all around amateur

AMATEUR: from French, from Italian (amatore), from Latin (amator, 'lover', from amare, 'to love')

To the East of this great expanse
lie unchartered depths - 
Cliff faces shrouded in mist,
Trails yet to be treaded,
Rivers & streams yet to be waded thru,
Peaks & valleys yet to be travailed.

The mystery of it all, 
So tantalizing - 
The fresh breeze, a whisper,
a promise of things unspoken,
The distant howl of some wild thing
echoes thru the chambers of my heart.

What lies there obscured
by the glare of Sun-rising?

Days. Weeks. Months pass
as I look on into the vast realm of possibility.
With each morning, the light kisses
my cheeks, my lips,
engulfing my face in radiant warmth.

Is that what lies there?
A great heat - all-consuming?

Next Thursday

We shift from side to side. Heads buzzing. LIghts swirl. We are pungent with nicotine, clothes a little ashy. A sour stench on our breath as we laugh from our bellies. We are full to the brim, near bursting as we stumble into the car.

We scream as the wind whips our hair, the windows are down, another lit cigarette dangling from our fingers. The white lines and red lights are a blur as we speed to wherever. We belt out a song, the radio is static.

We joke and poke fun at each other, at ourselves. There is no distinction. Not an hour ago, we were shouting, our lungs out of. air. But an hour is a century. Time warps as we raise our glasses. No forgiving, only forgetting.

The clock blinks second by second. The sun lights the sky. I am in bed. Alone. Black where there should be memories.

Dear Saint, I’ve come once more, 
Your pious devotee,
To polish yet again your handsome face
With such kind eyes upturned to heaven.
Are you praying for deliverance?

My days grow hectic,
Life outside these hallowed halls consumes me,
But I am here now,
Your ever-devoted servant.
Do you hear my prayers?

Faithfully I return, as is my custom,
To deck you in finest splendor,
Hoping for some kind of intervention,
Leaving you better than you were,
With me the poorer for it.
Am I a fool for such fervent belief?

One tawdry transgression, a few missed vigils,
And one too many doubts,
Makes for a progressive upheaval of the heart and mind - 
A wicked conversion of the soul.
Could you forgive me?

In my absence, the altar’s become run-down - 
The flowers are dust on dried twigs,
The mantle’s a tattered rag,
The candles all burnt to stubs.
Do you even care?

What would become of you, Sweet Saint,
If I stopped my supplications?
Perhaps your dashing figure would chip and crumble.
Perhaps the dust would fill this chapel and turn it into a tomb.
Perhaps the whole thing will come crashing down on itself!

And all that would remain,
A pile of rubble - 
A broken headstone to mark your grave.

A pilgrim no more,
I am your black-clad widow.
Mourning the half-forgotten, half-dreamt
Stranger I had once loved.
Saint no more, just another ghoul haunting the night.

random scenario

I’m heading out for a smoke. Just call me when we’re leaving.

I’ll join you.

It’s the first time we’ve managed to be alone all night. I’ve spoiled our coffee thing when I let it slip to our friends. We’re back to last year and the year before - pretending like there’s nothing there.

Over beer, we ignore our friends and just talk about the law. If only it were darker, we could pretend they weren’t really there. But it’s rude. We shift the conversation to less esoteric topics. The act goes on.

We’re heading home, you selflessly volunteer to drop everyone off. You save me for last.

We’re by ourselves. Lights turn red at every intersection, buying us precious extra seconds.

The world is conspiring against me - I almost say let’s try it again.

But I don’t.

Thank God.

Nothing will change. You’ll be you. I’ll be me. Our friends oblivious. 

I yearn to tear myself open,
to rip thru the flesh, muscle & bone,
bearing my beating heart.

I want to break myself open.

— Rose Cupin, random thought 2010.

Moth drawn to the radiant flame
Wings graze the burning licks - 


I am on fire.
Ash - free of my body.

I love you.

I don’t need clarity, just a good buzz. 

I don’t need clarity, just a good buzz. 


My love is not a flame,
Spectacular to see,
Burning out too quickly.
It does not consume me.

My love is ash-coated embers,
Burning steadily under the gray.
Do not be fooled,
It is smoldering to the touch.

I last through the night.
In the early morn,
My love can still start a blaze.
It is quiet, but there with some prodding.

It’s an honest relief to be at a loss for words, a welcome challenge to write about happy things.

It’s easier to write about sad things because we love to dwell on them. Countless hours spent trying to understand the why’s, how’s and wherefore’s. Every detail meticulously analyzed in the hope of finding meaning in the tragedy.

But when we’re happy, we find no need to do this. We don’t need to understand, we just want to live it and be it. Perhaps if we spent more time thinking about why and how we are happy, we’ll actually learn something worthwhile.