Transitions

I scratched out lyrics
with a number two pencil
on the course pages of an
unused composition book…
a collage of thoughts
and dreams arranged there
the promise of a rock stars
the girls, the flash,
the fame was all it took…

I graduated to a clear plastic
Shaffer cartridge pen
peacock blue ink swirls
on Nifty notebook paper….
inspired by Poe’s dark
and gothic poetic images
I discarded lyrics for a
poets rhymes and rhythms
to share my visions
as a writer and word shaper…

I moved on to a
large yellow legal pad
giving me more acreage
to plant my images upon…
and a new Rapidograph pen
of pure jet black ink
that left a wondrous line
and the words flowed
across the page…

I received a treasure
an old portable Underwood
a clickity-clack black typewriter
a boys twelfth birthday gift…
it arranged my thoughts
neatly on each invisible line
spacing out the words
making my writing seem
so lightning swift…

I left home and found
the words had quickly slowed
as I became entangled
in the day to day…
with marriage and family
and working a real job
to provide security
and bring home my pay…

I received a surprise
from a special birthday gift
given me by my thoughtful
and grinning wife…
a sky blue
Smith-Corona electric
a speedy typewriter
that we both hoped
might change a writers life…
I banged out short stories
filling up paper by the tree
and sent them off to all sorts
of glossy waiting magazines…
I was told this was how it started
I read this was the way it was done
and if I overlooked the rejection
in obvious due time
it would led me to my dreams…

I put away the electric when
computers made the scene
it was faster, and neater,
and would correct all my mistakes…
it sent stores and poems galore
to one address after another
and received notes in return
which all seemed to echo
‘sorry, you ain’t got what it takes’

I write now for heart and mind
arranging my life upon the page
using the monitor and keyboard
on my fourth computer reincarnation…
I look back on all those pieces
like a puzzle of where I’ve been
and what I have become
smiling at changes and transitions
embracing dreams and limitations…

R. C. Arquette
12/20/05

Chalice

Once…
        it seems like dreams ago…
        he set out on a daring quest…
        to taste of life from every cup…
each chalice pressed to lips
filled with sweet discovery…
filled with promise, passion,
        and persuasion…
a task which in his youth
he carried out with relish…
noting no two taste the same…
        each different
        and intriguing on their own…
some found sweet and cloying…
some floral and pungent…
some bitter and repellent…
yet never once was one denied…
all found heady and sublime…
        on occasions…
        indulging desire yet again…
delighted by a subtle rare bouquet
intrigued by a dark woody under taste…
        some again
        and again
        unable to get his fill…
        growing ever intoxicated
        with each new offering…
until at last
desire finally slaked…
he gave pause to reflect…
         conjuring
         that sensual sojourn
         attempting to define the best…
the one true captivating nectar
that had caused contentment…
a soft stirring in his breast…
         the one true elixir
         to be sought
         and secured …
         to captivate his spirit
         for a lifetime…
yet when he sought
that special find
that sweet intoxicant
to soothe his spirits…
he was distraught to find
        it had slipped away…
        acquired by someone
        more astute than he…
a person of some insight…
yet unaware of the rarity
of his acquisition…
oh lucky man…
        now he looks upon
        the empty chalice…
        he wets his lips
        remembering the nectar…
        sweet as plum wine…
        light as butterfly wings…
trying to accept 
a loss of bliss
once so close…in sips…