Now I have no fear
now my eyes are open wide—
now you disappear.
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I’m tired of the great, full moon;
I’m bored with cricket’s song
I can’t withstand more roses;
the summer’s been too long.
It’s very well to love someone
it’s very well to yearn…
but after months with no relief
it’s getting time I learned.
There’s no peace to be found in this
though sunshine flirts each day…
that scented breeze is just a tease
for what will fly away.
I’m too old to be stargazing
I’m too wise to have faith
This spirit of forever shows
It’s only just a wraith.
The passion’s grown and done with
like grasses green turned brown
It’s time you loved another.
it’s time I left this town.
The pastures are too green for me
I long for winter’s chill
to hold me close, a long, cold night
because I’m sure it will.
Original Poem and photo by Lane DiBlasi Copyright 2019
You said for me to trust you.
So I did. Put my arms around
Your waist and closed
My eyes-
Sparks and Ferris wheels-
Ice cream and fresh green grass
Flashed in my mind
For you were sweet
As sleeping late on a Sunday
And deep as the sky
I drowned in the possibility
Of your eyes
Until I realized
My life
Was compromised.
Copyright Lane Diblasi
Photo credit: Lane Diblasi
He travels through an endless sea of time
Behind the scenes, a thing of disbelief
To right the wrongs and set the world in line
So human beings can reach their destiny.
The sailor sails, the pilot flies, and he
Walks through the ages, undetectable
He’s not alive or dead, deliberately
He changes fates while being untraceable.
To human beings, this may seem divine
Or to the others, scientific fact
That wishes, prayers and hopes resolve in time
Despite the absence of an earthly act.
Of course, I’m speaking of the only One
That made the Stars, the Planets and the Sun.
-Copyright Lane Diblasi 2-18-19
Rain comes down and drenches the earth.
Dirt turns to mud.
Things get messy.
Water penetrates the soil and touches dry roots.
Water is absorbed.
From here, change happens.
From destruction, creation can be done.
From mud…. life begins.
Let it rain.
How do you bring a civilization back from the dead?
It is a reverse birth —
The wailing of labor pains takes the shape of earthquakes
Which rock a silent desert
Rock a quenched planet
Until a new river comes pouring forth.
The earth weeps and cracks
The plates move and open—
Some fall inside to be devoured by molten lava,
As the pillars of a new world
grow up from a chasm of hopelessness.
Blood rushes forth —
Souls aflame; those pure and those sullied, separating into two echelons
While rain blesses and kisses the smoking embers of the past.
A screaming, howling life emerges
To dominate and reign supreme
amongst lesser beings.
This is our destiny;
We are here forevermore, and the earth will take new shape
beneath our steps.
Copyright Dec 14 2018
All Rights Reserved
I believe persistence is a gift.
It’s a talent. And I know that I have it.
Sometimes, I think it’s just the caffeine. But with how many people in this world drink coffee, and how few end up being like me, I doubt it. I know I have an uncanny ability to pick myself up and re-orient to the goal, and try again. And try again. And try again. And eventually win. Sometimes I feel like it’s a strange trait. Like other people wonder how I keep going and so do I. But I rely on it, to win. I can outlast anyone. I can re-create myself and re-appear, and eventually you’ll give up or quit, but I won’t.
Years ago, I found a purpose. I had taken on a new job, and I was challenged to do something that seemed very unnatural to me—talk to people I didn’t know. I had to come face to face with my own fear, and drag it, kicking and screaming, to the ground, or I would be faced with failure. In that first trembling attempt, and second, and third, I needed something to grab onto. So I dug deep, and I finally found this rock, like the core of the Earth. It was unyielding. When you push against it, it just pushes back. It won’t ever break. That purpose, when I’m backed against a wall, is what I lean against.
My teachers and other kids used to tell me I was sensitive. It’s true. I’m an artist, and artists can sense many things. But I think sometimes, sensitivity is confused with weakness. Wearing your heart on your sleeve, is not seen as a trait of a fighter or a winner. But I’m both. I can get disappointed, or my pride can be hurt, and you CAN hurt my feelings. But– I keep showing up. I fight back and I make it my life’s mission to beat the crap out of whatever adversity has presented itself.
I was talking to my husband about it today and I was describing it. I called it “the little fighter.” He said, you know, that little fighter has another name.
“What?” I asked. He said, “Lane.”
I believed in you.
Monuments built out of sand-
Crumbling in the tide.
There’s a space between these sheets of life.
And shards of aching wind blow through it.
I wonder today what I can do to avoid that space.
The sheets billow with crystallized moans and cries – memories
Crystallized
It was a mutiny. They shot me.
Are you still there?
Where are the heart shaped stones we threw?
Do you keep them in glass boxes?
I wonder what I shall do today to avoid the space.
Shall I sing or
Shall I scream or
Shall I tear into you with rhyme
Shall I commit my favorite crime?
Shadows follow me.
So I follow them back.
And I find you weeping.
Was I the harlot and you the widow?
Shadows following…
What shall I do to avoid the space?
Shall I dance?
Shall I burn papers?
Shall I draw pictures of death?
The sheets rip back and
It leaks blood and tears and words.
And shards of aching wind blow through it.
I wonder what there is to do to avoid that space.
Are you Pandora’s Box?
Sheets billowing…
Sweet little cries and thick rasping screeches pass through
Crystallized.
It was a mutiny.
They shot me.
The bullet went all the way through and pierced somebody’s curtains.
Are you the hurricane or am I?
Lane Katherine Eddington
September 10, 1997
