Parts of Me

Take from my words the meaning that you will
Steal the colors from my palette and the shapes from my canvas
Learn the words and chords to my song
Caress the cloth and textures of my creation
Inhale the incense and the taste from my garden
All of these you are free to do
Yet you will never know the passion, the pain, the presence
The conflict that brought about what is mine
The parts of me that you covet so much...

Try This!

                I was sitting here looking out the front window into the night and I realized that Valentine’s Day is getting close. I know a lot of guys that are not quite adept at writing as they could be – especially when it comes to things like feelings and emotions. Some struggle terribly just finding and signing a card. So just for fun I thought I’d throw out a few ideas, suggestions I guess. 

                But first a few pointers; number one – don’t text, don’t email, don’t type. No matter how sloppy your handwriting something written in your own hand carries far more weight than any typeset. If you have to send it electronically write it down and scan it. Second it shouldn’t be written on a grocery store card or office copy paper – pick up some nice stationery – you know like the stuff you were supposed to write thank you notes on for your (pick one) birthday, Christmas or wedding gifts. You could make it even more interesting by choosing something that’s colored. Try neon, maybe pastels – you might even get something manly… a dark tan or blue or burgundy. NO borders!

                Now take some time to actually think about what makes her special to you. What does she do that no one else has ever done – to you, for you, with you? Things like:

You come with the quiet moments or the last few minutes before sleep, sometimes in the hurrying of day to day life. You burst into my thoughts at any time and from any direction.

My hands ache to hold you to caress, poke, tickle or just a give you a fleeting touch on the hand or shoulder

I love to hear the words you speak, your classic laugh, groan of mock resistance or sighs of pleasure and fast paced breath.

I can close my eyes and paper the walls of my mind with the glow of your smile

Deep inside of me is a place, a place touched only by you, full of the warmth from our journey through life, from forever lasting memories of us together and the endless possibilities to come.

My thoughts of you bring out the fullness and depth of my love for you, this is how it’s been, how it is now and will continue to be.

Won’t you be my valentine?

                So it doesn’t sound like you? IT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO! This is a special day, a day when you reach down deep inside and proclaim your love for her. Tell her how special she is! Throw in a description of that one special time or the first time or the last time!

                Hmmm, actually I think a man in love with a woman, truly in love, should treat everyday – well almost every day as Valentine’s Day. I’m not talking about chocolates and diamonds. How many times did you tell her you loved her today? Took her hand in yours just to hold? Gave her a hug? Gave her your smile? Shared her burdens? Really listened to what she had to say?

                Enuf soap box… Hope ya have a great Valentine’s Day! Wonder how many ladies will read this and use an idea or two?

Old stuff, Com 101

        I was rummaging through some stuff from my college days at CSC, Colorado State College and came upon my spiral from freshman communications class – COM 101. You remember the one, they made you write different types of essays to develop your communication skills? After glancing over a few less than stellar assignments I realized I really could’ve used spell and grammar check and probably turned a few of the B’s into A’s… to quote the instructor “watch for misplaced modifiers, coordinate adjectives (?), sentence fragments and common errors – they distract from the overall coherence.” What the hell is a coordinate adjective? I still don't know!

        Anyway, for those of you that have read my more recent attempts at written communication you might recognize the style that was revealed back in 1968. I believe this was an assignment to write a “Description”. Hmmm kinda open ended… This was titled “Description (?)”, and if you spent any time on the campus in Greeley you probably know exactly where it takes place.

                The trees stretch toward the grey, menacing sky; their bare branches seem to grab at the hazy afternoon ceiling. The pillars of living wood form like sentinels along the broken cement walk. From the corner you pass through a corridor of elm and oak while the shaggy rug of wintered grass lines the tipsy squares of cement. Now and then the clatter of scattered gravel opens the cold silence and seems to echo from behind each tree. A few paces down the walk and you might catch a glimpse of a squirrel searching the joints of each branch for an afternoon snack. But he sees you move and shoots up to the highest branch of the tree, disappearing much like the afternoon breeze.

                It’s time you stopped and took in all that the wooded lawn has to offer. A few brisk steps through the leaf scattered mat of grasses and you’ll find a spot to sit and lean back against one of those magnificent wooden columns. As you put your weight down a small, cold chill creeps up your back as if you’ve been caught up in the webbing of a spiders home. At first the knotty bark needles its way through your coat and into your back. But with a few small adjustments the knots are comfortably placed and a new warmth overwhelms the coolness of the ground beneath you. Taking time to look about, that grayish tail with feet suddenly bounds from a tree just opposite yours. Try as you will to stay quiet and motionless he soon spots your position and is off again, up among the spindly, blackened branches of an immense elm. Losing him among the joints and jogs of the wooden net your eyes catch the sun as it sneaks through the billowy sky. The grayish afternoon crawls away while the tide of powdery blue and warming sky redecorates the day. A chatter from the squirrel announces his joy as a warm breeze pushes the leaves up from their resting places to crash and tumble across the lawn.

                But still there is a cold loneliness surrounding you. It’s not the lack of beauty or the cold that’s finally disappearing; it puzzles you to think what could be wrong now, with the sun high amongst the vacant robins’ nests. Finally it happens; you’re joined by a couple strolling down a worn pathway. They seem to fill the whole colonnade of trees and ruddy grass rugs with something clean, fresh and bright. Though they passed by in a moment, lost in their own world, their brightness was shared by all. Even the wiry squirrel came down from his mountainous perch, fearlessly beckoning to you. But with his chattering the cold haze resumes, covering the sun as the evening grows near. So you pick yourself up and briskly stroll back along the crumbling cement walkway, you will remember this place, this day, it was good to you.