Quicksilver Fancies

Sometimes my thoughts escape me
like the quicksilver fancies
of a mildly psychopathic
but ultimately benificent kitten
where it doesn't know
which plaything to choose first
I flit from inspiration
to fascination, from dream
to thought to idle musing,
borne by currents
of which I have no ken
letting the tide take me
to places I never conceived
I would go,
surrendering to Life's happenstance
like a submissive
to his Mistress' whim
knowing only that enlightenment
dwells in all places
and enchantment exists
in all facets of creation.

Like an adolescent Tom
I bat at one tantalizing idea,
only for my eye to be
caught by another,
which I pounce upon,
drawing it close to me.
I rake it with every claw
of my exuberant creativity
until, losing interest,
I chase a mirage
around another corner,
losing all reckoning
of the thought
that drew me hence.

For that reason I despair,
for which dreams have I
brought to fulfillment,
and which have I forsaken?
But I can do no less
because the world lures me on.

I am caught there,
gyring high into the air...
aloft in the eye of the cyclone
to be left behind in some realm
I never dreamt I'd find,
living a life that seems
merely serendipitous.
Seeking the reasons why
it rains in China
when the butterfly sings.

Being Poly Isn't a Cop-Out

One of the most common reactions to my assertion that I am Polyamorous is the look of astonishment coming from a person who assumes that means that I believe I can have sex with anyone I want, without any cares for the other relationships I have. The prevailing thought is that Poly-folk are looking for a way to excuse bad behavior in the past, to cover up being promiscuous or unfaithful in a relationship. Often, someone Poly is considered to be a slut or a womanizer.

Indeed, there are some who fall into the category of Polyamorous who act in such a manner, choosing lovers and romances without concern about how their actions affect others.

However, I aspire to the ideal of Ethical Polyamory - which means that I believe that I should not enter into relationships without the consent of all affected - my Primary, any others I am involved with, and the prospective new partner. Anyone who has a relationship with me, sexually or romantically, is going to affect the others I love, and they are going to be affected by those I love, in turn.

It is also important that I do not lead others to be misled about myself - just as I would not want others to lie to me. Love is based upon trust, and when trust is violated, love withers and tends to die. Love based upon lies is built upon a tar pit for a foundation, and is doomed more likely to fail than succeed, no matter the intensity of the passion.

As Poly, I do believe that every person in my relationship structure has the right to choose whether they wish one or more lovers. It is not a matter of having multiple lovers. It is the ability to make that choice as each person sees fit.

That is why I will always identify as Poly, no matter whether I am in a monogamous relationship, a Triad, or any other form or relationship.

Because love divided is not diminished - how can something infinite be?

(c) Tortured Cyclone 2017

Take This

Take my guilt,

there's plenty

I owe, and

to spare.

Take my heart,

for there's nothing

left inside,

for any to care.

Take my pride,

for it's been lost

years ago when I chose

to stay and fight on.

Take my hope,

for any of it

for our better lives

is dead and gone.

Take my future,

because all it is

is a litany

of unending strife.

Take my validity,

because nothing else

matters to you

but your unyielding self.

Take it all,

there is nothing left

but what you take,

and that stays till death.

(c) Tortured Cyclone 2017

My Responsibility

It is my choice

to stay and fight on,

though every cell says

I should be long gone.

It is my debt

I have chosen to pay,

and so I remain

day after day.

It is my love

that is never believed,

because how do obligations

come into being?

It is my responsibility

to be your husband,

which I strive to be,

unsuccessfully.

(c) Tortured Cyclone 2017

Improvisational Harmonies - Sneak Peek #3

The Romantic's Dream:

The Rose and a Poet's Genesis

For my money, the poignant yearning for love in Bette Midler's voice when she sings “The Rose” is one of the most powerful musical moments in '70s movies. It serves as a counterpoint to the tragic story of the rock star she plays in the film, loosely based on the life of Janis Joplin.

It is a powerful statement of how a larger-than-life figure like a rock star, can feel so isolated and alone, in the middle of their superstardom. As a young singer, of course I added the song to my repertoire as a teenager, and adopted its emotional message as my own. As I grew older, the song's message became a mantra, even as I abandoned the performing arts in the name of subsistence.

It came as no surprise to me that the song eventually inspired my poetry, once I began writing more and more. What did come as a surprise was the desire to attempt writing a new verse for this ballad – having the temerity to put my writing alongside the heart-rending simplicity of Amanda McBroom's original song.

It is up to you to judge how well I did.

Then There Was You

It is amazing, in the moment that you meet someone and realize that they fit you like a puzzle piece, One that brings the jigsaw tapestry of life into greater clarity. You mesh so smoothly with them that it is difficult to to say where one ends and the other begins. And so the relationship began...

That is what happened when I met you.

But life is never static, and the complications of our love interfered with our ability to be in contact with each other. Those challenges have become, at times, mammoth - terrifying in their Brobdaginian immensity. The miles that separate us, our duty to others, our contrasting work schedules - these all have stood in the way.

But while falling in love is something that happens to you. Loving someone is a choice, even if it is the only choice. And choosing not to love you is a choice whose consequences I never want to face - for I want you to be a persistent part of my life, as long as we can.

Some things are so precious that you would die for them, if it were necessary. That is what you are to me. Without you in my life, I would be looking at a world that was once two-dimensional, knowing that a third dimension exists because of you, but unable to perceive it any longer.

It is like having the world of sight removed, a few days after you had just gained your vision.

So, I choose you. I love you. I need you.

Lifelong, if not into the next life...

TC

(c) Tortured Cyclone 2017

Community Spirit in the Digital Community

I believe that people
have valid feelings,
no matter where they may be.
Whether in person,
by the telephone,
or hidden behind
the digital veil.
We have a responsibility
to be ever mindful
that what we might see
as merely a harmless game,
is something more to them.
This is why I cannot
countenance online trolling,
because I cannot be a witness
to a wrong and do nothing -
to my way of thinking
that is no better
than being the villain
that commits the crime.
So don't tell me
not to get involved
when I see someone hurt,
because I will not,
cannot, listen to something
that is anathema to me.

(c) Tortured Cyclone 2016

In Search of Poetry's Soul

What is the soul of poetry?

A deceptively simple question, for most people (myself included) would probably be able to come up with an answer within moments. The answers would invariably be subjective and, as such, have much more to say about ourselves than this form of expression.

As is frequently the case with other questions that lead to subjective responses, many of us have a tendency to view our answers as the right ones, to the exclusion of others. So we tend to exclude ideas that contradict our own, because if we're right, they can't be, right?

Wrong.

For some, poetry is about the cleverness of the writer. How the poet uses her knowledge of language to entertain, to demonstrate their intelligence, independent of emotional context or even comprehensibility.

For others, poetry is all about capturing an instant, creating an image that the reader can be captured within. Using their words and placement to convey an image that is undeniable in its clarity.

Yet others see it as a medium to express the emotions that wrack our psyches, and the ones that make our spirits soar. The language of the passions.

Yet others see it as a dogma where the rules of a specific form are all-important. Where it is necessary to harness the words to the mastery of rhyming and meter, stanzas and couplets.

In truth, poetry is all of these, and more. And we are the ones who choose to limit it by perspective, saying only our vision is "good".

So, if we create in different ways, can we at least respect others for following their particular vision?

After all, the artist is only half of what defines poetry. The other half is the person who reads it.

(c) Tortured Cyclone 2016

About Misuse of Resources

Recently, in the Twitter world of online poetry and activism, I heard a criticism made about my conduct and my focus. In short, the critic stated that I should not be doing what I am doing on Twitter, because I was being derelict in my duties towards my offline family. I was too busy being a Dom instead of being a provider.

I wanted to set the record straight, pulling back the fourth wall to give you a glimpse of some of the choices that I have had to make with my responsibilities and with my career and my lifestyle.

My spouse of 14 years is terminally ill. She has been on kidney dialysis for almost 10 years. Four years ago she had a stroke. Since then her health has been in a steady decline.

We have two children together. Our eldest is 13 years old, and is on the autism spectrum. He is high-functioning and his particular form of autism includes ADHD and Oppositional Defiant behavior.

Our 10 year old, fortunately, is not on the Spectrum and is basically healthy. However, he has begun modeling his behavior off of his older brother's, in order to get attention.

With my wife's worsening health, I have had to make some difficult choices. I work overnights full-time, but in response to her increasing illness, I have found it necessary to cut back on my hours at work. In fact, I have cut back so much that I have worked basically 20 hours a week for the last 7 months.

In this same time, we have made several difficult decisions, to ensure that were able to make ends meet. This includes eliminating satellite television, Internet service, private supplemental health insurance for my wife, and my pride. It has been necessary to put my ambitions as a writer and as an activist for the polyamorous lifestyle and as a Dom aside as secondary in order to take care of those responsibilities.

Many of you may be aware as how I have cut back on posts to this blog. Also I have eliminated all prompts that I was running through Twitter, including a prompt that was supposed to have resulted in an anthology that would have been published this summer.

To raise additional funds for my family, I have had to pawn my equipment for writing. Not once, but multiple times. In fact the computer has spent more time in the pawn shop then in my possession since the beginning of 2016.

As a result, I have just last month finished my second book of poetry which would have been released by my birthday this year if other things had not pushed it back. Additionally, I have had to push other writing deadlines back.

I have also cut back in my involvement within the Twitter writing community. I used to post approximately 5 to 10 poems everyday, if not more. And I was also active in the community fighting to protect members of the writing community, instead I have taken a secondary role in most cases. The one case where that has not been so, has been in a situation where I have been targeted directly by a group of harassers because I spoke out in defense of someone who was being tried in the court of public opinion for something that should never have been a general flame war.

My primary involvement now, within the community is in the recognition of a writer everyday by shout-out and a writing prompt every week by shout out to draw attention to others in the community because they deserve that attention and because with all the followers I have I should be doing something to let them know that there are a lot of other people out there who are worth taking a look at.

I have not been derelict in any duty offline. I have, in fact severely been absent in my duty to the online community to respond to offline demands.

It is not because I care less for the online community. It is because I have had to take care of my primary responsibilities.

Please be aware of that, before you make any accusations of dereliction of duty.

(c) Tortured Cyclone 2016

Who Am I?

I am not a good man.

There is no virtue in me that is anything but accidental - a mishap of incidental proportions. My flaws are myriad and manifest, and the weight of my sins make the earth groan beneath me. If I say I do good, there is no truth in me, because doing good is counter to my deepest self.

What right do I have to say I am virtuous, when all I do is driven by ego and self-interest? When forced into self-reflection, it is all I can do to not vomit in disgust at my paltry efforts at virtuousness. Naught I do, but it comes to ill and harm.

I cry to the heavens - where is the justice that I have health, when better people do not? Why should I have prosperity when worthy folk go without? Why do I possess these gifts of understanding, of artistry, of wit, but have naught of worth to create thereby?

After all, what am I but another fallen soul?

Why Do I Speak Out?

More than once, I have taken heat for my willingness to take a stand against people who harm others within the online community. There are those who have stated that I start drama, and seek fights. I have been accused of intolerance to viewpoints that differ from my own.

My issue is a simple one. In the offline world, it would not be right to allow an assailant to rape a woman, and do nothing about it. Or see a store being robbed and decide it is someone else's problem. Or a man being gunned down in the street.

In all of those instances, it is the civic duty, the ethical duty to stand forth as at least a witness, if not to intervene to try and prevent the crime from taking place. Doing nothing effectively makes the bystander an accomplice in the crime.

Although the online realm is a non-corporeal world, I argue that the civic and ethical duties of the offline world carry over. Correspondingly, it is not right to stand by and not react in some way.

We teach our children that it is not right to let bullying take place unopposed. The digital realm is rife with such bullying. It makes sense that our lack of tolerance for bullying would extend online, in social media, for instance.

The act of catfishing people online is as dangerous as any form of offline imposture. Consider the phisher who seeks information for identity theft through social engineering. Or the con man/blackmailer who coaxes information from a vulnerable person, in order to gain influence and/or sexual favors from them. Both of these are acts of rape that are no less heinous than physical rape.

None of these things I would want to happen to myself, or any I care about. By extension, if I don't want these crimes to happen to those I care for, it is logical I would not want them to happen to anyone.

Because victimization of people is Everyone's Problem, I get involved. I speak against it. I report it to authorities when I can prove it. I speak out, warning of people who harm others.

By my understanding of both ethics and morality, this is the right thing to do.

(C) Tortured Cyclone 2016

Sneak Preview - Foreword of "Improvisational Harmonies"

Recently, in the writing community that I have been a part of the last three years, online, there has been a lot of controversy related to plagiarism. There have been claims of not only pure theft of words, but also the theft of less-quantifiable concepts.

Poetic theme. Phraseology. Rhythm. Core poetic image.

Mind you, the online world is rife with writing based off of, or inspired by, another's ideas. The poetic community I am a part of uses writing prompts to inspire many writers to stretch themselves. Oftentimes, those prompts are used verbatim by the participants of the prompt. Poets get involved in wordplay of varying levels of intimacy, which usually builds upon the writing of someone else in a Poem-trail.

This cross-pollination of ideas, the common font of inspiration, leads to a lot of writing that is very similar. Much of that writing could be interpreted as plagiarism, if the broadest definition of the term is applied.

And that says nothing of outside influences...

As a writer, I prefer to write with music playing, as it stirs my creativity, and has also served as a wellspring of inspiration to me. Many of my poems have a piece of music as a jumping-off point.

So, I decided to bring together several of my poems into this collection. Inspired by music. In homage to that music.

Not plagiarism. Improvisational harmonies.

Exit Interview

Not too long ago, my year-long stint as a contributor to the Uink.ca blog and website came to an end.

Looking at the experience, writing for a largely erotica-based website, there were a lot of facets I could talk about: How honored I was to be asked to be a contributor; The camaraderie of a small team of writers and friends; The pleasure of working on "Whispers Entice"; The thrill of working with, inspiring and being inspired by, some fantastic writers.

I could also tell tales of the dark side: The petty power plays; The lies and hypocrisy of team members; The out-of-check egos; The lowered bar of quality for some members of the group; Being stabbed in the back and fired.

But, in the end, the year-long ride was a job. Unpaid, building my exposure as a writer, getting the word out. No one can take that from me.

I was a contributing author for an erotica website, with more than a post a week, average. The quality and quantity of my work shone there.

It was a tremendous opportunity. But opportunities often come to an end, leaving us free for new opportunities.

Uink, thank you.

(c) Tortured Cyclone 2016
@TorturdCyclone

For Camille

Yesterday was Saint Patrick's Day. Another holiday with specific cultural significance for specific ethnicities or sects of religion. No big deal, right?

Except my family came over from Ireland long before the potato famine that drove so many Irish immigrants to America in the mid-1800s. You'd never be able to tell that I'm Irish, however, if you looked at my luck.

Unlike the stereotypical Irishman, I have never displayed any good luck to speak of.In fact, I've sometimes joked that if I didn't have bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. But that all changed when I met you.

You came into this world on this day significant to my ancestors. In essence, you are the living embodiment of all of my life's good fortune. Because you love me, I am one of the luckiest of men.

You prove that I have the Luck of the Irish.

I See You

In the morning light,
I see you beside me,
restless in pain-wracked sleep,
besieged by demons in dreams.
I know your doubts,
all of your fears
that you aren't good enough,
that my attributes
are somehow your fault.
But through all the years,
all the trials, grief, and loss,
I'd see you there,
steadfast and holding on,
and fanning the love
within my breast
by being better than I deserve.
And the love for you
is there always,
it has never died,
and it never will.
If there is fault
to be found,
it is that I
am the flawed, corrupted vessel
incapable of the expression
of exactly how much
you mean to me,
for without you,
I would not be.

(c) Tortured Cyclone 2016

For my wife.

Talk About Publicity!

I was told about this story last night. It appeared in the 1-17-2016 edition of the Forum of Fargo-Moorhead:

http://www.inforum.com/variety/3925683-local-reads-memoirs-aplenty-latest-books-regional-ties

I was not notified that my book was going to be in the article, but am quite pleased, nonetheless.

Why Do You Hate Me?

I don't know how it came to be
that I deserved your enmity,
however it's plain for any to see
that it is rancor that you feel towards me.

Did I say something that hurt your pride?
Did I cause you to look inside
and be disappointed with who you are
because I dared to follow my heart's star?

Did I commit the cardinal sin
of saying you weren't the best in
the field of artistic expressions
that you use to extol your transgressions?

Did I get in your way
from possessing someone yesterday
that you felt certain would give all?
That, to your lusts, she would fall?

Did I cause you to feel you fell
from the code of honor you tell
all and sundry you live by,
showing your words to be a lie?

Did I spurn you when you were sure
that all others I would abjure,
and turn to your arms to sin,
your lover only, your possession?

Did I illuminate truths about love
that challenged your illusions of
how certain relationships were meant to be,
making your choices far less saintly?

Or were you merely filled with envy
that I had blessings, gifts, popularity
you felt should be yours for all to see
instead of some other person like me?

The reasons don't matter, I will yield
to you this electronic battlefield,
because I have more important things to do
than waste my time with someone like you.

October 27: No Passing Fancy

As I gaze forward,
I see a possibility
of something most
would find a fantasy.
The day approaches
where we three
stand together, a trinity.
Though you say it
is only a dream,
I'll tell you true,
this is no passing fancy,
it is our destiny.

October 25: Plastic Jedi

Imagined, the snap-hiss
of his sliding plastic lightsaber,
the dreaded respirator sound
of his nemesis, his father,
taken on adventures
on land and sea,
defeating the Empire
on every front and escaping
to fight another day.
That was us,
Luke and I.

October 22: You Can't Handle the Truth

My life has been stained
by darkness from the moment
of conception,
but it is hard to tell
which trauma shaped me
the most.

Was it being forced to relocate
seven times in 12 years,
unable to stay
in one place
for any lasting period
and put roots down.

Was it being driven
by abject desperation
when homeless
to prostitute myself
to feed the illicit hungers
of people twice my age?

Or was it the moment
of blinding rage
that left one life
changed forever
and threw my own potential away,
ending in imprisonment.

One of these three tales
is true.
Figuring out which one
is a challenge I leave
for you.
Because I'm not saying.

I don't think...
No, I know,
you can't handle the truth.