A Poem by Clifford E. Knapp

We have a guest at the Adventure Blog today! Here is a lovely poem by my friend Clifford Knapp.

"I Am Where I've Been"

The places I've been forged furrows in my brow,

And carved wrinkles 'round my smile.

They've worn patterns on my palms,

My elbows etched where I've paused to ponder.

Both knees carry imprints of where I've knelt,

The land created calluses on my feet.

I've been changed by the places I've been.

Mountains, valleys, deserts, forests, beaches, and meadows,

Their earthy seals now affixed to my body.

I wear them as my life's passport.

Like Whitman's child who went forth, they are part of me.

I am where I've been.

Special people are part of my life lifescape too.

They grounded my journey along the way.

When I put down roots, they nourished me.

Easterners taught me suburban and urban ways,

And Midwesterners shared small-town wisdom.

Human connections cultivated deep understandings.

Now I linger longer listening to hidden forest singers.

I see more clearly where I gazed blindly before.

I gently touch the soil to siphon its strength.

I smell the flowers instead of flattening them.

I taste the fruits of life with renewed appetite.

My senses honed by the rough stones along the way.

The places I've been pose as prophets,

Teaching me how to live and why.

They are embodied in my soul,

Creating character and focusing the future.

The places I've been are within me.

I am where I've been.

Thank you Cliff.

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If you were hoping to find limericks here, you will be disappointed and then happy. Disappointed because they are not listed on this website for sale, and happy that are available at this website instead!

www.vogelian.com/limericks

also

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Enjoy!

Collusion Short Story Alternate Ending

Only 236 words, this story packs a punch. The original version of "Collusion" is linked below. I recently wrote an alternate ending. Here is the full story:

“Collusion”

The music is blasting fast in my head, and I’m wired like the telephone lines that whistle past the open window, and the engine hums, and we’re one, and no thoughts fill my head – no school, no home, just the music so fluid it coats my bones – and I look over at Elle, and she’s smiling because she knows I’m vibing, and the music lifts, and I shift gears, and we slow for a sign, and the moonlight shines, and we start to roll, but a shadow jumps into the headlights’ glow, and the car jolts, and we stop, and the headlights shine red, and I hear Elle whisper, scared and low, Jake, we have to go, so I go, and the shadow is static, a scarlet mass on the moonlit road.

*

I am standing in the gallery, staring at the wall where a painting hangs square. The dark oils on the canvas swirl violently towards a small pool of silver at the bottom. A vague scarlet stain hovers above. I turn, and she’s there, just a silhouette framed by the sunlight streaming through the window behind her, and I can't see her face, just the blinding sunlight, setting her aglow.

She kisses me, and I hear her voice, floating faintly, saying, The children are waiting, it’s time to go, and we smile, and I count the shadows as we walk past the gallery windows.