Friday the 13th, the Day After

Photography taken the night of a lightning and thunderstorm over the Pacific Northwest, July 2012.


The above #mircropoetry was written in response to an 
image prompt  from  Kellie Elmore about Friday the 13th 
for Free Write Friday (#FWF).

Looking For... Looking Out...

Looking for colors in the darkest black, 

Looking for arms to take me back

Looking out from the darkness within,

Looking out for a chance to begin

Looking for wisdom to show me how,

Looking for love in the here and now

Looking out along the lonely way,

Looking out for a chance to say

Looking for a strength to firmly stand,

Looking for a warm gentle hand

Looking out into the deepest blue,

Looking out searching only for you

©MalekoArts (Mark Schutter) 2012

Blood Stains

After swallowing the last gulps, he set down the empty can on the corner of the coffee table.  The hoped for solace that drink normally brought seemed to evade him on this night and exhaustion remained, yet sleep seemed to reside only on some far distant shore.  The silent darkness of the house that used to be a home only served to allow the persistent voices in his head to scream louder, eventually driving him out the front door and into the night.  How long he stood next to the tree, barefoot in the grass, he had no idea. The other houses that lined both sides of the street were dark and all the world seemed to be asleep in peace.  All was quiet except the low hum of electricity as it traveled through the wires to feed the glowing street lights.

His right hand was leaning on the knob end of a baseball bat as if an old man in need of a cane.  The thought of why had he carried this outside flashed through his mind and was just as quickly gone.  It was the very bat she had placed beside the front door in case she should ever have a need of a weapon close at hand.  He grabbed the handle with both hands, he had always enjoyed the feel of a wooden bat in his hands and the weight just felt right.  His grip fit perfectly as his fingers curled around the handle.  Holding the bat filled him with a dangerous sense of strength and power.

He could feel his heart beating louder and louder in his ears, his blood coursing through his veins as surges of energy careened through his body as his muscles began to tense.  The world around him slowly faded away from view and before him stood only the tree.  The round trunk stretched upwards anchored by firm roots hidden deeply within the ground.  Branches grew outwards in what appeared to be many haphazard directions, most branches alive with leaves, a few dead and dry.  The tree was life, a voluminous text telling a story and detailing each experience and dream along the way, each branch a turning point in his life.  The leaves held tight the emotions that accompanied the events of each memory that was remembered.  The lifeless branches revealed little as the memories of these experiences had faded from his mind over the years.  As he stared up into the tree's canopy each branch morphed into distinct memories of a life built on hope for the future and then wholly lost as fate seemed to conspire against the desires of his heart.

The frozen silence of the night was shattered by a loud crack as the wooden bat struck the tree trunk.  He did not even realize that he had swung the bat, but as each memory blazed before his eyes he swung the bat over and over. The tree quivered only slightly with each blow, standing strong and resilient against the vicious onslaught.  Each swing was fueled by grief and rage over what was lost, never to return.  Memories flashed hot, the bat hurtled through the air against wood again and again, until his shoulders began to ache.  The quiet was shattered by the crack of wood on wood as the bat slowly began to splinter from the force of the repeated blows against the tree.  He continued unrelenting as the fury rose inside him like a volcanic eruption long held in check within the depths of the earth, driving him past the limits of exhaustion.

The cascade of blows finally began to slow as his strength waned, at last he stood gasping for breath, head down, the bat lying motionless in the grass at the bottom of the trunk.  The tree was silent before him almost mocking his unsuccessful and feeble efforts at destruction.  He eventually fell to his knees and finally came to a sitting position with his back against the very trunk that had noiselessly absorbed blow after blow of his merciless rage and anguish driven attack.  He sat soundlessly through the remainder of the night, his body physically shattered; the fatigue blunted the pain and allowed his mind a small respite from the chorus of voices in his head.   

The sun began to rise, and light crawled out of the dark of the night revealing the dawn of a new day.  He sighed and moved every so slightly as his shoulders throbbed, his hands and fingers stiff and aching, but his mind and heart laid bare to the nonsense questions to which there were no answers.  As the mornings light grew ever brighter unhindered by his sorrow, he looked down at his hands which were stained in a murky crimson of his own dried blood.  As he stared at the sight, angels whispered about innocent blood that was shed once, in the ultimate sacrifice long ago, so the crushed hopes of this world may be redeemed and reborn in eternity and a small smile crossed his lips as he raised his face to the warm glory of the rising sun.

~Maleko (October 2011)

Climbing Out of the Abyss

The abyss of anxiety and depression is a deep cavern of dark indecision and self-loathing that many, including I, have journeyed through.  The black surrounds, a thousand voices screaming in your head without a sound.  The angst is like a velvet fog, soft and thick covering everything, greying the colors of life.  The abyss beckons continuously, promising a false comfort there.  

Life is..., not what was hoped and planned for

Life is..., the truths we believe about our experiences

Life is..., living, learning, loving and letting go

Fate conspires to break your heart and healing only comes once you are broken.  A thousand steps forward only to find yourself sliding slowly backwards as if drawn by an invisible force.  Reaching, grasping, clawing to the edge of the abyss.  Looking up, looking out, looking forward to the light, away from the dark.  To begin anew from here, right where you are, taking one small step of faith to begin the journey and begin climbing out of the abyss.                  Maleko ©2011

A Good Death

The low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed like flies on a hot summer afternoon as the electricity surged.  The hiss of air slowly escaping from the breathing tube attached to the electronic pump droned on in endless monotony.  Footfalls of rubber soles on linoleum could be heard coming form the hallway a nurse walked quickly by.  As the final breath escaped, the silence of each individual in the room combined to a deafening chorus as the walls slowly closed in.  Hesitatingly each person made their way to the door and out into the stark cold hallway of the hospital.  An occasional deep sigh could be heard and silent tears were wiped away.

Family wanted him to come home with them.  They cajoled, almost pleading that he needed to be with others especially family right now.  Or was it that they did not want to be alone to face their own pain and the experience of a life slowly fading into the dark.  If they could spend their energies on helping and comforting him, maybe they would not have to face the ache and they might hurt just a little bit less.

But in the end, he knew with total certainty that this path, this new journey, started now and he best get on with it.  What lay before him would began with one small step away from every thing he had every known.  God and history never repeats and nothing could or would ever be the same.

Scarcely remembering the trip back to the house; he approached in the waning hours of late evening as darkness of the approaching night began to settle.  The house that they had called home was dark and silent, the key in the lock and the creak of the hinges as the door slowly opened screamed a defiant cry in the silence.  There was emptiness in the air that seemed to permeate and cover everything.  What was previously there was now gone, vanished from the space as the ocean tide recedes from the shore.  The tide would wash over the land once again and atoms of matter in a dance of electrical frenzy had already filled in the space in which her form had previously occupied.

He sat in silence as time slowly ticked past, the beating of his heart counting the memories, the realization that this is how it would forever be.  Evening became night and the darkness fell over everything and he felt the blackness like the weight of a heavy blanket.  There was no awareness of time as the pain was too raw, too real; the shock permeated to his core so that no tears came.  The confusion would not allow a coherent thought; dark that surrounded him taunted an emptiness and futility that he should embrace.

At long last without a thought he stood up and went room to room throughout the house in the dark gathering the multitude of small white votive candles that she had purchased saying you can never have enough candles.  Carrying the candles out into the night he slowly placed them around the yard where moments of joy and happiness had been shared.  As he did so memories emerged of family gatherings, barbecue's, games, quiet evenings watching the sunset, the hours of work to turn the space into their own little refuge against the world. 

As each candle was placed he would light the wick with a match and the smell of sulfur would waft slowly into the night air.  The flame of each match sprang to life and then gave its life to light the wick of the white candle which would burn on long after the matches’ light was extinguished.  With each candle that was lit the flames created shadows across the landscape, dancing through the limbs of the trees, bouncing off the flower petals and reflecting colors that were hidden by the dark.  Light blazed around him as he sat in silence and reflected on the journey they had shared and the twist in the road on which he now must wander. 

Each white votive candle burned bright, but each one was unique, no two flames the same, but each shared a link to the other, somehow connected.  The memories flowed as a river of water, slowing in pools to quietly reflect and at times crashing in like rapids strong and dangerous.  Time seemed to have no meaning and the candles light continued to burn.

A slow realization began to form that she still was and ever would be, she was now connected to more than we could ever hope to be while on this earth.  Her parting was not an end but a new beginning to explore and receive all that this earth could never offer.  The light of each candle held some of her beauty but they were only temporary reminders.  As the hours passed the candles burned slowly down each to an end in which each flame quietly died. 

As each candle’s light was extinguished the darkness began its ever present march forward to cover the land and his heart again.  But has he looked up into the heavens the candlelight had been replaced by a million twinkling stars in the sky.  Each star was a reminder of things past and they held each memory in their embrace.  She was now a light connected to all other lights, a joy in the arms of her Father and he realized the truth of a good death.  Facing the heavens lights tears streamed down his face as he silently cried in remembrance of the past and a hope of the future.

(The above is my first work of creative non-fiction, loosely based on a real life experience. ~©Maleko 2011)

"Lost in Illusion"

I stumbled across the first stanza below, written in my journal in November of 2003, 10 years after the death of a loved one as I still struggled and tried to ignore the pain.  It struck me how the grief had and continues to color and impact everything I was and did, everything I am and do.  Over the past 8 years I have made strides to deal with my loss and to right the ship on this journey called life. Thus, I have written a concluding stanza below, remembering our experiences make us who we are.

Lost in illusion, inside my head

Faking a smile, while feeling dead

Voices that scream, make not a sound

Feeling alone, with everyone around

Cloaked in blackness, a hidden heart

Do I trust God? Willing to do my part?

Memories may fade, but sadness remains

Hope for tomorrow, choked by the pain

Lost in illusion, that the enemy creates

What good is a life, so goes the debate

Others encourage, the words unheard

The journey continues, however absurd

The light is there, but makes not a sound

I do trust God, As I fall  face down

The memories remain, and the heart cries

But hope for tomorrow, is not a lie

©Maleko 2011