Thursday, July 17, 2014

“Background Noise”

            Sometimes, when I sit down to write, I’ve no idea what words will appear on the page. My diligence to my craft means I put pen to paper every day (or in this case fingers to keyboard) and simply write. Many of my journal entries recount mundane trivialities of a simple life, some dip into a distant past while others slip into a hopeful future. My thoughts may focus on something currently in the news, but it’s just as likely for me to focus on the fact that it’s Friday—again.
            Then those days come where I shove aside all of the ideas that pulse in the forefront of my attention and spend time concentrating on sighs, the impatient pant of the dog laying at my feet, the distant drone of the dryer as it whubs—background noise that lets me transcend the ordinary.
            Then I hear the words whispering to my subconscious. Soft. Seductive. Evasive. A whiff of perfume that lingers in an empty room. And I hold my breath, fearful that the slightest movement would frighten my words into flight. Send them scurrying back and deeper into darkness.
            So I hunker down on my haunches, hand held outstretched with palm open in supplication. I practice patience. Wait motionlessly, head cocked to the side so I can perceive the words surrounded by heartbeats.
Copyright 2014 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

“Lizard Brain”

A clear objective—survival       
Tuck head down and traipse through desert sands—       
            An Arrakis boiling with religious certitudes,     
                      ancient political nuances   
Multitudinous paths leading to destruction       
Ignore the razor winds that slice through reason   
And only hone instinct   

Clutch the knife of insanity in your righteous fist   
Rip into the enemy’s flesh   
Retaliate—an eye for an eye—until all are blind   
Blades become bombs   
Homes reduce to rubble housing mutilated families   

Logic stumbles through the wreckage   
And gets lost in the stench of decay   
Becomes overburdened and overrun by molecular rage—   
            (Passed down from evangelist to fanatic     
                       to zealot to extremist)   
Until it dries up and dies   

Copyright 2014 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman