TL Boehm - Writer

Sometimes it seems my world is so small
My POV - a bland wall
Studded with scant moments:
Digital whispers of my legacy
A young man's smile effervescent
Facing his future in cap and gown
My heart skips with that mix of ache and pride
Another man
Temples gray and that impish grin
The last birthday cake he ever shared with me
My hand reaches up but I cannot touch you, Dad
"Do you remember,
when it was like September?"
Pinned up equines splashing through surf
as I tick off the days

A frosted claret vase, left by some young thing
Silk flowers sunny yellow, cool blue and lavendar
Clay sculpted toothy worm monster poised to eat a boy
Look closer - he's peed in the pastel dirt
Random shots of blue eyed boys rest on my blonde wood desk
80's music drifting from my radio
Jungle green growth dances lightly
Draped on black steel file cabinets
My back to the window
Cars passing by
And the late summer sky
yes
My world sometimes so small
Lose myself in the crave of an electronic universe
Colors and light and words
So much warmer than the stale coffee in my cup
Strike a match and let it burn
away...
TL Boehm

091609

The sun rests cold
On the bones of winter
Bleached mirror of oneself
Shedding light
But no warmth
With the tenacity of sinews
I am tied to you
Drawn in by the solidarity
Of shared intentions
Tethered until death parts us 
I'm starved for intimacy
Heart stretched taut
Thin skinned belonging and attachment
Characteristic covenant of a lie
Your drum song litany of sorrow
Wasted on empty air
Our mutual decisions shackle me
This reciprocal forgiveness
The pleasantries of acquaintances
Quaint values wasted 
Bands of gold identifying markers
The dirge of mutual caring
whispered fireside stories of life
Enhancing spirit
Walks a well tread path to a shallow grave
This passing of our forever friendship
Trade better for worse
The sun rests cold in this soul of winter
Remembered warmth in your arms
Fades away.
TL Boehm
01/28/09
 
I'd like to think it was more creative than saying I'm peed at the hub for leaving me wait in a cold car all night last night, but maybe not.
I was planning to go home, to enjoy some desperately craved quiet time, to catch up on the little things like blogging and sock mating and choking down banana nut muffins the other peeps revile, and so I left work with a light heart and big dreams only to be crushed when my key wouldn't fit in the door...
I called the spawn who was clueless as only a 17 year old male rocking out with a microphone and band can be...I called the HOH:
"I'm locked out of the effin house."
"So what are you going to do."
"I guess I'm gonna sit in the effin' cold car in the driveway for four hours."
"Ok"
"FINE!"
Note to self - one cannot -no matter the velocity at which the instrument is thrown from seat to floor - SLAM a cell phone down in someones ear....sigh
So I alternated between engine and prayer and repeatedly checking the fence for a point of entry as long as it would have taken for my husband who had time available to come home and rescue me, the fair wife....then I sucked up my sticky ego and drove back to the office and worked for a few hours. I love my church. I love my family. I now understand intimately the priorities. And I will be sure to reciprocate as only a woman scorned and left locked out of her house can reciprocate. It won't be pretty - but I'm going to savor it.
Oh and of course the wee spawn capped it with a courtesy call "So aren't you glad I leave a pillow and blanket in the car? Oh and we had Carls Jr for dinner. (sounds of gratuitous slurping on a staw)" the little jerk.
Thus the ugly poem.
And now for the Bethany's Crossing update:
I was corresponding with another Christian Writer who is reading Bethany and is having difficulty following the story lines containing the demons. This writer has seen similar creatures during times of worship (pause for skin crawlies and eyebrow raising. Self crossing optional) Now, I'm not going to spiritualize it. For those of you who write, you know the situation: sometimes things just "come" to you without effort. Call it God, call it a good trip, call it pasta with garlic and cream sauce but sometimes the story, the poem, the character, the image, the song is just "there" for you. I purposely dumbed down the critters I was given. I wanted them to have NO power, in the story. I tweaked them intentionally. So to hear something like this from a reasonable person, of a similar faith and skill set (actually a better writer than I am and better in touch with faith issues) well...it leaves me scratchin the dome it does. Suffice it to say the story around the book is better than the story in the book.
So I'm off to do more year end stuff....it actually never ends, but I can dream - right?

If you want to sacrifice the admiration of many men for the criticism of one, go ahead, get married.  Katherine Hepburn

Altar-ed

Imbedded in my memory
Scratchy soundtrack moments at 33rpms
The wicked life I led
Wine soaked nights
Days steeped in bourbon blur
Pagan cadence to the sacred space
Thrumming drums of pen to paper
Cryptic rhythm of words slurred
In sweat and desperation
My imagination
I reveled in potential pleasure
So many suitors spellbound and broken
In my wake I take nothing
The carnal flesh set for sacrifice
On the altar of forbidden dreams
My mind sullied, body clean

And you came with sober notes
The subtle structure of a tempered life
Traded my tambourine
For shackles
Mother, wife….
Dry eyed I cleave to you
Under quiet skies
My mind recants
The rigid friction of your words
My body yours when this mind’s empty
Adequate sacrifice for the sanctuary
Of dreamless creeping sleep.

TL Boehm 070408

I have learned that blood and bone
Are no assurance of love
That the parents who should protect you
Forget you
In the wake of their own unspun lives

I have learned that the newborn life
Once cradled in my arms
Won't consider my sacrifice
In the wake of unbridled rage
Love is a hollow lie

I have learned that I am a monster
Murderous and cruel
Selfish and judgemental
Producing bitter fruit
That withers on the vine

I have learned that the world
Doesn't love a dreamer
War and tragedy churns
In the belly of Babylon
The meek are weak expendable
Casualties of circumstance
Destined for demise

I have learned there is no sanctuary
No refuge from the malice
Washing over me like sleet
On a winter day
My heart is cold stone
I am lifeless

I have learned that intoxicants
Only fuel the ache
magnify this emptiness with
shallow platitudes
The flavor of the day
Scraped off the spoon tomorrow

I have learned
I still don't know how
To give up the little dreams
In the silence of my soul
I gather them piece by piece
Hiding them from myself
For fear I'll do me harm

I have learned I should love myself
I have learned....I don't know how to love

04/05/08

starlit spectre
on crescent thoughts descend
the lonesome days I spend
apparitions disappear in daylight
Like whispered promises
of friends

celestial solace
nocturne's daydream
on pinioned wing visions stream
the sparkled rush of lovers hands
cross silvered sands
mercurial stream

Cast away imagination
Set to flight in ravened skies
the ghost of hope now flies
shh don't wake me

to the harsh light
I despise.....
TLBoehm

032808 (thank you Sharon)

“Music takes us out of the actual and whispers to us dim secrets that startle our wonder as to who we are, and for what, whence, and whereto.”

The witching hours between
Onyx nightmares - and dreams that sparkle at first light
Find me catatonic amongst my secrets and inuendos
Ragged shell
an insinuation of skeletal existence locked
Emotional rigormortis
Hushed, suspended and supine
Stasis waits, hesitating
For the thrumming drums of life
a message of motion
sensual resurrection
That whispered music
melodic song my confidant
The rush of blood
This exhalation across lifeless lips
Speaks nothing into the void
So I do not breathe
In my skin that crawls beyond darkness
Recoiling from oblivion
I thought you loved me
Yet you are without utterance
And my heart breaks straining
For a note of music
and the silence ringing in my ears
A regretful requiem
Careless undertones
mimic this rumor of survival
Suspended I am
Unsung

TL Boehm

02/28/08

"If your body matches what your eyes can do; You'll probably walk right through me on my way to you." Finger Eleven

Thought I was unbreakable
Yet I crumble in ruins
Lost in the wake of your gaze
My logic slips away
Defenses fail
And I'm that wild creature at your feet
Begging for release
But you don't see
you move through me

Thought I was immovable
Yet you flood my thoughts
Rapids rushing over me
Incredible intensity
Energy
I want to ride this wave
But I am face down in your eddies
Shallow sensibilities defeat the flow
But you could not know

Thought I was infallable
Yet around you I'm not sane
Unable to contemplate the danger
Of my obsessive point of view
I look forever but never see
Your eyes looking back at me
Invisibility
You move through me.

TL Boehm

11/03/07