that defined some of that for me. A brief moment of my thought where I asked of myself “what side of the mirror am I on?”
Lost within
ponderous enigma
Trying to find answers
of pervasive illusion.
Yet I reach
struggling to redefine
to trace an outline
of belief and faith.
I do not ask of myself,
nor of others.
I ask of my future,
and of my past.
Searching,
seeking,
sifting,
hoping.
To find truth,
the moment when everything
becomes tangible,
realized by my soul.
To find my answer,
to the question I do not know,
to discover if this reflection,
will place me in fantasy or reality.
When will you see my wonderland?
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume Two, Inquisitive
When I look at the sky, gray clouds become white,
the rain, warm tears from an angel.
I do not think of now and here, but everywhere,
the places I have been, and dream of believing.
When I hold myself, I am warm,
steadfast in knowing how life connects itself,
touching the people I care for,
and reaching those who dare defy.
When my eyes close, the world becomes open.
The place I see changes me,
Gifting me with a sign of illicit illusion,
that is tangible, rich, and decadent.
When I look,
My dreams hold me,
my eyes closed,
my life is open.
When will you see?
Memorable friends
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Blog, Daily thoughts, Friendship
For some,
a moment is all we have.
Whimsical moments
that happen only once.
Coffee, tea, music, cigarettes.
Walking in the park.
Laughing at ourselves.
No need to have reason.
Just a second,
that sliver of time,
when we live,
a moment to remember.
The Valentine Heart
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume Two, Love, Romantic
I won a bottle of wine for having a wee bit of knowledge about the origin and meaning surrounding the word Valentine. I guess being able to answer a few multiple choice questions about an interesting day is worth a bottle of wine for a poet.
Here is a recap of some writing I did a few years ago, along with a new poem:
A history of Valentine.
While Valentine’s day is a marketing woe for modern society, it has a wonderful history that is colored in myth and legend. Everything from the bow of Cupid to the down fall of European nations.
A good portion of historical reference lead us to St. Valentine, a third-century priest who had a reputation for performing marriage ceremonies that had been banned by the Roman emperor. Valentine was thrown into jail, who as legends go, formed a relationship with the jailor’s daughter and he wrote his last message to her “From your Valentine” a phrase which would persists through-out a thousand years. St Valentine found his death on February 14th, in the year 270, and his remains and some of his writings are displayed in Dublin at Carmelite Church.
A thousand years later- Charles, the duke of Orleans, wrote a valentine to his with while imprisoned in the Tower of London. Aside from the origin of St Valentine, the letter is on display at the British Library as the first recorded valentine in 1415.
Years later, regardless of the origin or how many have been sent, Valentine’s day still lives on as we all embrace a moment of personal recollection, hope, love, and faithful spirit to the people we embrace.
The Valentine Heart
This prison,
The place I am locked into
By feverish want,
And things I could not let go.
This is a place of recollection,
The harbinger of reality,
Where reality and dreams reside,
Trying to live within each other.
I want to look outside
yet the walls are solid,
And my sight is obscured,
By images left unseen.
Each day, every minute
Of every hour,
I beg for mercy,
From a soul who made this dream.
My only possession,
The wanting hope,
Of finding my release,
As I give the truest of myself.
A kind warden has graced me,
With an elegant quill
to write my thoughts,
Upon this parchment of my soul.
When my feelings become words,
My heart finds escape,
it finds itself free and elated,
as it ventures amongst the heavens.
If this day, dear saint,
Can release me from this cell,
Where my hope dwells,
And my heart finds your embrace.
Tessa’s Memory
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume Two, Love
Like most souls, there are many things that I take for granted.
One thing I gave thanks for was my daughter. As short lived as her life was, it was epic. Her life defined my life, colored the rainbow I saw in the sky, and helped me to dream again. She made me a better father, lover, and man. She helped me to question everything I ever needed or even wanted. Her spirit made sure that I would never take anyone for granted. Her dreams are fueled by every breath I take.
Tessa’s Memory
Other fathers said they loved,
but my daughter I cherished,
and while I knew only seconds,
I learned to fly.
From the moon and back,
I would find myself reaching,
trying to hold my dream
of her eyes in the night sky.
What lies between us,
is nothing compared to this feeling,
the tiny matter of needing,
a memory for which I would die.
June 11th- Day of the Limit Pusher
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites
6/11-”The day of the Limit Pusher”
Those born on June 11 have the courage to push beyond boundaries imposed by either society or nature. Their will to overcome, to go one step further, to break out of limitation is marked. Therefore, those born on this day may be called expansive and somewhat aggressive personalities.
In order to overcome limitations, however, one must recognize them for what they are. To this end, successful June 11 people are students, even scientists, well versed in their field or speciality. They wish to know their subject well and achieve technical mastery of it. Instead of fearing danger, June 11 people often recognize it as a necessary stimulus. Once they have progressed to the limit others have reached, it only remains for them to push on. This exploration can manifest in any area: business, sports, cooking, sex, drugs, emotional, and psychological areas, frightening or criminal experiences, even in raising a family to new heights of excellence.
The elements-earth, air, fire, water-are often central themes in the lives of June 11 people, whose exploration are themselves elemental. Of course, those who live with June 11 people may share in their trials but mostly are concerned spectators, for the experiements of those born on this day are a process of self-realization and ultimately it ts their own limits they are pushing.
June 11 people generally do not have the confusing variety of interests and lack of specialization typical of many Geminis. They are most often grounded and studied in one discipline to which they devote all of their energy. Those born on this day are markedly intense, highly competitive people. Their will to win is strong and rarely do they back down, give in or desist from the struggle for any reason. They are not types given to early or inactive retirement but “bop til they drop.” and would rather go out in a blaze of glory than fade away. For those born on June 11, there are no guarantees of success nor does insurance against failure really mean much. For them it could be said that “the play’s the thing” and since they compete with abandon, the question of winning or losing is somehow secondary. “Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing” thus takes on new meaning.
…Nonetheless, June 11 people must beware of overstepping the bounds of society. They not only have a habit of arousing enmity and jealousy but can also appear downright arrogant to some people. Those indeed guilty of such hubris can become truly tragic victims, struck down by their social group, ostracized, even incarcerated. Those born on this day, particularly, have a need for humility that guards their goodness from conceit or extreme egotism.
Excerpt from “The Secret Language of Birthday” by Goldschneider and Elffers
Daily writing, a little bit of life.
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Daily thoughts
I was listening to the sounds of laughter, voices trying to entertain my thoughts as I wandered down the corridors of life in the city. I found myself browsing through the daily colors I was seeing, the attitude of the mysterious faces I passed by, and the mixture of opinions that were not my own.
So many thoughts. Beautiful, rampant, evolving. I didn’t know where each question began, or where each answer took me.
I sat down in a passive little cafe and ordered a mocha from a girl who didn’t know what life really had to offer. I could see it in her eyes- that her life was riding alongside of the recipes she muddled through, as if each beat of her own heart could be ordered with room for cream or tossed into a cup of ice… chilled to the bone.
I sat quietly in the corner booth, slowly sipping on my warm drink and finding myself slightly lost in sweet decadence… pondering the people that stood in line and patiently waited for something to add flavor to a rather boring morning.
Each and every one was different, from the professional man dressed in a two thousand dollar suit who checked his watch fifteen times to the young mother who held her infant son snug against her chest.
Unfortunately for them, the flavor they were seeking in a morning beverage could never bridge the gap they were seeking to fill. They needed life, raw and uncut, with fear and love, passion and loss, the need to embrace every single opportunity with appreciation and yearning.
Thirty-seven people later I had witnessed what felt like every flavor of the world.
I thought to myself… “what do I know?”
Definitely not everything. I know the flavor, I know the basic steps, but I do not know how the young girl across the counter is going to create my experience. I do not if I will sit alone in the corner booth or if I will gladly smile at the wonderfully interesting man sitting next to me and strike up a conversation about his war-torn briefcase or the way he sips his own morning experience this day.
I do know, that rather than leave this day in peaceful and inquisitive enlightenment… that I will instead walk up to the counter and order a black cup of coffee, that I will pause for a moment, and buy the next three people in line a cup of whatever they feel they need.
In life- the lesson is simple for me. The best things are free and the truest cost is only your perception.
***********************************************
I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend.
Friends
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume Two, Friendship
Friends
I had dinner tonight with a friend and while I often have a comical nature in person, I believe in sharing ideas and moments.
Sometimes those moments are within an idea: to define my idea of friendship, of hope, and of faith. There are few people in the world who share such things, few people who connect and have good hearts and faithful hope of the future, people who care. So, to my friend who leaves for Chicago. Good travel, bright future, and a thousand hopeful wishes for you. Live well, Laugh Often, & Love Much. Life holds an amazing future.
Friends,
Are the people in life,
who fight the good fight,
and stand by your side
when no one else cares,
or remembers.
They are the tone
of perfect harmony
in a chorus of chaotic melody
where you try to stand out
and only can with their help.
Friends are,
without pretense
or false doubt,
they are the fiber
of everything you believe.
They do not care
for trivial collections
or meaningless action,
and they cherish every second
of worthwhile silence.
Friends are the people
who define life,
by staying true in hard times
and good,
or moments of simple hope.
They are the ones who have faith,
in who you are,
the ones that keep you warm,
when your eyes are closed,
even when they cannot be there.
Friends are, simple.
Honest,
True.
They believe
in everything you are.
If I could have one friend,
or many,
I would wish,
again,
To have another one like you.
The way people live
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Creative Writing, Daily thoughts, Dreams, Friendship, Honor, Survival
I don’t get too much time these days to stop and smell the roses, sometimes however sweet they are. Rather I ask myself if I remember what roses smell like. Ironically, I find myself lacking that memory. People often fail to realize if they will miss the moments of life they love, and yet I look at things and find myself terrified of losing even my past, the warm scent of life that made me smile.
What does that mean? it means I actually miss the people I care about. I miss them a lot. Unlike many people who take moments of living for granted, I take every second as if it were a treasure… the kind you would covet as a child and hide away from all danger, both real and imaginary.
This is not something that passes, for me at least, part of who I am is locked in a moment of perfect clarity. In a fear of forgetting every perfect moment, I sometimes find them haunting. Yet I feel that strange desire of actually having something worth holding, something worth sacrifice and triumph. Something worth the very tears that remind me how my heart feels.
I find myself struggling on a daily basis to reach the goal of being triumphant… of feeling it… and when I try to succeed I am aware that my efforts were too late… that I failed. Realizing I have failed someone I cared about is brutal reminder that my duty is not something that I can ignore or that I can set aside. I am better than that.
Some people refer to me as a healer, a person of serendipitous nature and exact purpose. I am a catalyst of sorts, the person people interact with to produce a reaction of unusual results.
This leads me to a question that has been asked of me before, “what is my purpose in life?”
I seem to be a conduit. Something that is not a destination, but a place of action where one does not stop. My nature provokes people into moving from A to B, and there are no stops where I am. That has always been my life, a place where people never have time to smell the roses.
I feel like I am a rose. The kind of blossom that stands by itself against the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise and be embraced by a moment of warmth, only to acknowledge that the moon and stars will soon replace the vibrancy of life that keeps me warm.
Perfect little stars. The gemini in me realizes that duality better than most. Perfect and brilliant speckles of hope that keep me hoping that the sunrise will soon make me warm again, that the beautiful night sky is a place that feels too alone.
I promised my daughter a long time ago that I would never give up on people I care about. I do not let my dreams die so easily. That is a far more difficult realization than I care to admit. Failure is not an option. Allowing my dreams, my promises, and my hopes to fade away is simply something I will not let happen.
So I keep moving. I try to explain some things, and I leave some things without any explanation as I push myself harder and faster. The brutality of caring for people often leaves me left uncared for, but that is my life. I know what will or will not kill me. I am a survivor… a catalyst that serves a purposes for the things around me.
I will always care. Honestly and wholeheartedly. Even when I the world fails to give me time to say it, I will always remember and honor how I feel.