Color is Beautiful

I’m Put In A Position

I’m put in a position.
Not the kind of position that makes me scream, “Please do that again!”
But a position that makes me think twice.
Think twice about a choice I made a long time ago, if time were important.
If only a choice could be unraveled by time.

I’m put in a position.
From which I would prefer to transition.
To another state of mind.
A mind I care not to state.

I’m put in a position.
Where I cannot stay but prefer not to go.
If only the invitations would cease their existence.
If only my desire could bare my resistance. 

I’m put in a position.

Dog Lovers Make For Good People

Sometimes little people use big words.
Sometimes big words mask little problems.
Sometimes little problems stem from big voids.
Sometimes big voids create little comfort.

Then, one day, someone spelled god backwards.

Sometimes great love needs no words.
Sometimes no words complement great walks.
Sometimes great walks follow unusual paths.
Sometimes unusual paths lead to great friends.

Zahir Zamora and the Cat Conversation

Zahir happily danced across the apartment when she heard the phone ring.

“Hello, this is Zahir.”

“Hi Zahir, it’s Nancy.”

“Oh hey Nancy, how are you?”

“I’m fine. What are you up to?”

“I was just having a highly intellectual conversation with the two cats that live here.”

“With who?”

“The cats. Danielson and Sophie. Although Danielson was carrying most of the conversation. Sophie’s not much of a talker. She brings up some good points occasionally. It gets Danielson all riled up.”

“Where are you?”

“At home.”

“I see.”

“Yeah I was having trouble with my internet connection and Danielson made a very suggestive comment about how it’s useless to try and conquer the damn thing seeing as it is becoming obsolete.”

“The internet?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said. So I turned to him and said, ‘what the hell are you talking about?’ And he tells me that our system of world wide communication is such a mess and that we should take a few lessons from the cats.”

“Lessons on … the internet?

“Lessons on more capable internet programs that are less focused on technological gadgetry and more focused on magnetic energy vibrations. Apparently the cats have some sort of internal communication system that is functional around the world. He referred to it as the ‘intercat’ system.

“Daniel?”

“Danielson, his name is Danielson.  It’s Ukranian… I think.”

“Danielson talks to you?”

“Yeah! The cat won’t shut up. He’s always going on and on about how cats just do everything better. I would try to argue with him but since I can’t get the damn internet to work I can’t really back up my own arguments. He just likes to debate.

“And Sophie?”

“Sophie’s cool. I mean she shuts him down every once in a while. Like he’ll get on his big soap box about what’s wrong with the human sewage system and how we should all just really explore using a litter box because it’s far more biodegradable for the amount of waste we create and Sophie will just walk by and swat him on the nose and he just shuts up.”

“She hits him?”

“I wouldn’t say hit. More like a lite slap. But it’ll get him to quiet down, even though I can hear him grumbling as he walks out the door. Sophie can’t really hear his grumbling anymore because she’s loosing her hearing. But I know she gets just as sick of his pretentious babbling as I do. Sophie’s pretty cool.”

“Oh.”

“So…what’s up Nancy. It’s a rare pleasure to receive a call from you. How are you?”

“Oh, just blowing up like a balloon.”

“Is it kicking yet?”

“Yes.  A lot.”

“Hold on a sec…. hey Nancy?”

“Yes?”

“Danielson said if it’s a boy you should name him Danielson.”

 

Concept of a Compassion

It’s a pity to turn a page and not see the words
the mind has put to paper.
Oh, but to spend my time reading.
It’s a shame to turn a shoulder and not see the smiles
the heart has drawn to laughter.
Oh, but to spend my time observing.
It’s a burden to turn a back and not see the love
the arms have held so bravely.
Oh, but to spend my time embracing.

TAKING THE “BIG JUMP”

INTO THE UNKNOWN

theatre that Moves

It’s official!  Hugi The Great Productions is having its first show at the 2008 San Francisco Fringe Festival.

theatre that Moves

Written and Directed by Mercedes Segesvary

Starring Dalia Vidor

Stay tuned for more information about the show and check the link to the right to read more about the SF Fringe.

Yay!!!!

In The Morning

In the morning

Trying not to wake you

Just in case

You are dreaming

In the morning

A Conversation with My Self

We sat in the car well past midnight in a dimly lit alley around the corner from the intending hotel. That was where the conversation took place; an empty alley except for one little black car containing two passengers avoiding the obvious. The two of us: just sitting, conversing, in a car. The engine was off.

I pulled the knife from my heart. It was too difficult to continue the conversation with such an intrusive object in a place where it no longer needed to be. I pulled the knife and set it aside. I placed the knife on the dash board of the little black car in the dimly lit alley and that’s where I left it throughout my domination of the conversation.

My domination of the conversation included a progression of adjectives describing a necessary liberation from the present connection. I wanted out. I wanted to run like Hell and never look back. I yelled and screamed at the top of my lungs in that little black car parked in the alley with the engine off. But none of that was heard.

The knife was retrieved from the dashboard. Not by me.

I was told, by the other, to return the knife to its sheath. I was told, by the other, that if the knife were un-returned it would need a new home. I was told, by the other, that the knife’s new home would be in someone’s back.

That someone was not me.

I protested the request in that dimly lit alley.

The knife was placed in my hand. Not by me.

The other asked, “Please return the knife.”

I responded, “I don’t want to.”

The other said, “You have to return the knife.”

I contended, “I can’t.”

The other pleaded, “This night will never end unless you return this knife.”

But I resisted.

I could not return the knife to its original location. The knife’s sheath was gone from my heart and the hole had already begun closing. In that short amount of time spent in the little black car in the dimly lit alley the original wound, wreaked by the knife, was healing; culminating.

But the knife was still in my hand and the other, turning a back to me, argued that no exit would be made unless I returned the knife.

I looked down at the knife in my hand. It was a rather beautiful knife: Silver blade. Intricate gold hilt garnished with rubies and gems. Subtle curved criss-cross engravings. I clasped it with both hands. It was still warm.

The other still had a back turned to me, quietly sobbing.

I did what only I could do. I raised the blade. I raised it high over my head and with a gut wrenching force I used the knife to cut through the anguish and pain. I cut through the stifled, emotional polluted air. I cut through the layers of despair so that I could see clearly.

The other was gone.

In that little black car in the dimly lit alley with the engine off sat a single passenger with empty hands. Smiling.

Little Fire Dancer

Little Fire Dancer

How you command
The brilliant light
To dance across your body
In the obscuring night

With a delicate spin
Across the dark black sky
Your precious flames
Illuminate my eye

Hours do pass
As I watch you move
In gentle cohesion
With an animated groove

But the aphotic night grows old
In a lightening way
While you spiritedly dance
The tiring night in to day

And as the morning sun
Must pragmatically rise
For you, my little fire dancer
Some rest I do advise