Winding Down

My life over the past few weeks has been one roller coaster ride after another. The emotions springing from these times have been giving me shots of inspiration like heroin. I have filled nearly an entire notebook with poetry and the one I keep in my back pocket is slowly self destructing due to over use. It is hard to comprehend that so much has happened in only one month.

And yet, in accordance with the title, things are winding down. The nights classes of ended, the love interests have faded and I am left feeling somewhat discontented. I miss the excitement and the confusion of these prior weeks. It reminds me in fact of one stanza from a poem I posted earlier:

Suffering the loss of what never was
Wanting to be in love, addicted to the buzz
A bleeding heart to rend.

It is interesting how those words ring true. I would like to share with you some of the poems I have been writing in the past few days. They are some of my favorites so far.

The first is a love poem which actually has a happy message (an oddity for me). The last stanza may make you laugh and that is generally the point.

COPIOUS NOTES

Gorgeous gray eyes glowing
In the midst of the silver screen
My arm would reach around you,
But it seems a mile away.

I feel so comfortable
Slouching next to you,
Watching failed attempts
To interpret Hitchcock.

If I could read you like a book,
the ones you didn't read,
I'd know what I need
to comprehend the brush strokes.

Is it a sin
To wonder how your tongue tastes,
To contemplate you round face,
Taking copious notes?


Well there it is. I have to honestly say that this is the most genuine love poem I have ever written. Most don't end this happy. I did remove one stanza in order to make it more applicable. Now I have a dilemma, you see I was planning on sharing two but I cant seem to narrow it down. Ok, well..... I guess we can keep the love theme and I can share with you the king of puppy-dog, "bleeding hearts of the world unite" love poetry. It is untitled and a little unstructured.

You deserve to be in love
That's all I wanted
Was to see your gray eyes
Light with adventure

You don't need friends
You need him
The one that can get inside you
Help reveal your feelings

I thought it was me
A few times
The way you looked at me
Those eyes

I admit
I wanted to be the one
That made you happy
That made you smile

But I resigned
Consumed by insecurity
And doubt
But this is not about me

You deserve to be love
And if it's not me
Then find him, please
I want you to
Not because I love you
But Because I want you to be in love


Well that is sure one cheesy poem eh? I am sure I won't live that one down for a while. I promise that next post will be something other than love poetry. Thank heaven it's winding down.

Unchopped Prose

I had concept for a story where a young man doomed a young women by his kiss. There was going be some sort of development around the idea that every one this young man kissed would be doomed. It was going to be called "Doomed on the Doorstep."

This idea took on a slightly different form while I was watching a James Bond film. The concept sort of became a James Bond themed piece and that is what ended shooting out of my brain last night as I quickly wrote it down. I am not saying it is amazing but I like the concept. So with out further hesitation I present:
(I have to apologize for the harsh language, the word just seemed to fit the situation, not that that justifies it)

Doomed on a Doorstep

Damn it is not usually the first word to pass through a person’s thoughts after engaging in a kiss. Damn may be a little more common, depending of course on ones situation and vernacular. But damnit is rarely the result of a kiss and generally kisses accompanied by damnit’s should not have happened..

And so it was, as her perfect lips parted with his and she smiled lightly before scurrying up the stairs. There would be no chase, no lust, he was content to bask in the glow of this moment.

But damnit, he loved her, in ways that those words had never meant, and his expression of that love had sealed it. She was doomed on that doorstep. The world was littered with gravestones of women who died with his kiss still warm on their lips.

And it was ironic that the one kiss that meant something would have the same effect as those that meant nothing. He was trapped in a dangerous cycle of lovely lust and even this true love could not stop the spiral. Why could he not control it? Why not leave her alone? Had he not come this evening there would have been no kiss, no mark...only silent yearning.
Damnit!

He would willingly stand guard over her til dawn, if it would do any good. But they would get her, they always did. And he always lived, to mourn. Of course this one would not pass easily.

He hurried up the stais and caught her wrist. She turned in a flurry amber hair and crystal teeth. One more firm kiss was all he needed before whispering “Goodbye.” She looked puzzled but mistaking it for “Good night,” she repeated and turned up the stairs. As their fingers lingered then parted, he uttered that three-word phrase that means more than any other.

And then he left. He need to find another one quickly, where there would be only lust, no love. And perhaps that women he doomed on that doorstep, though she could never be his, would live.

Possible Ending:

But as he walked away he heard a dismal gun shot and turned. The cocking of his pistol drowned out a pronounced, “DAMNIT!”


I hope you enjoyed it.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

I have just finished the last of the Harry Potter novels(?). In most ways it is a relief to be finished. It is as if a chapter from my childhood has finally closed. It has been something I have grown up with.

I will not go as far as to say that they are classic literature, but Rowling has managed to create an impressive world. I think they greatest accomplishment of these books would be the increased interest in reading they have sparked in people across the world. I remember seeing an editorial from several years back featuring a young man reading one of the Harry Potter books and his parents behind saying, "Is this our illiterate son?"

As for my own writing, in relation to Potter, I don't think I have taken much. Rowling's style is not exactly my thing. This in mind, this whole Harry Potter thing has inspired a poem entitled "Tears for Dumbledore." It is my look at understanding the strange attachment we develop for fictional characters. I may post it some time later.

I may post again shortly with a new poem. The emotion in my life hasn't stopped and neither has the poetry.

Business as usual

I first must apologize for not posting in so long, of course I am not sure anyone is reading this it probably does not matter too much anyway.

My life in the past weeks has become more....complicated...for lack of a better word. It is difficult to blame the intricacy on a specific source, but is more correctly attributed to a large association for events. Needless to say, the aforementioned events have led me to much thought which in turn leads me to write. I gained a habit a few years back to write mainly poetry in times of large and strange emotional bursts. The reason being it is faster, shorter, and more capable of explaining undefinable feelings.

I have written six poems in the last week, but they are not all that great. I will share with you my favorite:

NIGHTMARES COME TRUE

My insecurities are killing me,
They're pushing you away from me,
Ending it before it began.

You may say I think to much,
Leaning on my imaginary crutch,
But I was right again.

I dreamed this further than it ever would be
Lost in the blanket that consumed me
Comfort like a God send.

Suffering the loss of what never was
Wanted to be in love, addicted to the buzz
A bleeding heart to rend.

My dreams never come true
But my nightmares always seem to...



Well there it is. It is my attempt to describe a pattern that has happened repeatedly in my life. I am sure it could use some refining but I thought you might enjoy it in it's raw state, fresh off the note-book paper.

So Short and Insignificant

Why does it not affect us? Why is there no effect?

Each read the paper each day, we see the headlines:
4 Soldiers Killed in Insurgent bombing
Body of Ohio Woman found
Boy Mauled by Bear

They are there every morning and yet it seems to us just the undercurrents of our changing world.
It is not until it is on our zone that we realize what all those headlines truly mean.

This night two young men from my community were involved in a serious car accident. One of them paid his life this night, the other is recovering though may never completely. The one who died was the Student Boy President of the local high school. The other, now nursing a shattered wrist, was a piano player of great talent. Now their lives are changed forever, one's ended.

And in the light of all this, I feel damn stupid. Just now I feel the suffering, only when it comes into my court can I feel empathy. We feel so safe going through life pretending that the tragedies are just fiction but when we see one first hand the feeling is unreal. And who am I to talk, am I the child's parents? Can I feel the agony, the HELL they feel at this moment? Frankly I am sure I cannot even comprehend it.

I wrote, soon upon hearing of this event, to give me a chance to vent and face my feelings. The resulting poem is entitled "Misconceptions." I'd rather not post it at this time seeing as it is rather unorganized and highly emotional.

All I ask is your prayers for the families of those in this tragedy. For known reasons I have not released their names.

Troubled Sleep

Shortly after settling down to sleep a few nights ago I awoke abruptly. Despite the disadvantages of fatigue, I was grateful to be awakened by the first burst of inspiration that has come since my return to the States over a month ago. My notes contain the following:

Mid-knights come at midnight. Wagon draped in dark purple, faces veiled, horse has blinders.

None of that means anything to you, unless of course, you have somehow acquired the ability to read my mind and I congratulate you, otherwise you might be a tad confused. This sentence and it's accompanying fragment are ideas for the slowly developing concept of "Nightwatch at Wisilworthe Castle." NWC is a short novel that I have been developing in my mind for quite sometimes. It's beauty is that the narrative is open and gives plenty of space to experiment as well as develop. I have chosen this as my first attempt for many reasons, which may be discussed later.

Good Knight...

Welcome

If it's all right I'll write a little explaining myself and if possible my purposes in creating this blog. My name is Bradley Cummings and I am a starving college student/hopeless romantic/part-time employee. In short, though I am not short, I am an average young man with a not so average desire to write. Write what? Well anything: journalism, poetry, creative writing, essays. One of my greatest aspirations is to publish a novel and I hope to do so before graduating form college. But as you can see I am not completely sure, hence the question mark adjacent to the rubric "write."
But insecurities and low self-esteem aside I am going to try it. And thus this Blog is created in hopes that you will accompany me into this journey of the unknown through sleepless nights, wrist cramps, and writers block.
Is it write?