New Horizons and Old Loves

Posted on by sereichert

Life, man… It is a perpetual state of change. In fact, one of the only certainties about life is that it will change. And humans are no different than any other oxygen breathing, carbon-based sack of stardust. The world changes. We change with it, whether consciously or not. We discover things we didn’t know (I hope) we learn and make different choices (also—I hope and that they are in positive directions). We take hurt and either learn to heal or use it as a weapon on the other stardust sacks near us. We find excuses to fall back into bad habits, or reasons to springboard into better ways of living. We are a constant swirl of contradictions and brilliance.

As a beginning writer, I always thought I’d write the same kind of book for my whole life. Because I loved love. And I loved romance. And I enjoyed participating in the happily ever after of a good swoon-worthy book. But as the world evolves so do we, and I am no different. This is not to say that romance is some basic-bitch level writing, it absolutely is not. Romance is hard to pull off (sexual pun completely intended) in a way that is both believable and reaches for something we all wish we had. Its maddening and beautiful and some of my favorite books are still romances.

Back to my evolution.

It didn’t take me long to realize that while I love romance…it wasn’t the genre that fascinated me. The trouble began (I feel like this is one of those old 1960’s “don’t let this happen to you” videos in health class) probably when I started genre hopping like a vagabond onto railway cars in whatever direction the tracks were going. Just anywhere but here. I was thinking about how and why I seemed easily distracted into forays of genre crossing, experimental writing, and odd formats…And I just figured it out.

I’m a character follower. I can’t stick to a genre because my storytelling is like a puppy out on a walk that wants to jump on and follow every new person home. I want to stick my noses in their crotches and find out where they’ve been. Ok. That—that analogy went too far.

The point is… People interest me. Characters interest me. Whether I’m watching them pirate a space ship, imagining them breaking up the scar tissue of a thoroughbred horse, or fear for them as they get possessed by the spirit they’re hot for. I’m curious about people. How they live, how they deal, how they fail. How they love… what they love. How they keep on keeping on and manage to use their big old squishy hearts towards better ends. Or bitter ends.

So I guess I don’t stray too far from love. But I like the depth of how love incorporates itself into our lives, whether its romantic or not. Knowing this about me feels like untying a corset, a big breath in, a cutting of old ideas binding me into “what kind” of writer I am.

I’m a character writer.

Which means I can write poetry, or gay romance. I can write socially conscious plays, or epic space farmer odysseys. I can write song lyrics or philosophical observations on love and meaning (but I repeat myself). I can write about characters because I love and respect each of them. I care about them. I am curious about them. I am compassionate for them. I can be the journalistic eye that follows character and changes the world and myself through their experiences.

This year I’m wrapping up some older projects (urban fantasy-erotic-trilogy based on the legends of Norse and Scottish mythology? Yes please…Genetic killing machine learns she has a conscious? Don’t mind if I do… A time traveling, hot as hell gay romance between two of my new favorite characters? My heart is all a-twitter… A literary first person POV exploration of grief, loss, and how we let go without losing our hearts? My soul didn’t know my brain could write like that…)

But I’m also hopping on new rail cars. Tentatively, 2 plays covering everything from the cost of pro-life legislation on a micro level and the oft-ignored life ruination of the high school to prison pipeline for black youth, a book of erotic poetry, and exploring my horror side with short fiction. It’s all a little ethereal and unsettled yet, but I see the stardust of potential, tossed out in the frozen dark of space, lying in wait for a gravitational pull to gather it into new universes.

Oh, and signed up for another fucking marathon so…that was stupid. That stardust seed is a cackling massive black hole I should have clicked away from instead of looking at the price and going… “Hey! That’s a cheap way to suffer immensely.” I bet I could have paid somebody less to take a bat to my knees, with the same outcome…but here we are. Eternally hopeful and stubborn.

So here’s to new endeavors, in your writing and your life. Open up that perspective a little wider and let some of the stardust in. But keep love…at the heart of your universe.

Poetry 9-21-23

Posted on by sereichert

Hey kids. Just a quick note to remind you that my next, unrelated Vella The Three Hearts of Eve is up and available (first three are free) at Amazon. It’s a fun little romp into espionage, genetic experimentation, forced proximity and questions of ethics. Still, oddly light hearted.

Also, I’ll be in Wyoming the weekend of September 29th through October 1st to celebrate their annual Bookmarked Literary Festival. If you’re in the area, come check it out, lots of awesome writers looking to connect with new and equally amazing readers.

And now, enjoy some Verse:

The Heart is A Terrible Driver

I am the owner of a body in the trunk
the forgotten musty trunk
in recesses of my memory
muffled and tied up
speechless to the ways my heart fell

Hearts do what they do
and mine
she is so big
so eloquent a speaker
so deviously soft and swaying...

she convinced me that 
she was the only one 
who could drive the beast of me 
through life, and it would all
work out

while my brain 
sat in the back seat,
shaking her head and looking at me 
in the rearview mirror
mouthing the words

You know better
Your gonna hate yourself for letting her drive

Brain was right
Heart took us off a fucking cliff
the first chance she got
giggling with the thrill
the free fall of Love
drunk on its chemical cocktail

all the way down
Brain stayed silent, 
arms crossed over her chest
as if to say

nothing I tell you will matter anyway
We were already over your head
the minute you gave her the keys

the carnage at the base of the canyon
was ruinous
the destruction, 
complete
Heart took the hardest hit
split down the middle in two ragged
pieces of desiccated meat
devoid of reason, or rhythm 

Head pulled her from the car, drug her through
the sharp pebbles and burning metal
shook with disappointment and 
carried her to a lesser used path
and I followed complacently
my own wounds stinging

Brain barely spoke, 
in all of those tender months-turned-years
up from rock bottom
winding on trails
of drunken malestorms 
and pious sobriety
We are a heavy load

Heart sometimes regains consciousness
and clings to the brush, on the side of the trail
striking out with bloody, broken hands
against the pull
trying always trying to get back
to the wreckage
to somehow make it all work out
make that car and joyous ride
run again

Brain cuffs her, hard
Sometimes it's just easier to knock her out
and keep her from making any decisions
then to try and reason 
with her stitched up pieces

from here on out,
my heart must remain bound and gagged,
the body in the trunk

we won't survive another crash like that

Poetry 9-7-2023

Posted on by sereichert

These are a pair. And a combined homage to a novel I’m currently and carefully crafting. One that’s been itching in my soul for over twenty years probably. I’m out of words for a scholarly post, so I’ll leave you with these instead. May you always tag along in all the adventures you can… and when you are weary, may you always find a port in stormy seas. 

She confesses, if Only to Herself...

I have always loved you.
In darkened closets, 
in alleys devoid of hope
in all the twisted ways 
propriety and opportunity
told me to back away
slowly

my heart connected 
and remembered
would not let go
through a thousand days and
the ups and downs
of a character arc
I never felt I was writing
myself
Still you saw me, front and center
wasting time on fallible side characters

You were there…
a reasonable voice
that seemed crazy
but for an unreasonable world
you were a calm sanity
a smile
I can’t help smiling
a joke at the ridiculous
that no one else sees
a port...
my port
in such an unimaginable storm

and I thank the universe
that I could read your stars
between the angry clouds
and find myself
in you
 


When He Looks at Her, the Voice Inside Says...

years are unkind
to souls that sit 
stagnant in their fate
you and i were dreamers
swaying towards
stories in the stars
to the detriment of the souls
already in our company

i never saw you coming,
didn’t know your name
or the hurt you spawned from

i didn’t know, because
you hid the scars so well
until we were thrown together
and i wondered,
where your prologue was
beneath them all
where did you begin?

i have always loved you
in quiet acquiescing,
of what i could not have
from afar,
a statue, ever smiling and dancing
round the fountains
a muse to keep me enamored
with a life i was resigned to grow still in

you made me feel 
young
as though I could tag along with you
on every adventure
even when my ship had long since sailed
you were the coastal drift
keeping me afloat

Poetry 8-24-2023

Posted on by sereichert 
Discovery

I did not find myself
in the bottom of a glass
The burn to numb poison
and all the untethering promises
she made

I did not find myself in 
the narcissistic hearts
parading in poets' clothing
promising ideas of my self-worth
while making me kneel before them

I did not find myself
by losing pounds
or cutting hair
or searing the wrinkles of 
a thousand laughs away

I did not find myself
by giving my love and my years
away to those who only wanted
to own me
collect me, 
objectify and fantasize
who never gave credit to the soul within 
only loved
the pretty, fading paper

I found myself beneath
the starlit sky, high up
in a meadow between mountains
cold and alive
brave and scared
breathing deep as though
it was my first air taken

I found myself in tumbling footfalls
one after another, up and down
careening not controlled
alonside pain
pacing with anxiety
but listening to my own heart
beating out

you can
     you can
         you can

I found myself in the holy land
of pine needles 
and mocking bird cries
silent stage, calm in a chaotic world
and herons in silent coasting flight above me
communing with their soul's solitude
in search of quiet shores

I found myself between pages 
and tattooed in ink
words and ideas and truths 
unknown to any other heart but my own
learning that, 
without meeting requirements first

I am enough
     I am brave
         I deserve love

I found myself in the faces
of women I've raised
to listen to themselves in ways
I am still learning
I found myself in their beautiful complexity
knowing I would never allow them to be hurt
in the ways I have accepted hurt for myself

I am finding myself 
and it has taken a lifetime
I just hope
I can take my heart
and lead her away from the dark

I hope I can find myself 
in time.

Poetry 8-10-2023

Posted on by sereichert

Good morning all.

I took a little break from the interconnected world of social media this week, but despite that little vacay, I’m still not feeling up to par. At first I thought I was approaching burnout. That I needed a reset. But the truth is, after self-reflecting…I’m past the point. So far past, that I’ve built up a whole township on the far end of it. I think for the last year I’ve been operating in the midst of burnout…just digging myself deeper into a hole of meeting demands I had no energy for. And now, I’m, smack dab in the middle of my own little cavernous oubliette.

I don’t have sunlight, or stars to navigate by, and the walls are much too steep and slick to entertain hopes of climbing out. So…I’m going to sit here, in the dark for awhile. Contemplate my purpose. My next move, if any.

Here’s a poem I wrote months ago. Seemed appropriate on a day such as this. A week. A month.

Last Day

If this is the last of my days
will I have done enough?
loved enough?
Fought enough?
   smiled
    and danced
      and kissed enough?

Did I hold their hands long enough?
   Did I forgive?

Did I let go so much
   of this useless weight?
      to travel light into the next world?

What are the chains I regret most?

The lack of wonder in my eyes
   a boredom with the world
      a seeing through of everyone's angles?
  
Or is it the rusted and heavy links
 cutting in tetanus scrapes 
   boring out the sinking pit
      dark nemesis, regret?

That I was unkind
   to myself.
That I gave away heartbeats
    to the undeserving?

That I don't remember 
the last time 
   I told you
      that I loved you?

If this is the last of my days
   will I have done enough?
      Loved enough?
        Fought enough?

For them?
For myself?

Poetry 6-29-2023

Posted on by sereichert 
Distance

There is a particle of smoke in the air
a memory of a tragedy
carried from miles away
from a place where someone's world
was lit on fire
and nothing but the traveling ash
remains
now an infinite shudder
rippling across the world
of their universe, destroyed
muted with the distance
into one particle

and I wonder
who is tasting my tragedy?

on some distant shore
does someone lift their nose to the breeze, 
close their eyes inhale and think

There's a bit of heartache in the air
I wonder who's world burned down
I hope they're okay.

I hope I'm okay
Guilt

Someone said to me today,

not all guilt is bad

she said, 
you feel guilt
because you stood up 
for yourself

because you showed someone
that you matter too

that this guilt is learned
when we constantly put others' happiness 
in front of our own
we feel guilty 
for not giving away our light
to help them shine
we feel guilty
for not allowing them
to dictate our actions 
out of fear for their feelings

but this guilt
should be unlearned

and maybe the true source of the guilt 
should be reimagined

that we feel guilty 
because it took us so long
to stand up for our own heart

Poetry 5-1-2023

Posted on by sereichert
Photo by James Frid on Pexels.com
Full Stop

Have you ever fallen
tumbled so terribly hard
that when the ground comes up
to meet you
it knocks your soul out
so you lay 
dead for a full moment
without air in lungs and 
blood stopped
staring into the thin blades of grass 
and the tiny loose pebbles of concrete
the smallest of worlds
in sharpest of view

full stop

world stopped
no more spinning
in dizzy laughing love
an idiot comprised of chemicals 
and false hope

and the ground beneath 
certainly has broken 
your kneecaps 
and cracked your sternum
into your faulty heart 
and bruised your hip bones
in ways he never did
and the bleeding of your palms
is communion to the earth
paid in full 
for the first reality you’ve known
since the daydreamy excursion
that robbed you of self

I have fallen
and I see the ground for what it is
and the weightless joy of you
is nothing more than
the precursor of pain
one more round on a faulty
merry-go-round
with rusty handles pulling free 
and rattling with 
uncertainty
until it tosses me off 
into the grave of ground

full stop

I stare at the grass
the small pebbles
and make myself soak in the shock 
as it rides over my body 
like waves
and I open my arms wide
to each salt spray of pain
until they pull back

full back

into the sea

and I remember

to

breathe
in full

don't stop.

Poetry 5-11-2023

Posted on by sereichert

Hey kids, I’m getting things ready to format the upcoming (and much delayed) “Beautiful Twist” Anthology. A big thank you to the contributors who’ve been so patient and understanding as I navigated through the complexities of compiling all of the different works coming in. I’ve been fortunate this year but also very busy. Preemptive release date for the anthology will be July 2023. Here’s a little smackerel of poetry.

When Last Did You Sit In Silence?

When last did you sit in silence
only the oceanic rush 
of your own breath
filling the tide pools of your lungs
drawing back out 
into the world

When last did you sit in silence 
and feel the crushing weight 
of a world decimated
in human destruction 
and did you wonder
how much better it could be
without your clumsy footfalls
your grunting breaths
 and dripping sweat
as you toil to leave behind the reckless
hurtful fire of man behind

Didn't you feel so small?

When last did you sit in silence
a speck below a billion stars
and feel the 
unbearable lightness of being
insignificant
the silence a reassured shush
of our mother
reminding you that
you are just a moment
 a stardust burst
in a vastness that will
soon forget you
if it ever knew you at all

Doesn't it make you feel 
so small?

When last did you sit in silence
and feel this freedom?

Don’t forget to check out The Writing Heights Writing Conference this May (tomorrow is the LAST DAY to register for in person sessions so get on it!!) The link is here: Conference Registration.

Also, for more of my poetry or my novels, visit this site: S.E. Reichert Novelist

Poetry 4-20-23

Posted on by sereichert

Today I’m going in for a root canal, after a rough week both personally and professionally. So…while I’m ‘enjoying’ all of my experiences, please enjoy this.

Let it seep beneath your clothes, let it draw out memories, a needle to the dark blood, and wash you clean again. Let it remind you that you are still here. A breath at a time. Through all the pain, the rough days, the personal and professional losses and gains. You’re still here.

So this isn’t a poem for the broken hearted
it is not for those who were left behind
or ghosted
or dumped
or abused
or disregarded

This is a poem for those who watched
as another soul walked away
or preferred their silence to truth
or was released from another person’s life
faced pain at their hands
or were simply ignored
into nothingness…

You are the warriors of time
you, who have felt the sting
of heartbreak 
and disappointments
revealed as new skin 
while hope lay, a the shed skeleton
in the dirt

you are the carriers of grief
and the bodies made of scars
and you have lived through
every burning cut
and every lonely night

This is not for the soul they thought 
they broke,
this is for the you that survived

I will not preach from some high tower
that you are stronger for it
that you are braver because of it
that you are a better person
a heart bigger, with cracks to let the light in

But I will tell you what I know

You survived.

You packed up your heart and your mind
and you moved on
You accepted their silence
you treated your wounds and closed the door
you started paying attention to yourself 
when they no longer did

and that carries weight
self determination
and the ability to move past
the fickle and soft-seated lies,
of a love always perched to flee 
the very second things got hard

Your feet remain grounded
and you endured

You heart is a seasoned warrior
and it may never let another in

but it doesn’t need to...

It might not even have the space

because in their absence
 
beyond the echoes of their abuse
the pain of their mistreatment,
you’ve filled your heart,
with the unfaltering love
of yourself

they can’t ever move back in

there isn’t room any more.

Poetry 3-16-2023

Posted on by sereichert

This heart of mine

is far too heavy to hold

Photo by Isabella Mariana on Pexels.com

and I am tired of its weight

and the endless rain

of clouds thundering within

This heart of mine

a broken war-torn city

heaps of concrete rubble

spikes of iron that used to

hold its structure

now reach bare boned to the sky

impaling anyone who falls.

This heart of mine

an open wounded pit

and the dead buried in mass

heaped within, like layers of time

one on top of another, and another

the stench of death and sorrow

rising to the surface of my throat

This heart of mine

a constant reminder

of all the ways I’ve failed

or hurt, or burdened,

become the ruination of others

shouldered its flagrant disrespect of love

and let it scar my skin

This heart of mine

tear it out, someone please

it is useless and cancerous

a mutinous organ

that clouds my reason

and seeks to destroy

myself…others…

This heart of mine

has no place in a good world.