True Brightness in June Gloom
Keep Twitching
Keep twitching.
The impossible does not hold still.
Love is a miracle that comes and goes.
The moment keeps moving.
For now I am impossible to hold.
I am flame.
But I do not move.
Moving is impossible.
The now is frozen.
Hold still to see what’s next.
Where I am going is to
The moment of a destination that won’t stop.
Gone starts another go.
Move I do, but from where?
Is there no where for love?
I arrived so the moment died.
I whispered what I heard you say out loud.
Your word was “love.”
Peace and war both thrive inside
That noun, that verb.
What I heard you say
Has to be lived
Before it becomes
A poem.
It is dangerous to write a poem.
I passed what I heard you say
To someone within.
He cried.
What I heard you say
I will remember forever.
Give or take
A few million years spent in deep sleep.
What I heard you say is something
I will remember to forget
And forget to remember.
This is beyond me.
I have no control over love.
All loves go where what I
Heard you say goes when I’m gone.
What I heard you say
Will never be enough.
Ed Bowers
Today is the first day of the rest of my tomorrows leading slowly, definitely to death. I’ll say “Goodbye” now, in case I never see you again.
What the space says is: Run away North, North, always North—that’s where freedom lies for a wild horse like you, like me. Find no fences the the further you go—only mountains and canyons and prairies—to help you. I’ll bite at the bridle that restrains you so. And you can follow me to and beyond freedom’s threshold.
I’m so sleepy and finally relaxed beyond tears now I can visit my current flawed lover at the new hotel where I’m going to live tomorrow and hope he is not cruel.
I like all men, my shrink said. And that is why I imagine almost all of them in my bed. I even brought a can of peanuts to this show, which is better than a movie to satisfy my soul. Ahem. A him. A hymn.
Journaling Results
- God is Back (Space)
- American Idol (Space)
- Julio Iglesias . (Dot) (Glow)
my imaginary friend
accompanied by my guitar
Marsha
June 2nd 2011
Free? Write! Dance along, little blue Papermate medium plastic pen. Pull intelligible nonsense from my hand. I need to see something I do is meaningful to others who do similar things. I run so hard, literally, to keep my body in functional shape. They see me and compliment me. Awesome. I keep my car fueled, clean and on the road. I didn’t run over that dog. I screeched my tires instead. To be able to write like I could revise into a pleasing piece seems to be the goal.
Quick in the mind, yes, but not when I am under pressure. Debate team is not my home. The truth is…the truth is…the people outside the room shouting and laughing and pretending they are happy and pleased are what they are, mostly unaware. The idea to them of honing a skill other than pan handling or being able to take down more booze faster than their drinking mates and to still be able to run from or B. S. the cops when they come, is now foreign.
Most of my life now IS honing skills, shining biceps, slyly choosing groceries that will agitate me less from the artificial colors, untold piles of MSG, and seventeen different names for sugar in the ingredients list. There is not a lot of laying back and being done to or consulting my accountant about how well my holdings fared after Bin Laden died. Sandpaper, 100 Grit, to the side of the face – remove some skin, don’t leave too deep of grooves….This is gonna hurt….Just like it did or more. Body – I befriend it, treat it with as much compassion as a dog I wanted to respond to me when we hunt together.
Zak B. Me
2011/05/13
The following is to be sung to the tune of "Keep Smiling" from Charlie Chaplin's "City Lights"
Voir Tout En Rose
Laugh though your fear is showing
Laugh though your tears are flowing
Laugh like your happiness is ever glowing
Don’t let true love elude you today
Don’t let clouds obscure your sunny day
Give yourself a lift
It’s a gift to see
the bright side of everything
Voir Tout En Rose
Laugh though your fear is showing
Laugh though your tears are flowing
Laugh like your happiness is ever glowing
Barbara Belle-Diamond
THE TRUTH OF YOUR RIGHT FOOT
"A name is not a leash."
--Mary Oliver
All of our bones are pilgrims, truth be told,
Journeying far beyond their sheaths of flesh
Toward dreams of incandescence that unfold
Deep in our inmost darkness. Pliant, fresh,
They burn the slow fuse of the marrow low;
Patient as saints, they bear our loneliness;
The farthest stars are kindled by their glow;
They flare out bravely in the emptiness.
But, after all, a name is not a leash;
Naming the body does not make it ours--
It is the expectation of release
That finds us at the summit of our powers.
The truth of your right foot is that it stands
Firm and unmoved upon unstable sands.
Robert Lavett Smith
WHAT THE SPACE SAYS
for Robert-Harry Rovin
What the space says is, "I have filled your life
Without your noticing, as water does
That filters through the worn earth's sieve of strife
Like liquid silence strained through hurt and noise."
The space is all that will be, all that was;
It isn't vacant--has solidity--
It is the air where great cathedrals rose,
Pointing stunned spires at eternity.
Space was, before its opposite came to be,
Before the Mass was burdened by its mass;
Rough blocks of granite are hewn from density
Lacking in permanence, and they shall pass.
What the space says is, " I am space, thy space.
Thou shalt erect no emptiness in my place."
Robert Lavett Smith
What the space says is not important enough right now to note on this page. What's important is to remember why I started playing music in the first place. How much I enjoyed singing as a kid and romping around on the floor to the sound of that folksy Saturday market CD. How soothing music was when my heart was really broken for the first time. How playing in a band in high school inspired thoughts of harmonious relationships - how I wanted to write a philosophical treatise using playing in a musical ensemble as my primary metaphor.
I had two semi-religious experiences while playing the trumpet in college. And, listening to my fellow musicians while also knowing the pieces well seemed to be absolutely essential components of what made it so magical. I even wrote a short poem about it or rather part of a poem. The playing was effortless and the dancing of our spirits, our energies arose without any forcing - communicating in a way that I didn't realize was possible with a musical instrument.
And, now I'm searching for the right kind of music and the right group of people. From there, we will take to the streets to rejuvenate the life that is there. To bring it out and call it forth in ways that will change people. This is not about money or making a living - this is about sharing a joy too precious to keep inside behind locked doors or hidden in the dark.
Music can transform the musicians and no doubt the listeners as well. And, change is something we can no longer avoid sparing.
~Joshua Mann,
June 2nd, 2011
Exposed Truth with Every Whiff
Exposed truth with every whiff. Smells like Vaseline. No more truth… why would I want it? Does it come in a bottle? Does it come in a can? Is it pink and fuzzy or hard and cold? Do you want to know?
I looked in my refrigerator. The apple had moved to the back and turned black. The bottle had leaked and was now glued to the shelf – hard, cold fact.
I watched the cat sleeping, her whiskers twitching in dream. I lie with my hand in her fur. Reflexively she scratches my hand. It draws a round drop of blood. Fuzzy warm truth tinted with hurt.
Then there is what happens inside my head. The lies a hurt mind tells itself in the lonely pre-dawn hours. The lies I try to live through. The lies I know and love so well. The lies of what I am and want and need. The lies incubated in the moist dampness of abuse and deprivation. The things I had to tell myself to get through the day.
I much prefer the truth when I can remember it. That the ice tea will be cold and refreshing. That the brick wall will be rough and unyielding as I drive my fist into it. That the grit of dirt will rub my feet inside my shoes after having worked in the garden.
The truth of thoughts and feelings and needs is dangerous. I much prefer the momentary lapses into the here and now.
Jolene
“Grasping On To or Letting Go”
Fiber. Suppose there is a connection between the health of the G.I. tract and the brain like there is between the circulatory system and the teeth. If you first, experience constipation and, second, plaque coats your teeth, is it likely that first, you cannot let go of thoughts or things and, second, your arteries have gunk covering their inner walls? You can find the teeth/blood vessel connection in the medical literature. Are parts of my life really that interrelated? Does it matter if I eat good food as to whether I choose to read good books, or just watch T.V.?
The East-West Medicine discussion is so interesting. How did they figure out that a spot on the bottom of my foot, when pressed, can help my kidneys function or my sinuses drain? Who thought of giving someone who is allergic to mold a little “homeopathic” helping of mold each day until the allergy disappears? When they first thought to shoot radioactive dye into a vein, how did they discover a way to monitor its movement and use that to make medical decisions? When we examine the connections between these seemingly unrelated things, the application of this knowledge allows us to live a few years longer than the people at the beginning of the last century. To understand and investigate these hidden connections of biology, we have to be able to stop and take a breath and settle our minds. From whence we began, I bring us back to the merits of fiber. Mistakenly, I thought I was going to escape in a plume, a cloud of toilet paper, but I must continue to entertain and prepare, myself -- and you.
By Zak b. me
Seeing brings me around when I scan the album of images of the things and beings that have added so much to my life. As I sort through them, deciding what to keep and what I can post on craigslist, I realized that these things and beings have added depth to my existence, and by having to choose it makes me realize how much I care about them, and how they have cared for me.
I could have taken better care of these things and beings that I cherish, like I do when they are new to me, are intriguing, unusual, or loving. I pay special attention to them and want to spend much time and effort caring for them, using them, and being with them; they are in my heart and mind. Then, gradually their uniqueness wears off, I become accustomed to them, or perceive something that is bothersome. They become a responsibility, and an obligation. They need maintenance, and attention, polishing and time. Slowly, the object or person gets less interesting and a subtle neglect creeps in, and a loyal and trusted thing, or being holds a lower priority, and feels undervalued. How did I take that for granted?
"Oh, I really should replace it, or trade it in for the improved model, or something or someone will be more interesting or exciting" I think. I can give more, and find a way to keep my interest from drifting and these things and beings will show that, and they will know that they have value, and are loved, even as we fade, together. \
I am sorting through these things and beings, and the seeing brings me around.
Scott
Why she flowered at this time in her life was because she had experienced what all life had to give her up to that point. She had been saturated by life’s experiences--the joys, the sadness, the births, the deaths, the anger, the tragedies, the re-births, the laughter, the love, the anxiety, the depression, the compassionate moments, the spiritual and emotional metamorphosis of growth, the physical pains one experiences and sometimes forgets, the mental breakdowns and all that goes with it, and finally the understanding that through that grand tunnel of all of these, life’s experiences coming to the other side of being- the incredible side of understanding, the great awakening or AH-HA moments that one has in a moment of quiet, zen-like reflection- life becomes a reflection of oneself upon a still, fresh, clear, quiet pool of water. A mirror image of life’s experiences. No judgments. Just years of growth through the passage and tunnels of time, by the same external clock that we all march to. Tick, tock. No matter how rich or how poor- we all march to the same clock and what we make of our experiences, and of our growth and our abundance in our experiences is indeed our own.
Sacheen 4/09/11
Comments