The Unspoken Page-Nature, art, life, death, politics, religion: Funeral for a Celebrity

The Unspoken Page-Nature, art, life, death, politics, religion: Funeral for a Celebrity: The body in the standard layout, the same state, the same ritual,  a line of cars, the press were pallbearers taking pieces of t...

Funeral for a Celebrity

The body in the standard layout,

the same state, the same ritual, 

a line of cars,

the press were pallbearers

taking pieces of the corpse like ants

bits of anything left

scraps of dirty remnants of their lives

nothing sacred

nothing safe

all of those human moments exposed

sadness was the standard costume

crying eyes of those who took posesssion of the corpse

but no one knew her

sterile bits of words

from voices of strangers

tomorrow the front page

all the wars their demons rage

all the things they shouldn't have said

no respect, no emotion

for the dead

the possession

a celebrity becomes

the possession

all decorum lost to the story at hand

speak the words like vultures at a feast

without choking on a single word

cast out across the news

every dirty, filthy thought they ever had

and how they once did drugs

and how they beat their kids

facts like seasoning

that add or detract

to fill the space and compensate

for all the dignity we lack......

The Unspoken Page-Nature, art, life, death, politics, religion: Blame....

The Unspoken Page-Nature, art, life, death, politics, religion: Blame....: A child’s suicide Because he was being bullied What do we do in this world That gets more violent ignore or Punish the violence ...

Blame....

A child’s suicide

Because he was being bullied

What do we do in this world

That gets more violent

ignore or Punish the violence

Raise the child in a warm wonderful place

That hides societies' cruel uncomfortable face

Ashamed of our darkness

Ignore the disgraceful

Tear down idles of sports

And movies

And wonder why

Our children are mean

Attack fast food for hurting our children

And wonder why our children

won’t take responsibility

cockroaches in expensive suits

sell lottery tickets

for damages rendered

everyone is a potential victim

everyone is a potential donor

and let’s sell the kindness of disasters

join together with tears

and ignore all the corruption

and the fingers reaching

imprison the Christian

dismantle the church

disgard God from every corner

of our lives

and question who’s responsible

for a child suicide.

The Unspoken Page-Nature, art, life, death, politics, religion: A Winter Sky

The Unspoken Page-Nature, art, life, death, politics, religion: A Winter Sky: You don’t know what road to take Your eyes are cold and gray like winter How do you fit in your skin When your not like them...

Another Landscape

Indifferent blackbirds in pastel fields

Demons entangled

In last years broken stems

Broken rays of light

Find tired eyes

How quick and quietly

Compromised

That  I can not see

The sun

Or wake without the light

Without noticing

Gray

A shadow across the lens

Keeping blackbirds from getting in

When all around me clouds

The silence of  words

streaming out

A Winter Sky

You don’t know what road to take

Your eyes are cold and gray like winter

How do you fit in your skin

When your not like them

And the winter drags like the flu

As all the trees that grab the sky

Seem closer and darker to you

And the orange sky you remember as a child

Was the beginning of the snow

How quietly the sound of emptiness

In harmony with being lonely

You grow in size and weight

The forest dark and foreign

How many days did you walk by the stream

Searching for a reflection that never came

But it was you in that dark place

So close and dark like the dying trees

How sad that no one knew your face

Even you- a stranger on your own set

Where all the vines pulled at sinews bleeding

Did anyone notice you had forgotten your lines

Did anyone think to mercilessly leave

You behind

But you in that dark place

Remembering December like a life that passed you by

All the gray sky

The sadness of trees indifferent in the cold steel breezes

And that orange sky that hung for you like a beacon

As if there was a safe warm place

Not too far away

And if you found the road you sought

You could simply walk away…..

Art by Gordon: Community-it's where we began and where we're goin...

Art by Gordon: Community-it's where we began and where we're goin...: Community is something that is innate in our culture. With the rise of the web and the increasing state of anonymity the web offers, we have...

The Unspoken Page-Nature, art, life, death, politics, religion: What's so great about poetry? What's so bad about ...

The Unspoken Page-Nature, art, life, death, politics, religion: What's so great about poetry? What's so bad about ...: I almost hate the word poem or poetry because of the stigma it has taken on. People who don't get it seem to think it's some foreign, incohe...

What's so great about poetry? What's so bad about poetry?

I almost hate the word poem or poetry because of the stigma it has taken on. People who don't get it seem to think it's some foreign, incoherent rambling of words for the sake of being artsy and creative. I think we are force fed poetry in high school and choke on words we don't only not understand but at that stage don't particularly want to understand. I have written all of my life-since I was ten and when you tell someone about poetry you can almost see their eyes glaze over. It's some foreign overly artsy intense thing that makes most people who don't care about it think your some kind of babbling foul.

I would prefer to call poetry-a verbal snapshot of life. It captures a description of intangible elements of some ones life and creates a tapestry of colors only through words. It would not make sense to speak in poetic terms in prose because there are too many elements that blur together and support each others processes. Another aspect of poetry for me is that it touches parts of the brain that aren't normally accessed. You will be speaking about a feeling and describe it with words that people can relate to-for example-depression; the great steel vice that crushes us or the black chasm that always looms above us, a language is created that isn't so much the sum of simply words but the sum of multiple feelings that people address with words. This way the poem starts out from the writer as their experience but when it is read, the reader injects their own feelings from the experiences they equate with the words chosen.

In a more self motivated process, I learn about myself and others every time I write because it is not the standard way of relating. From the subconscious, decisions and opinions are formed and reworked in every poem which grows the breadth of understanding of people, nature and that all encompassing theme of death. I see the world and people from various different perspectives from a subconscious bent and every time I write I learn more.

I believe if it was not for writing my coping mechanisms would definitely have been tested as poetry is a release valve that contains all of the fears, hopes, happiness and sadness. It filters the feelings and allows them to be processed first in subconscious and than to the conscious. I am working on a book on dealing with depression and living through the process and writing has helped a lot in getting through it. It tends to be the vehicle for writing as well as an illness that is alleviated through writing.

So when they glaze over when you mention poetry, lose the word-it is not poetry it is a word snapshot.
A language that transcends feeling, words and life, a way the inside speaks to the outside-okay I'm getting artsy now.