Saturday, July 2, 2011

response to Why Love Will Always Be a Poor Investment

I am on a long journey, not so long as others I have taken, but long enough. I hate sitting still for hours on end, it is a pain in the rear, i grow bored so I pick up a book. I am reading this book and the narrator jumps out at me. I would almost think I knew him.
How could that be?
Authors are different, they get their stories in print, they don't just tell them to listening ears. I know a few, but this one author is different. I could swear he and I have known each other, it is like I am hearing him tell the story. It cannot be, but it is, the story has started to include places, and people i knew. This is strange, very strange. I keep on reading.
The vehicle pulls to a stop, I put the book down and don't look at it again for the rest of the day, i get out and stretch my legs, and it slips my mind. The next day i pick it up again and finish the book, it was not a heavy read, so I look at the authors name. Wouldn’t you know it, I went to school with him, I remember calculating the volume a cup would hold, at a restaurant, coming home from a tournament.
Yes I knew this man, when we were younger, I got drunk with his younger brother, once or twice, i crashed a snow mobile on his parents property when we were driving one night, (sober), busted several ribs too. I knew this man, he and his cousins were crazy, setting each other on fire, shooting each other in pellet gun wars, trying to defy death at every turn. I wonder what happened, he sounds so depressingly average.
I lived a life of High adventure, travelling with the wind, pack on my back. I visited many places, met new people, fought in too many battles. I panned for gold in rivers, tracked game in the high mountain ranges, scouted paths in the sierra madres, did all sorts of things you only read about. I think the last time i saw him was at his wedding many years ago, and I wonder what life has thrown his way.
How many of my adventures would he believe, how many would he not? not that such things matter to me anymore, I know what I have done, and what I have seen, it does not bother me if you disbelieve. How many men can say they have climbed to the top of the world, and listened to the music of the dawn, how many can say they have seen mist rising off a river early in the morning as the canoe traverse its course?
How many men can say they fell in love as fast as I did?
Or Got engaged just as Rapidly?
Not many I think. Nor would they want to, Adventure is just something bad happening to someone else, far away. it is not like the bards sing, it is not like the stories tell, for who would believe the stinging cold rains, or the steaming hot ovens of a tent that one must sleep in, if one sleeps in tents in the first place. No my friend, who wrote his book settled down, and faced an adventure I long have wanted to have of my own.
My friend raised a family, and met the challenges of being responsible, so maybe he did not do half the things I did, but he faced the grandest adventure. I have scars, inside and out, from a thousand battles, in a life I chose, but until I met my true love a few months ago I was the loneliest man alive. I was envious of the birds singing from their nests, because they had a mate, and I did not, they had a home, and I did not.
I envy the adventure my friend has had, the times he has experienced, the hard times, the good times too. I wonder what he would think of that?
I bet my friend would not have made the same mistakes I did, nor make the same ones repeatedly, for he always was very intelligent. He would have figured out what I was doing wrong and rectified it, or maybe he would have been enjoying himself too much to care, I don’t know.He writes his books, his article from the experiences of his life, as i write my words from the experiences of mine. So I faced high adventure, and i did battle more times than I can count, and he did not, I can still wish the majority of my poems were not so depressing, the greater part of my work dealing with wars. I can still wish my life had taken a course like his, but if it had i never would have met my love, nor would i have had so much in common with her. I suppose things worked out the way they were supposed to. Now I have invested in a great love, it makes me think of a poem i wrote once: In my minds eye, deep inside my head
my love I spy, and hear what she said
enamored I, for her my heart beats
within my chest, and burning it heats
demands my best, spurs on to great fetes
it’s life’s pop test - how to living love
You know, my friend wrote a book about why love is a poor investment, but i think it is the only investment worth making, the return is so astoundingly great as to make it not even be funny. I cannot think of anything but loving my one love, I cannot think of betrayal, it doesn’t exist as a possibility for me.
I wonder what you would think of this Kurt, that I once envied you...

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Ok so it's been a while

 I came back to the frozen tundra, of the subarctic region in which I reside, and go figure that it was colder than the tropics by several orders of magnitude. I returned to place where the snow still fell in this past week, and biting winds smash through every layer of clothes one wears. I could complain, but it is better to look on the brighter sides of things: I don't have to live in a tent, I don't have to duck bullets, I don't need to be up early in the morning.
 Since I returned however, I have had much time on my hands, perhaps too much... for in the rural areas there is little to do that involves social interaction. There are two basic areas of social interaction out here - the bar, and the church. So I wind up with much spare time, I do not even have regular access to a computer, so I cannot record my work in a timely fashion. Ah well, such is life.
 So now you have a basic image of what life for me is like at present ... GOD willing that will change for the better, ere long.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

My Life

Here, in the lovely, warm, coastal lands of Mexico, I sit and watch the sunsets, and wish I had someone to share them with. Not for me a life that is settled, it seems, for the Almighty has yet to bring me to my wife, ( or the other way around ). So I watch my sunsets alone, and muse upon the life I have lived, upon the stories that I can tell, and I find that I seem to stumble blindly from one adventure straight into another, though not the one I have prayed for it seems. So I post here some notes, upon what I see!!!

As though life could be as uncomplicated as this photo appears, still dangers lurk beneath the still waters. Not necessarily a croc though. Even if this is just a baby, troubles begin small, and next thing you know a mole hill has become a mountain. Or perhaps a gopher hole becomes a thick, dense, overgrown valley, it all merely is a matter of ones perspective.

For every mountain, there is a valley, and for every hill there is a hole, yet the sum of what may be is greater than the whole. Okay, so that is a bad pun, but it holds true.
This past week I had the priviledge of visiting some of the local caves, some were glorified holes in the ground, but one, which appeared to be little more than a hole opened into several caverns, and what appeared to be an oubliette.
below you will find why I say that some holes in life are not to be so greatly feared, for this is adventure, and this is the type which is best when shared.

This is the hole.

The throat.

Crossing the oubliette.

Staring into the abyss.

Sights to behold....

Here I took a leap of faith....

My ankle was sprained, when I landed, but I never once complained. I made my choices, and I live with them.

I stand upon a mountainside, and view my valleys, and future mountains, such a view puts the low times into perspective. For even in the midst of everything, in every day, there is some beauty to be found...

like this life, amongst the dead, dried out background. If one looks it can be seen.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008


It has been 5 months since last I posted on here, and many things have occurred, I was unemployed, then I went to Mexico. Being unemployed was the least dramatic of these things, I became unemployed to come to Mexico, I have a job or two waiting for me if I come back, and go figure I would once again be employed by friends. Whilst in Mexico, I am officially unemployed, however, I employ my skills working with kids, and building friendships.
Since I have been down here I have had to say farewell to a dear friend, she left for the North, and I do not know when next I shall see her...(sniff, sniff, poor me-right). It is about such friendships that I desire to write, for friendship is not a rare thing for most people. Friendship, at least a true one, is a form of love, and this is disconcerting when one thinks about it, for how many guys will tell their friends they love them?
I believe that building a lasting friendship is much like gardening, it takes a lot of time, a lot of care, and needs to be tended often. If the tending is done in a spirit of love, the friendship will mature, if not it remains a stunted growth, mimicking what might have been. Though my dear friend has left, still will we tend to our friendship, for it has grown over the past and over the miles betwixt us, and I would not see it wither on the vine. Distance, whether temporal, or linear, cannot kill a friendship, if it is well tended.
But this is just my not so humble opinion, I suppose I could possibly in error, however unlikely.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

A Promise Kept

I thought I'd put out a story for y'all to read, I wrote it some time back, but its still as good now as it was then. Mayhap, for all of you in the humid heat of a Mexican winter, it'll cool you down.

The wind started with some warm air meeting some cold air over some stretch of ocean far to the north, building up its power it rushed into the mountains, whistling through empty canyons it tried to find a way out to the lands beyond. Smashing its way over rocky and snow capped peaks, it crossed the mountain ranges and came crashing down their eastern slopes. Having found the flatlands it sought, it came screaming across the plains venting its pent up rage, releasing its fury it howled like thousands of lost souls bemoaning their fate.
In the midst of the fury came a lone figure, a man, bent against the wind and the blowing snow, knowing he could turn back, he increased his pace against the screaming wind. He had his mind made up, and the wind was powerless to change his resolve. A promise was waiting to be fulfilled, and the honor he held so dear would not let him stop. The man knew he would be absolved if he turned back, but a warriors honor could not be regained by absolution ... he would keep his promise if he died trying.
A young woman, not more than twenty one winters, sat watching the blinding blizzard rage out side her window. Sat and watched, because she knew the man was out there even now. Her father sat in a chair across the room and watched his daughter, as the hours dragged on he watched her grow more and more distraught.
The man was still bent against the wind and blowing snow, and though he could not see much, he knew he had nearly reached his destination. Time seemed to slow, and each step seemed to take an eternity, twenty miles earlier he had begun to feel tired, now he was nearing total exhaustion. As the wind beat a tattoo in his ear he thought he could hear the marching drum, and hundreds of voices singing. Muttering under his breath he joined with his imaginary voices.
" The corp is marching two by two;
Hoorah, hoorah;
We'll all be dead, before we're through;
Hoorah, hoorah".
The young lady was now thoroughly anxious, and could be seen pacing back and forth, to and fro, this way and that like a caged wolf. If one looked carefully they may have seen tears welling up in her eyes, looking like they might come cascading forth at any time. Her father still watched her, and he knew she was worried sick, and if truth be known he was getting a little worried himself. He knew the man his daughter expected was now nearly ten hours overdue.
Half dead from exposure, and over exertion, the man staggered up to the house in which the young woman was waiting, and knocked upon the door. Only half a moment passed before it was opened by a young man, " let me take your coat", he said as the man nearly fell out of his winter gear. " She's in the basement, sick with worry", he replied to the mans unspoken query.
Raising a finger to his lips the man, weary as he was, quickly strode to the stairs and ambled down them. The young woman's father saw the man as he walked into the room, he opened his mouth to greet the man, but was cut off.
" Sorry I'm late, but I broke down 'bout twenny miles back, seems the entire city's shut down on account o' the storm. But ahm here today as ah said ah would be".
© Copyright 2008 Cavenagh (UN: princeniall at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

Hope y'all enjoy it.

Thursday, June 26, 2008


I sit here scribing out my innermost thoughts, as the sky darkens into night, and a wild Alberta wind howls around the eaves, soon Luna shall rise and begin once more her eternal dance across the heavens, and I watch. It is beneath the glimmering silver of Luna that my best work forms, and letters lance across the page, like the lightning in the skies. However, at the time I scribble out these paltry words sol still burns balefully above, peeking now and then from behind the Nimbo Cumuli that darkens the day. Earlier the wind howled and screamed across the wastes, sure it nearly bowled me over, then came rains pelting with a berserker fury, and soon after it was still upon the land once more. I happened to think of how it is that the weather here is like life, whether it is tempest tossed, or gray and gloomy, or even bright and gay.
It is moments like these that I realize that the shaper of the heavens had a strange sense of humor, I watched as the tall grass rippled like waves upon the ocean sea, but when I looked at my feet, the appeared to be trying to reach out and grasp me, so greatly did they strive it near appeared to be the writhing of a great many serpents. But whether we are driven by the winds, like a rudderless vessel, or in some becalmed moment the weather here resembles life. Indeed life is humorous, if one takes the time to notice the humor within, much like the Alberta weather.

Friday, May 23, 2008


In Alberta the weather is oft times strange, this past week we have had temperatures that would make Mexicans sweat, and then three days of rain, which ended with some more hot weather. It is this variation that makes many Albertans seem strange, for as the weather changes so do the people's attitudes, indeed during the big hot more fights break out, and more interesting occurrences take place than one might otherwise expect. However, it is the breezes we get that bring on the strangest behavioral changes, for men have been driven mad by the incessant wailing of the wind, or by the tattoos it beats in their ears. Many stories and poems have been caused by this phenomena, here is another for your perusal. I wrote it many years ago, and go figure I didn't remember to apply it, it is semi autobiographical.

The Thought

The sun it burns down
baking this prairie dry
there ain't a cloud in the sky
and the grass is brown

Cattle graze while I ride
ruminating on who knows what
till the grass is short cut
and our brains are all fried

Shore it is not a wonder
an idea into my head came
tis the idea that is to blame
sure I decided to wander

I took up my pack and left
went off to the mountains
saw hills, valleys, an' fountains
even found a hidden cleft

In the rivers there, gold I sought
fished for trout in the streams
never found what I hunger for it seems
but I seen the bounty GOD hath wrought

Then a thought came into my brain
I know a bit of how to fight
perchance it was the blight
but the damned thought became my main

I drifted down to a northern city
for to take a hand at plyin' my trade
and it was a mercenaries life I bade
learned about war, mores the pity

For a decade I done fought
ten years I done survived
and into strife have I dived
and learnt the lessons I was taught

I seen the dark, and the evil
I seen the worst of man
I was there when the bravest ran
a setting quite primeval

Never found what I was lookin' for
bin all over, seen the worst, and best
seen armies, like waves, swell and crest
seen the fury of Hell, and blood on the floor

I think that next time the light goes on
I'll ignore the damned idea till it's gone
'cause I wish I could go back and begin again
I was happier on the range, prayin' for rain.