She exhaled listlessly

& her spirit escaped.

Her body called it quits

& thus, her soul reshaped.

She began a new life

in the pale, grey moonlight.

This was a special time,

it was Halloween night.

She opened her blue eyes

Do you know what she saw?

She looked at her still self;

it was her last hurrah.

Her name was Athena,

like the goddess of war.

She dusted herself off

& arose from the floor.

Her body just lay there,

but her soul was alive.

That's when she decided

it was her time to thrive.

So she floated away

& explored somewhere new.

That's not really something

she would normally do.

Quiet & heartbroken,

cheerless, sad, & somber,

Timid & powerless,

too frightened to wander.

Fearful of everything,

she was not at all brave.

However, that all changed

when she sprung from the grave.

You're probably asking:

"Why on earth should I care?"

The reason is plain but

it may give you a scare.

She would like you to know

that life is not easy.

There are troubles to have;

it won't all be breezy.

Life is quite difficult

until the day you die.

Then you take your last breath

& mutter a goodbye.

Your body soon decays

& you become a ghost.

You'll meet with the others

& you'll all raise a toast:

Cheers to life & to death,

to the haunting we'll do,

to spooking the children,

& always yelling "BOO!" 

To tricking & treating,

to pumpkins & to pranks, 

to stealing some candy

with no need to say thanks.

To goblins & spiders,

& to the webs they weave.

Because of all of this

our souls shall never leave.

That's why it's so spooky.

No one will hear you scream.

After all, don't you know?

Tonight is Halloween.

Tonight is Halloween

A poem by Carmen Varner

++++++

Wishing you a happy Halloween. Have fun & stay safe!

Did you enjoy this poem? Feel free to share it! What are your plans today? :]

Look, I don't want to see you

in any kind of vision.

You're haunting, taunting my mind

treating it like a prison.

Well, let me tell you something

you probably ought to know.

You executed me once,

Truth is you softened the blow.

I dream about it often:

I'm flying high in the air,

escaping from what kills me,

but you greet me with despair.

Seems it's inevitable

that you'd stir up a terror.

Karma will get you, I know.

Call it trial & error.

I admit there's no denying

You may have won the first fight

That was then, this is now &

darkness always falls to light.

I am illuminated

by the ghost of the prior.

Consider me as a sun

Burning noble ball of fire.

I shall triumph past darkness,

shining like the brightest star.

My journey doesn't stop here

I'll continue to go far.

Bid adieu to all evil,

the wicked & the corrupt.

This is a revolution;

The intent is to disrupt

you from your malignant plot.

One sip from the holy grail

& it acknowledges that

the good will always prevail.

A poem by Carmen Varner

+++++++++

Try. Try. Try. Until one day you DO. This poem is for those of us who have a vision & want to achieve it. This poem is for those of us who have no idea where they are or where they're going. This poem is for those of us who are trying every single day regardless of everything that sets us back. You can do it. We can do it. Nobody knows how far you've come.

I wondered wholeheartedly

as the whiskey wooed my wounds.

I wandered within my wisdom

while the warmth of the world

washed away my worries

& the wind whispered wordlessly.

Why wish upon the stars

when I can walk among them?

Why wait for the earth to be woven

when I can weave it myself?

Why worry about worthless wars

when I am waging them within my wellbeing?

I am wingless but still worthy;

I am wild but still working,

willfully but not woefully.

Wherever I will whimsy,

I wondered wholeheartedly.

By Carmen Varner

Wingless is about the internal struggle we have within us. We wage a war upon ourselves by constantly criticizing our bodies, underestimating our power, doubting our self-worth. But we are everything & more. Why wish upon the stars when I can walk among them? Don't idolize others, when you are the star. We are stars, we are worth it. Why wait for the earth to be woven when I can weave it myself? We don't have to wait for our futures because we create it every day. We don't need others to do work for us when we are more than capable of doing it ourselves. Why worry about worthless wars when I am waging them within my wellbeing? All these thoughts & problems rise from our own minds. Change your attitude & stop the war against yourself.

& our bodies turned to dust, 

I thought about life's purpose 

& what will happen to us.

I pondered about my past.

I wondered about yours too.

Will we accomplish our dreams,

everything we wanted to?

We are dreamers, my dearest.

We've got our heads in the sky,

but I like us like that, love.

We can make it if we try.

So if we end up falling

we can land high on a cloud.

Let's do our best & do it hard.

Then we can always be proud.

What am I doing and where do I go? I can choose between the bougainvillea or the bag. The conflict within my cerebral cortex may be permanent. I prepare for the constant battle between what I strive for and what I settle for. But beauty endures throughout. At first glance, the eye spots the faded fuchsia bougainvillea. She extends her arms through the fence, showing off her parched pale pink petals. Her allure is undeniable. The empty plastic bag sadly billows by the fence. Despite my desire for the bougainvillea, I must first throw away the bag. Of course beauty seems like the most valid option, but the plastic bag might contain a lesson or two.

The morning hustle and bustle has officially begun. The drones line up one after another to get their daily fueling. Like gas powers a car, caffeine powers the people. They look fatigued. Her eyes are puffy. His eyes are half open. These people appear dead, out of sorts, dazed and confused. Perhaps sleep is not something these addicts have experienced. She orders dirty chai tea latte with two extra shots of espresso and four pumps of hazelnut syrup. He orders an iced vanilla coffee. I witness these behaviors because I am the scientist, watching my experiment to see how it unfolds. Will my hypothesis come true or will I have to account for variables? I don't appreciate the price of that $4 specialty drink that I could make infinitely better. After all, I too used to be a barista. I order a regular coffee but add chocolate. The poor gal's mocha. The barista didn't call "Carmen" as I expected. She instead yelled, "coffee with mocha." I add some half and half, a dash of vanilla, cinnamon, cocoa and nutmeg. Yeah, why not? I like to take risks. I can make my own specialty drink thankyouverymuch. I had originally purchased this coffee as a crutch, to support my lack of sleep from a late night with my lover. But by the time the concoction caresses my lips, I've already awakened. Just as the morning glory opens up for the dewy dawn, my mind has revived. At this point, my consumerism allows me a critically acclaimed spot in the cafe so I can have a spot to type ferociously. So here I am. At least it's Tuesday.

We sat at the wooden bench.

The sunshine soaked into me.

I felt the rays warm my entire soul.

It's so joyous.

A monarch fluttered by us elegantly.

The wind whispered secrets of Earth's essence.

- Carmen Varner

An excerpt from "Alien," which I wrote July 29, 2012.

"Alien"

By: Carmen Varner

I'm not sure where I am. 

All I know is that I'm an alien,

a martian, a one-eyed green monster.

Out of place and alone

in this house of white.

To be alone,

to feel alone

is not as simple as being by yourself.

It's entirely real to be alone in a crowd.

Don't Get Lost

By Carmen Varner

I think I've been down this road before.

But it's too early to tell.

The signs are familiar, yet the street is different.

I hope I don't get lost again.

The times they are a-changin.

But patterns are patterns,

They don't alter when you falter.

I can't believe life goes by so fast.
Each day is shorter than the last.
The evening air turns into the brisk morning breeze
then morphs into the warm noon wind through the trees.
Flowers bud, bloom and blossom in the spring.
Then there's always that summer fling.
The leaves change color and begin to fall
And after that winter concludes it all.
Technically, April 10th I turn 22
but to me, today is nothing new.
The sun is shining and my mood is sweet.
To be alive and well is the ultimate treat.
Thank you for your well wishes and support.
But it's super nice out, so I must cut this short.

:]

A day like this

by Carmen Varner

It's a day like this

 that makes me want to stay inside. 

The rain pours 

and the skies are grey.

I wouldn't want to leave the house anyway.

I wish I could stay in bed, 

under the covers, 

warm and sheltered from the tears of the atmosphere.

It's a day like this

I feel more confused about my existence than ever.

It's so perplexing how the weather

and our moods

can be so easily swayed.

It's a day like this

I'm reminded of how small I am.

Nothing revolves around me;

I revolve around the sun.

And when I feel down,

I realize the skies don't lie.

They're up there,

up so high.

It's a day like this

I understand I must journey on,

even if heaven cries.

The world won't stop for me,

so I must continue my adventure regardless.

"I choose you," she repeated. 

It was a Monday evening. The night air was cool, yet it was stuffy in the small living room where four twenty-somethings gathered together for a chill evening. The group consisted of two men and two women. Some had been friends for years, while some had met only a week prior. However, at this exact moment in time, they were close.

The four reclined in various parts of the room. The apartment belonged to Charles 'Kirby' Tierney and his two roommates. Kirby's roommates didn't respond well to company and remained hidden in their rooms. Kirby sat on the dirty brown couch in his living room next to Olivia Burlingame. Olivia browsed the television, constantly clicking the remote. She smacked her gum loudly and sighed as she went from channel to channel.

Jamaal Amoros sat on a small black beanbag near Kirby's feet and slowly sipped on a beer. Flora Franco leaned against the white wall with a tie dye pillow behind her back. Kirby met Flora his freshman year in philosophy class. Olivia was Flora's roommate and Jamaal was a friend of a friend who happened to be was crashing on Kirby's couch for the time being.

 "So what'd you do this weekend?," Flora asked Kirby and Jamaal. "Any girls this time?," she inquired.

"Yeah, we were hanging out with girls," Kirby said.

"I know, but you're "hanging out" with me and Olivia," she said, adding air quotes to emphasize her point.

"You're always like 'did you get it in?'" Kirby joked, imitating Flora. The four of them laughed.

"Sorry I'm intrigued," Flora said, kicking Kirby's shin. "You always have the coolest stories. If I had a cool story, I would tell you too."

Kirby seemed amused and thought about his weekend.

"We went to a warehouse party in LA on Friday," Kirby responded. "We skated all day. There was all the beer you could drink. Everyone was sipping beers and cruising on their boards. I drank so many I couldn't even skate, which is saying something," he said. "So I went to my buddy's car to chill, but ended up passing out in his car. I woke up like three hours later back home. Then, get this," he paused.

Olivia stopped flipping through the channels at this point and left it on Hey Arnold! Jamaal got up from his seat and went to the fridge to get another beer.

"Want one?," Jamaal asked nobody in particular.

"Yeah," Flora and Kirby said in unison. Jamaal returned with four beers in hand, two for himself.

"So what happened?," Flora probed.

"I hung out with my ex. She gave me like a 30-rack of beer for my birthday," he said.

"Seriously?" Olivia asked. "I'd never buy a gift for an ex."

Kirby gave Olivia a weird look.

"Even for someone as magnificent as yourself," she added hastily. She wasn't trying to be mean.

"The same girlfriend that you all of a sudden stopped talking to you? Let me get this straight. She wasn't pissed at you, but instead buys you beer? Interesting," Flora said, squinting her eyes in a train of thought.

"Anyway," Kirby began. "So I took it, told her thanks and bounced the hell out of there. We drank it all that night," he said pointing to Jamaal. "So pretty much, I had a ton of beer that day, beginning at the skate park. It resulted in a massive two-day hangover. It hurt my head to breathe. I swear it was like blasting a foghorn in my ear. My brain was pounding. Me and Jamaal just vegged out on the couch all weekend. Worst hangover of the year," he said.

"But it's only March!" Olivia exclaimed.

"Friday was totally worth it," Kirby said. And with that it was evident he was done retelling his story.

Nevermore

by Carmen Varner

"Honey," she told me. "That's no fun.

Take a seat in the hot, hot sun."

I told her yes and went outside,

where there's no place for me to hide.

My feelings for you just won't go.

It seems that time has made them grow.

I wonder why, I wonder when,

you'll say you want me back again.

"A great day to write, isn't it?

At least life has no speed limit,"

a guy told me as he walked by.

I nodded and tried not to cry,

tears of sadness or tears of joy.

All of this is about one boy.

I told myself to stop this shame.

Nevermore will I say his name.

Lonely, lonely, alone, alone.

By now, this fact should be well known.

I thumbed through the petite notebook. It was slightly larger than a deck of cards, but its contents were infinitely greater. The cover included an illustration of a sleepy looking bear with a blue polka dotted nightcap. A dash of Japanese writing accompanied the tired cartoon; the language appeared so foreign in my English-reading brain. However, the outside is unimportant. It's the inside that counts.

Within this little collection of papers was seven days of fluid creativity, thorough inspiration. When I wrote what I wrote within the tiny lined pages of the notebook, I had no idea its words would continue to haunt me 171 days later.

I read through each page. I was searching for something. I became so lost in my own memory that I had forgotten my goal. I remembered when I looked up.

"So which one are you going to choose?" asked my friend, Chandra, as she hovered over me. Her eyes darted from the notebook to me. 

Oh right, I thought. I was supposed to decide what I wanted to perform for my theatre class.

"Um, I don't know," I replied, lost in thought.

"I'll help!," she exclaimed and ripped it from my hands. Chandra flipped through and landed on a page. She cleared her throat dramatically and began reading.

"I'm all the way over here. At this precise moment I think of you. I wonder if I cross your mind. Probably not. Should I forget you? I would if I could. Is there some magic potion to erase this feeling? I wouldn't want to do that because you make me feel so much."

I cringed. Man, it was terrible to have to hear that read out loud, especially by a voice other than my own. I had already lived through that instant when I wrote it, I didn't need it echoed by my enthusiastic friend. That's the one part I tried to skip. Did she have to read that one?

"Is this about Bud?" Chandra inquired. 

"No," I laughed. Her question truly was humorous. It most definitely was not about Bud. I didn't care about him that much to write about him. Not now. Not ever. This was about someone entirely else.

Chandra fingered through a few more pages and cleared her throat once more.

"I thought of you again. Thankfully this distance has kept me busy. I think of you less. I don't know what to do with this feeling. Shall I sweep it under the rug? Should I move on to someone else? Because I don't think you feel what I feel and it becomes more and more apparent. 

Time seems to move on sluggishly. As of now you are not forgotten, but things change. Life will continue. I'll go back to the daily grind and I will not wait for you like a puppy. I've done it before and I vowed to never do it again. I'm doing it now, but I won't allow it to continue. 

The issue is finding someone to replace you, as you have a very large part of my heart. Luckily, I'm a master of unattachment. I want you right now, but I don't want someone who doesn't want me. 

By the time you realize, it may be too late. It's your loss. They always say that, but I believe it. You may not, however. Because if you did, you'd want me too. I wish I could verbalize all this but I can't in fear of utter rejection, of a change in our relationship. 

I don't know what to do anymore. It's borderline unbearable. This gives me plenty to write about, but even more to think about. Slowly but surely, I'll continue on. All these words seem so small in the big picture. Are we even a good match? I don't know."

No, those words could never be about Bud. Though Bud was my present, he could never compete with my past. I didn't say anything. Chandra didn't either. I was completely mortified. My thoughts, though several months old, were lying naked and vulnerable in Chandra's hands.

I decided to break the silence.

"I'll probably go with the thing I wrote about my spiritual enlightenment instead," I told her.