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This is Poetry:

I’m happy to say that I am participating in the Trifectawritingchallenge.com challenge this week with a poem aptly titled “This is Poetry”.  It’s a poem about what poetry is to me.  I hope you all enjoy and check out the wonderful community at Trifecta. 

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This is Poetry:   

The word gnaws on flesh and bone, feasts on the heart of things, sings from the gutter; “meat for the synagogue, cast on the pavement.”

This is Poetry:   

Knowing that we exist outside of our conditional mindset; we are more than the sum of our programs/we are more than the culmination of our experiences/we are more than we realize and more than we’d like to admit because then we might just have to take a handful of responsibility for our actions/we are more than a reaction to stimuli/

This is Poetry:   

Time does not exist as a measurable unit unless you build a structure in which you create that unit and, by doing so, create time itself.  I am time/I am outside of time/I am the new unit of measure.  I am just a human being making the noises of my species.

This is Poetry:   

The stars exhaust me, infinity makes me sad and darkness overwhelms me – but that can all be overcome by being present in the moment where there is nothing to fear; not even death, not even pain, not even loss or darkness or infinity or spiders.  Nothing.  Not in this moment.  This moment is my eternal poem.

This is Poetry:   

Hard hitting hindrance to silence’s reign of terror, to fear’s quest for control, to domination’s ivory tower, to oppression’s hidden agenda, to the elite’s propaganda machine, to the hot breath of the rapist, to the cool kiss of politicized death, to the tempest of tortured innocents, to the terror of walls built higher and higher, to my own soul’s darkest corners.

This is Poetry:   

Not a violent revolution, not a war, not a fight to the death, not a battle cry, not a mournful sob or an inhuman howl; but simple human love in honest light exposed for those who dare to witness it with fullness of sorrow and ecstasy/fully conscious monsters of humanity/WE/as one poet//compose the world into existence-

And this/is poetry…

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Posted by on March 13, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Buddy

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Since we were both teenagers I’ve been watching Corby Yates perform and developed a friendship with him and his family.  For about 15 years I watched this young man play guitar and develop as a musician into one of the most dynamic acts I’ve ever seen.  In around 2008 he moved up to Northern California and stopped playing a lot of shows.  We were told he was having a hard time but never any details.  He played a hand full of acoustic blues shows but nothing electric for some time.  Finally, on May 1st 2012 he released “Inside Oblivion” and blew us away.  It was manic, syncopated brilliant guitar work and psychedelic to the core.  On September 24th, 2012, he killed himself.  We found out later that he had been battling schizophrenia for years and that it had worsened to the point where he didn’t recognize his own Mother at times and thought people were out to steal his music.  This poem based on a song by Frank Marino and Mahogany Rush called “Buddy”, which is dedicated to Jimi Hendrix.  The first 4 lines are directly from that song.  

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“Buddy!  What has happened? Can you hear me friend?

Buddy!  I didn’t see this coming round the bend.

Buddy!  Is this the way your story ends?

Well rest down easy and I’ll carry on singing…”

 

I got the news through a text message. “Corby died.”

Just like that.

 

You were supposed to be the one

I grew old with, the one

who would take me on voyages

to times long past.

To Bats in the Belfry and

Fungus Blues and

Ti Na Ni Na Nu.

When all was changed and days

became numbered and

generations before us became Dust

and Memory,

there’d be you

to remind me of it all.

 

Buddy.

 

Now you are the memory

little wing.

The generations that should have been

dust by your passing

stand together to mourn

like the rest

with rounded shoulders and

bowed heads.  Hurting Inside.

 Spilling Salty Pain onto

Common Ground.

 

Buddy.

 

I can’t sing.  I try anyway

but it’s terrible.

What I can do is write

and I plan to do my part

to write your memory into existence

so the gift you tried

to share with the world

is never forgotten.

 

Buddy,

I’ll never understand your demons and I’ll never know your pain.  I cried when I listened to “Inside Oblivion” for the first time, when you were still alive and I let myself imagine that this was the album that would set you apart as the greatest talent of our generation.  It was so heavy and insane and raw and brilliant.  I had no idea the pain you were in, the pain and madness that created this catastrophic talent.  I wanted to write to you and tell you I cried and tell you that I hear Marino in all of it and tell you that your Fresno family misses you and tell you that Dad cried too and tell you that if I could see one musician, any musician in the world, perform anywhere, I would choose a live Corby Yates show because there’s nothing better and nothing I want to see more in the music world than you perform this new music live.  Nothing.  But I didn’t write that letter.  I didn’t send that email.  I didn’t make that phone call.  And I know it wouldn’t have mattered.  I know now that by that time you were so consumed by your demons that you sometimes didn’t recognize your own precious Mother so you likely wouldn’t have even known my name but I still wish I would have said it all, so there it is my friend, I hope you hear it.

Rest easy Corby and I’ll carry on singing…

 
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Posted by on February 27, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Fresh Out the Cave

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You do it to yourself

You blame your mental health

You blame your family, society

but never look inside to see

the surrealities that lie behind the seen.

The space behind your eyes, it seems

is full of lies, pipe dream and suicidal screams

that hide behind your pride,

and only serve to curse the hand you’re dealt.

You need to scream for help.

The fire that lights the sky

and brings tears to bloodshot eyes

fresh out the cave

can’t stand the brightness

pretend you like this

but in the darkness

your blindness was the standardized test.

You didn’t have to try

just catch the wave and ride it

no need to fight it.

Go with the current.

The lines get blurred then.

I know it sounds absurd

but what you hear can’t be unheard

so when I scream

that I’m an earthling

a mother-fucking Human Being

I wanna know you heard me

I wanna know you heard me

I wanna know you heard me

So I know that you know that I am free

as you are free.

Autonomously.

So speak,

and I will choose what to believe.
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Img found at http://cdn.c.photoshelter.com/img-get/I0000Ssq.Cb.YXC8/s/750/750/Belize-Cave-Tubing019.jpg

 
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Posted by on February 5, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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