Monday, April 30, 2012

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.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

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…..

Friday, April 6, 2012

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.