Cage
10th Anniversary Digital Edition
by
Charles Mallio, Jr.
Smashwords Edition
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Published by
Charles Mallio, Jr. on Smashwords
Cage
10th Anniversary Digital Edition
All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2010 by Charles Mallio, Jr.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
The original edition of this book is available in print at most online retailers.
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For David—dare to dream
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Table of Contents
Preface to the 10th Anniversary Digital Edition
So Only New Nevadans Eat Their Socks?
Why Do You Suffer Alone With Your Pain?
V. Social Distortion—Politics As Usual
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Preface to the 10th Anniversary Digital Edition
The print edition of Cage was published in the autumn of 2000, a labor of love that collected a lifetime of poetry. In deciding to publish a book of poetry I was not seeking fame or riches; most poets have neither. Rather, I was fulfilling a desire to share the product of hundreds of solitary hours of writing, with the hope that someone might read the result and be inspired, or at least entertained.
Traditional publishing is not an easy game, but by the year 2000 advances in print-on-demand (POD) publishing made it easy for authors to get their books in print. This is what allowed Cage to find its way into print. Without POD, this book may never have happened.
In the decade since, technology has advanced much, and now ebooks have given authors a whole new medium by which to reach their audience. Books can now be read on virtually any device with a screen, from a PC to a cell phone to a digital music player. And the ease of publication and distribution exceeds even that of print-on-demand titles.
With the tenth anniversary of the publication of Cage looming, I thought it would be fitting to mark the occasion by issuing an updated release in an updated format. I hope you enjoy this tenth anniversary digital edition of Cage…on whatever screen you prefer.
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Preface
This collection takes its name from one of the first poems I ever wrote, Opaque, Translucent Cage. In a sense, this was the first poem I wrote that made me feel like a poet. In 1984, it took first prize in my Junior High School poetry contest. Frankly, as I read it now, I find the poem overwrought and melodramatic. In fact, the original title was Life—As Seen Through the Eyes of One Who Knows of Him Who Dwells, Enveloped In, the Opaque, Translucent Cage. At least I had the sense to shorten the title before I submitted the poem for judging!
So why include it here then—and name a collected life’s work for it? Because it was the spark that lit a greater fire, and it started me down a path of creativity that I may not have otherwise traveled. Besides, it is instructional, as it does contain thematic elements that would surface in my later work. Sometimes the words of the child can provide insight into the nature of the man to be…
Opaque, Translucent Cage
Living behind the bars of the opaque, translucent cage is inconceivable to most of us, for we've lived much of our lives inside the dark cell, but then we were set free, not being chosen to face a far worse fate: the opaque, translucent cage.
The enveloping monster, with its transparent, night black bars which are ten feet thick and paper thin, and the claustrophobic aloneness of existence inside it, never did claim us. We were the lucky ones!
And, as for the lucky ones of us who can vaguely conceive life inside the cage, the cage dwellers are grateful for our presence. Though it is not they who should feel grateful, but we who should feel obliged because the pressure of life inside the cage falls upon the shoulders of those who have conception of both lives but are too naive to know when and how to break free of the cage's grasp.
Oh yes, we're very lucky.
For life in the cage I was not chosen, but I know of one who dwells in it, and his emotions are as antonymous as the cage itself, for he is one insouciant, distraught person, unable to live up to the expectations of the cage.
To survive the fate of the cage, one must have strong will, for the asylum he seeks may not exist. But what of those who create the cages, do they even know what they are doing? No! They mean to do well, but the torment they cause is far greater than the benefit that may come from the cage. For they know not of what they create, or what the end result may be. These are the ones we should truly feel sorry for.
They see life in two dimensions, black and white, cut and dry. And their offspring beg for forgiveness, but why? They feel they have failed their generators, yet it is not they who are wrong but their prime kin with their blind, almighty superiority, for these are the all-knowing elder fools who deteriorate the minds of their creations, and the sad truth is: They don't even know they're doing it.
And, as an outsider, I can see all these things and only feel the cold pain that burns a hole through one's gut and sets his soul ablaze with anger and sickening moroseness. For I am not able to penetrate the world of the cage, and the cage will live on.
It will live on until one of us lucky ones, vain and cocky in our youth, either I or another, can break the mental wall, subset of the cage that prevents the innocent inmate from even getting to the door.
For only then will the cage's doors burst open, and the dwellers will then be set free while their creators, in an extremely pensive state, will ponder why the cage ever did exist, and how they could create something they knew nothing of.
But until that time the cage will thrive on adolescent minds, eating away at the dwellers' souls, until they are in such a state of confusion and turmoil that there are only three things they can do:
Break open the cage's doors and fight so that everyone has the full realization of the cage that he has,
Submit to the cage, trying to lead a controlled, however tumultuous life, barely able to grasp what little sanity he has left,
And, oh, yes, there is one other thing he can do. Either conquer the cage, submit to the cage, falling prey to its every desire...
Or die.
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Introduction
As an anthology, this book is organized to make it easy for the reader to locate what interests him or her. Unlike a novel, it is not intended to be read from beginning to end, although one is certainly welcome to do so. However, reading two dozen love poems in a row may be a bit trying for all but the most hopeless of romantics. The poems in each chapter share a common general theme or mood, but no one was written to complement another. As singular works, each is meant to stand alone to convey a statement unto itself. The groupings are more for structure than statement.
The poems within each chapter are arranged in chronological order, so the reader may get a sense of stylistic flow over time. But the date each poem was written intentionally was not included with the text, as it most often is not essential to understanding the message. However, since the chronology may provide added insight at times, and index by date has been included at the end of this compilation.
For this tenth anniversary digital edition, author’s notes have been included at various places in the text and are clearly marked as such.
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I. Finding My Way
This section collects some of my earlier efforts. Although the writing is more refined than Opaque, Translucent Cage, you can see that my style is still evolving. Yet I’ve already begun to hit upon themes that would interest me in years to come—love, self-doubt, abstraction. These topics will become the foundation upon which many later poems are built.
Justify My Love
Just yesterday,
As my spirits once again dimmed,
I looked upon a clouded future—
A dreary existence, of
Emptiness.
Through eyes fogged
With the mists of misery,
I saw a winding barren path,
Which led me blindly
Nowhere.
Into the darkness of sorrow,
The pain of heartache, and the
Anticipation of
Nothing.
A future of torn lovers
Who communicate naught,
For fear, of
Incrimination.
And vague memories of the
Dreams of idealistic young minds,
Blown away with the stardust,
Forgotten.
Then...
Along came you,
And through the grim facade of the
Clouds of dread
Came shining the
Glorious brilliance of the sun,
The rays of bright light
Everlasting.
My soul opened wide, and my
Happiness poured forth as my
Pain dispersed, and my mind
Awakened, to a different
Reality.
Love is too often complicated
By the meaningless standards of
Society, and the practices of the
Establishment too often
Oppress.
Must we search for reasons that
Justify our love? And,
Why, when the ecstasy ends,
Should we feel need to find blame, and
Cause more pain, all in a
Feeble attempt to be
Vindicated.
It must be the
Human animal's savage soul, and
Perhaps, there exists a sick desire
For pain, self inflicted. But,
When you appeared, I knew there was
Hope...hope that the pain would
End.
You've shown me that
The winding, barren path, is
Forked, and the other way leads not
To pain, but to pleasure
Instead.
Pleasure...the joy of knowing we
Need not live by their rules,
Knowing...my soul need not
Face, the
Torment.
Of a forgery of love.
I've only to give freely of myself
To you, secure in the knowledge that
I need never
Search for reasons
That justify my love,
For the love I feel for you...
Justifies itself.
Send Me Back
What is this place?
So dark and warm.
Which keeps me safe and
Free from harm.
Here I feel life and
Joy and love.
There is no obstacle here which
I can't rise above.
And where leads this tunnel?
That I do see.
It stretches so long, so far
Away from me.
Wait!—Who's opening the door?
To disturb my rest, and
Bring me forth from
This safe nest.
I cry from the light
Being used to the black.
I'm not so sure I like it here.
Could you please send me back?
Baggage
Wherever I go
I carry it with me.
Sometimes I don't even know,
Or cannot see,
That it is there.
Then, when I least expect it,
I feel its weight.
And there I just sit;
The pressure is great—
My heart fills with despair.
Though my brain says I'm crazy,
My heart does not lie.
Is it that I'm lazy, or
Not willing to try?
Maybe I don't really care.
But that is not true, I'm afraid.
I do want to feel well once again.
Yet my brain to my heart it has said,
“You say soon, but that soon is when?”
I'll only know once I am almost there.
As I drag it behind me,
It hinders my progress.
And although I can see
That my growth, it is less,
I can't seem to break free.
Is it that I don't dare?
Too often, it seems
That life is unfair.
Footsteps
I'm walking on a tightrope;
There is no net below.
Raging fires burn ahead of me,
And up above, God only knows.
Then from behind I hear them,
Treading heavy, loud, and slow.
Those footsteps bearing down on me;
But I have no place to go.
This night I dream one thousand dreams
Of paths that I could take.
But each time I head on down a road,
I must face each mistake¬
My heart beats fast, my mind goes blank,
My knees, they start to quake.
Again those footsteps follow me;
How much more can I take?
There comes a time in each man's life
When he must face this fact—
It's not his past that haunts him,
But his future, coming fast.
When it arrives to face him,
He must know how to react.
Those footsteps are his destiny;
They are his final act.
You Could Not Live Their Lie
You've great potential,
They all said.
You must live up to it.
But we'll choose the path,
The incidentals.
We're afraid you'll have no say in it.
So you lived your life
As they told you to, but
You could never earn their respect.
What was the point
Of keeping sharp the knife?
When the sword they would elect.
Try as you might
You could not please, and
Realized more and more
That they were wrong, and
You were right.
So you walked out the door.
When you were gone
They sat alone and
Truly wondered why,
You had to run off
On your own,
Not content to live their lie!
On Suicide
You were always there for me
When I needed a friend.
Why would you not turn to me
As it came down to the end?
We shared so many special thoughts.
So how could I not know?
Of this pain you kept inside of you,
And the road you chose to follow.
I always said if times got tough
That I knew what to do.
We'd drive until the night was dawn,
Just the car, myself, and you.
But I suppose life can seem bleak
When you don't know who you are.
And when you're running from yourself
You never get that far.
Still it hurts me deep inside,
To know you suffered all alone.
Because I was there all the time.
If only you'd picked up the phone.
Though it seems that we always do
What we must in the end.
I hope your choice was best for you;
I'll miss you so much, my friend.
Advice
Get a job.
Go back to school.
Make a choice.
Don't be a fool.
Do your best.
Hold your head high.
Just rise above.
Don't ever cry.
Be a man.
Make your heart stone.
Don't be afraid.
Stand alone.
Ask for support.
Make up your mind.
Time won't stand still.
You're in a bind.
STOP!
Go away,
I don't want your advice.
I don't know what I want.
I just know it's
My life.
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II. Mind’s Eye
Of all the poems in this collection, these are my favorite. Although I write in a number of different styles, I find “poetry of the abstract” the most enjoyable to both write and later read. For me, writing poetry is a whole process. Unlike writing fiction, which can be a long process of refinement and revision, the poems are usually brought forth in a flash of inspiration. The best are born from something deep within, a creative energy that at times seems not my own. And when the process is complete, I review the result and wonder where it came from. Did I actually just write that?
So Only New Nevadans Eat Their Socks?
Note: Students of poetic forms will recognize this as a sonnet, and the observant will discover the use of the word “sonnets” in the construction.
Somewhere out far beyond this galaxy,
On a planet yet unknown to earthmen,
Near the Kingdom World of X 1 K Z,
Next to the volcano Nevada Xen,
Everyone living has heard the great tale
To the effect that some New Nevadans
Saw fit to eat the socks of a blue whale!
Such an act is even beneath humans!
Only great fools would even dare to try.
Not even the most brash would think to dare.
Never eat whale socks with mayo and rye!
Each beast would demand that you be sent where
The truly stupid go to die in pain—
Somewhere far from New Nevada's terrain!
Deep Visions
Force-fed images invade my mind.
The screen bombards me with them.
You may turn them off, but you can't shut them out.
They turn 'round in your head, again and again.
Visions that motivate, compel, imply,
Release passions before unexplored.
Move you to action, make your soul cry.
Convey hidden meanings without speaking the words.
These ideas take on substance, become frighteningly real.
Lesser minds cannot distinguish truth from lies.
Others control what they see, think, and feel.
Deep visions distort as the future dies.
At least I do realize a small part of this.
I wasn't just born yesterday.
But what of those who were?
It's for them I fear.
They will not have known another way.
Their thoughts controlled, subtly, covertly,
But affected enough to be dangerous.
Will there be time to repair the damage?
Or will our children be strangers to us?
Darkness of a Dream
Deep in dark night
As your body lies still,
With disjointed images
Your mind's eye is filled.
Sunrise at midnight.
A volcanic eruption.
Black and white rainbows
Sowing seeds of corruption.
Beneath the surrealism
Some meaning is hidden.
On subconscious pages
An answer is written.
Bright lunar lightning.
An unbeating heart.
Flags of the damned
Burn in Hell like dead art.
Truth remains elusive;
Perhaps it has no place.
Or a horrid countenance
Too evil to face.
Myopic midgets shoot
Laser beams of lust,
As romance embodied
Dissolves into fine dust.
Meaningless images
Provide not a clue.
What is your brain
Trying to tell you?
A silver stiletto
Stabs Freedom at will.
Blind pain is enough...
No need to kill.
Your mind tries to wake;
Deep within your soul screams.
A nightmare hides not long
In the darkness of a dream.
Incubus
Listen...
Can't you hear it?
Hear the silence in the night.
Anxiety.
Sheer terror.
Something deeper, beyond fright.
Darkness..
Creeping closer.
Enshrouded in a mist of dread.
Heartbeat.
It feels foreign.
Silent screams inside your head.
Movement...
Without substance.
It is there, but it is not.
Stalking.
It seeks something.
What is it that you have got?
Caution...
It's upon you.
There's no time to run and hide.
Refuge.
Nowhere, nowhere.
The demon comes from deep inside.
Silence...
In the darkness.
The evil deed, it has been done.
Horror.
Residue of fear.
It must admit, though ...that was fun.
Two Truths
Two visions of a future—
One of dark and one of light.
One of everlasting day;
One of never ending night.
Two visionaries ponder—
What will be and what will not.
What tomorrow might deliver;
What we want and what we've got.
Two powers in the blackness—
That can heal and that can kill.
That can fill you with false hope;
That can devastate your will.
Two destinies to choose from—
How the future will unfold.
How the Pure are often weak;
How the Evil are so bold.
Two realities in conflict—
Is there any common ground?
Is there a concrete solution?
Is the answer to be found?
Two truths in opposition—
There is no way to coexist.
There is no cure for human nature;
There is no way we can resist...
Stark Wyoming Night
Down a long and lonesome highway,
Through the stark Wyoming night,
Drives a man who will not rest
Until his past is out of sight.
He'll stop only when he reaches
The safe Arizona sands,
But first he must traverse
His personal badlands.
Somehow he thinks he can escape
From that cage he left behind,
But little does he realize
That the prison's in his mind.
He might travel a thousand miles
Through harsh and blinding rains,
But no matter where the journey ends
He'll still be bound in chains.
For his incarceration lies
Not in a jail of steel;
It's something far less tangible,
But that makes it no less real.
And the saddest thing about it all
Is that he holds the key;
It's right there in his own hands—
If only he could see.
But sometimes sight only comes
After years of being blind;
Until then he'll be a prisoner
Of the dark forces in his mind.
They raise so many questions
To which answers won't be found
Until he stops running long enough
For his feet to touch the ground.
Yet he still persists in running
Toward that mirage in the sand;
Each time he thinks he's reached it
The image slips right through his hands.
And it will continue to elude him
Until he embraces the light
And stops searching for his answers
In that stark Wyoming night.
Searching
An answer awaits down the road,
Somewhere, out of sight,
For it's hidden from the searchers
In the cold dark of the night.
But when that new day breaks,
Over the concrete or the sand,
That answer's nowhere to be found
Within the blight of this hard land.
They seek it on the city streets,
Amidst the lost souls, hurt and dying,
Or in the last vestige of paradise
Where the earth's silently crying.
But whether beneath glass and steel,
Or beside the rushing river's bed,
When they reach that magic place
It seems the answer has fled.
It's out of reach, beyond the grasp
Of those who would find light
In the hopelessness and despair
Of every man's daily fight.
Maybe it's nowhere to be found.
Perhaps it may never be,
Or it might be hidden in plain sight,
For those wise enough to see.
But whether an illusion,
Or some tangible new hope,
If it's not discovered soon
We could reach the end of the rope.
So keep searching for that answer,
And should you find it, bring it back.
Without it we can't see what we have—
All we can see ...is what we lack.
Anger Burning
It rises up from deep within my heart.
I should have seen it coming from the start.
But what man can foresee
The shape of his destiny?
Where the roads will merge and where they'll part.