Time for sleep in Chateau Rogers but I thought I’d share this piece I found in my odds and ends files from 2009. I’d forgotten about this and even put it under ‘unfinished’.
I kinda like it.
Castles in the Sky.
Sometimes I sit outside on warm summer evenings
And I think such thoughts
Such sad painful thoughts
But I look above to heaven.
There are no gods there, but I see
Great castles in a pink puffed sky.
Figures in clouds
Those dragons. They burn. They hurl fire but they fade.
And I see your face
Feel your fingers in mine
Just history now but I feel them still
And yes… tears come. Sobs from my heart.
At things lost. At memories.
An orange sun sinks in the sky
And I know you feel its warmth too
I feel it touching your skin, I touched it too
And a breeze gently stirs. Bending flowers before it
I feel it on my face, drying tears
Touching my lips, lips that kissed yours.
But I sit here in this sadness
And I wring my hands in hope
That those days will come again
That my exile, my solitude will end
But for now. I will go. Try to forget.
But I feel that one day …
…one day I will return.
When dragon fire no longer
…. Will burn.
Copyright Stan Rogers 2009.
Rather an old one this but I am posting it anyway. I do love this one and it is certainly one of my best I feel.
Self made prisons are the hardest
My mind made this one
Locks, bars, turnkeys
I crafted them myself to imprison myself
This broken wing of my own mind
I created the means. A rod for my own back
And my wing broke. My mind broke. My life became lost
But this prison is home
I find comfort somehow in cold bitter loneliness
Why should I reach out. Seize comfort when this pain fits so so well
Like a glove.
And I have withdrawn to become one with myself
In my self made cell
These bars are my own fears
Would I leave if I could?
Could I just walk?
Find some god to rescue me and my broken wing mind?
Yeah gods are two a penny
Gods of self pity maybe
Mine would be one of self loathing
No self pity here. I already explored that one
I shook his hand
So I deserve this sentence
For being imperfect in an imperfect world
For enjoying my broken wing
And then I sit, crosslegged admiring my bars
No golden sun without.
Only a cold spiteful moon of memory
And I imagine a blade and immolation
Should I cut deeper
Watch the blood run. See my life force leave me
Mingling with my tears and my fears
Black puddles on a dusty stone floor
Embrace departure and finality?
A final salty tear to say goodbye?
Would that would be too easy
Too simple. The fools way out although foolishness…
It has it’s attractions.
But I want this pain. I shouldn’t end it
With this pain comes understanding
Cold biting realisation is a powerful tool
In experienced hands
So I sit, naked on a cold prison floor of my own design
And I wonder. Is my prison keeping me in?
Or keeping others out?
Should I let you in
To share this glowing incandescant pain
To share this broken wing
Should I allow you here?
Just let some light into my darkness
Can I do that?
I think not
I tried sharing and boy it hurts.
I won’t make that mistake again
It broke my wing
It killed my spirit
It placed me in this cell
Of my own design
I can’t come back from it
So I will stay here. I will taste sweet oblivion
I am alone. I will be always.
©2009 Stan Rogers
Time for another oldie tonight. I wrote this in 2009 and it is one of my all time favourites. Another Matt Spears inspired piece, exploring bitterness at life I suppose. Enjoy.
What do I deserve?
Little, some might say
I leave when I said Id stay
But thats me
Matt has nothing on me ha.
You might find me in a wine soaked corner
Broken cigarette between bitten smiling lips
I will give you sarcasm
And then smile cos you dont deliver.
Ha…Take my broken cigarette
Crush it on your carpet and light another
Tell you a story you have never heard before
About you and your problems
And so do I care?
Matt might have but he aint there
And look into my eyes. Pain? Ha
That aint pain, it is loss
I can handle that. I did before. I will again
Fifty five years and I get used to pain
Dont send you insane.
Just walk out the door, slam it even
Pull up the collar and say ….Fuckem
You wont pull me down. You cant hurt me
Cos I am used to it now. Have to be
And walk down the street
Glaring at street lights reflecting in rain spattered puddles
Daring them. Hating them
Just for being there.
Hearing noises of the late weekend night
Kicking garbage, coke can, and smiling.
And entering some sad local bar
Her in the corner? Too much lipstick, Cheap clothes
And I smile, pulling down my collar
Lean against the bar. Catch eyes.
Whisky…Large one OK?
And scan the lives in this neon lit hell
Talk to you. Sitting on the stool next to me
Putting your leg over the other as you grin at me
Tell me your story, might make me smile?
Ha. That you dont want. Would ruin your night
And I find a seat and enjoy the feeling of trainers
Yea sticking to beer drenched carpet
And think…let my mind wander
Shouldnt be let out on its own.
But suck back whisky and smile at the woman in the cheap clothes
Dare her to talk and feel her pain and want
Because deep down she is me. Lost and alone
Stan Rogers 2009
Between the years of 2007 and probably 2010, I reached the peak of writing creativity. I was always more of a poet, a troubadour of this modern age rather than a novelist I felt, but I did turn out Love Sex and Time Travel in 2007 which is still my biggest seller by far. It is also my favourite novel. I actually cried as I wrote parts of it such was the emotion I put into it, which came from my poetry.
In those heady four years, my brain positively crackled with new ideas. I didn’t write because I wanted to make money from it. I wrote because I had to. I didn’t have a future … I had a NOW. If I hadn’t have written my words down, I felt that my mind would explode, and so most days I would just write. I would write more and then more. Beautiful poetry, wonderful words seemed to cascade from my mind continuously it seemed.
Also, during those four years, my life changed totally. It was all down to my words. I gave up the rat race in 2008, taking redundancy, and vowing to never return to 9 to 5 slavery, I left the UK to be with my Sandra in the Seychelles. Ideas as usual poured from me spurred on by Sandra and her love of my words. But it was not to be, the Seychelles was not for me and I unhappily returned to the UK a few months later. But my words never stopped and in 2009 I wrote some of my finest work. I also started the Seer Of Albion, which believe it or not started its life as a simple Facebook status, then a very short piece of philosophy about reading people’s faces for emotions. Then it became my project for NaNoWriMo that year. That is a competition held every year to write a 50,000-word novel during the 30 days of November. I succeeded and won my certificate.
I was inspired in my writing of it and even parts of the story by my Raven who I had first talked to in late August 2009. We became online lovers and then real lovers in December 2009 and then she became my wife in 2012. I thought that my life was complete. My writing did continue into 2010 but something was different. My mind stopped crackling. Writing became something of a chore. I missed daily targets that I set myself. My inspiration faltered and instead of a natural flow it became a chore to try to find it. I had lost the plot. My writing became contrived and forced and so the flow slowed to a trickle. I put that down to being so very much in love with Raven. I was happy and very content and I suppose the need to write diminished because of that contentment. From then until now, apart from a few shining exceptions, I feel my work has been second class and pedestrian.
Yes through these years I did produce some wonderful poetry but it was the exception amongst a sea of dross. My follow ups to Love Sex and Time Travel and The Seer of Albion ground to a virtual halt over those years and that is where they pretty much stand now, along with The Anonymous Poet another novel started in 2014 which I felt had the potential to be my strangest but greatest novel yet. All lay, stuck between about 10 and 20 thousand words. I wouldn’t admit to it but my inspiration had just totally dried up. I became dead inside, mundanity bit, and my inspiration followed it. I had found love but had lost my words.
And now? Well a wonderful thing has happened to me but at a terrible cost to myself personally. The unthinkable, for me, happened and I lost my dearest love. But slowly my mind has started to function again. I wrote Three Castles, I rewrote Until the End of Time, I rewrote Beautiful Brown Eyes. Not by far my greatest work, they still lacked some of my previous fire, but they were a turning point. For 8 years my follow up to Love Sex and Time Travel has lacked direction. I could not see where it was going, I could not imagine the ending, until a couple of days ago. The ending had been there all the time. I had written it already a few years ago and not known that it could be the ending, a wonderful inspired ending that explains both books and will lead to another follow up. Now it will be. I have a direction at last. My end has a start…. I am a writer and a poet once more, if a very lonely and heartbroken one although as she knows, she is always welcome to call me at any time.
© 2018 Stan M Rogers. All rights reserved.
I thought I would finish by posting a piece of poetry from about March 2009. I do admit it was inspired by my very dear friend, Donna Marcozzi. It wasn’t the piece I originally looked for but it does show the emotional depth of feeling I felt back in 2009. Here is, ‘If I Were To Feel Anger.’ It is the past, the present, and the future…….
If I were to feel anger. Tears of rage
Loss of innocence even at my age
Would it be at losing you…before I knew you?
Feel your soul dissipating through my outstretched fingers
Like mist on a summer morning. Dew dissolving under hot morning sun
And a breaking heart in my chest. Feeling your sighs
Touching your face across a void, and mutual highs
But I am me. The guru of love lost.
I find it so hard to be…happy?
So hard…just so hard. Life gives me that as interest.
And I am never ready. Always behind
And where’s the sense in that?
Can I help this feeling of self imposed loss?
Going down with all hands baling
Angry with failing, and fighting my own devils
Punishing myself for imagined future crimes
And past indulgences….back to haunt me
And people feeling anger at me
And I wonder why. Because I dare to be happy?
Because I stepped into their lives?
I hate these feelings of trying to balance
Not to hurt and think of others feelings.
Guilty I suppose… I always am. Perhaps trying
Isn’t really enough.
Should I just lie down? Fulfil my own collapse.
Give up at all that lies before
And any anger I feel is at myself
Audacity at my own hope of being
Temerity at daring to think I could ever possibly be happy.
At daring to think that love isn’t possession
Not control…I want to give. But that isn’t right
Anger at inner turmoil. At trying so hard
At being the person I aspire to be
Anger at the insults I receive?
No not really…just sadness at negativity and pain
And spite, the worst of human sins.
©2009 Stan Rogers
The night is late, the streetlight glows softly orange
Through the slats of the apartment blinds
An old movie, black and white, plays softly
One she loves. Adding a gentle silver glow to the room
And in my lap, she lays sleeping, sharing our blanket
Sharing our life, sharing a heartbeat
… and sharing a dream
I love to watch her sleep
Gentle breathing, occasional snores
The odd sleep twitch and mumbled word
And I gaze at the one I know I love above all else
The only woman I know I can ever love
Over the years we have been apart many times
But we always find our way home to our love
… to each other
The only love we can know or desire
I feel my leg begin to tingle, pins and needles tingle
But I cannot move it, I cannot
To do so would spoil this perfect moment in time
And I won’t do that
All my love I see before me in this beautiful lady
Complete contentment and happiness
Wrapped in a huddle of blankets and in my arms
… as they gently encircle her warm shoulders
And although I know it can’t,
… I want this moment in time,
To never end, to last forever
Because I love her
I feel her gently stir, and I bend forward to kiss her cheek
A yawn, a smile on that sleepy face I know so well
A look of love in her eyes, such beautiful brown eyes
And that love is mirrored in mine
I love her
And in my love for her
… I am home.
© 2017 Stan M Rogers. All rights reserved.
I pay to live
Every single damned day I pay
A small part of me falls into the debtor column
As a small part of me dies
Every day I reap fear
Of my future
Do I have one?
Do I even deserve one?
Will I survive intact without fear again?
Happiness. Such a normal thing.
We say happiness without even thinking of its meaning.
Is it just a smile? Is it being in a place.
…. Where the heart is content?
Is it being with someone I can love, or trust?
Or having the safety of money in the bank?
….. no. It is peace with myself
Can I ever feel that again?
Can I be at one with me… with the universe?
Can I look at my face in the cold early morning mirror?
As I wash.
Even then I ask myself questions.
None can I answer with any satisfaction
None can I answer
None at all.
My life now is unanswered questions.
I even feel an answer may be death.
How I yearn for its sweet sweet arms
To kiss a gun… pull the cold steel trigger
How I wish it would visit me now and take me
In a final kiss
In a last touch of my cold hand
To wash down the brown bottle contents with whiskey
And need to question no more
Sweet bliss of darkness
Sweet finality of life’s unanswerable questions
I swear to myself that I won’t
I swear that I can’t.
But maybe it is the answer I seek.
Perhaps it is the only answer I can possibly hope for
Should I be a coward and refuse my penance?
Should I lay down and allow death to take my soul
… and my fear
… and my eternal unhappiness.
© 2018 Stan M Rogers. All rights reserved.