I'm a lot of things. But for the time you read this, you can call me yours :)

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Daily Inspiration #2.

Sometimes, it simply doesn't do to stay in the realm of one art form. For millenia, humans have cross-examined media in order to create new art. From the greek ekphrastic (a poem or specifically a verse based on a work of art that is not originally a poem) up to the idea of automatic writing (producing prose based on what comes to your head, Freud-style), we have always delved to weird places to find our inspiration. The above song is an old favorite of mine. Honestly, the Foo Fighters rarely disappoint, and I rocks with Rock Lee (nerd swag on deck: check). Anyway, when I can't find any jumpoff point in poetry, I often turn to song. Sometimes it can be a painting:

and sometimes, it can be a video (like above). Sometimes, it can be as abstract as a tap-dance routine. . .basically, everyone has that thing that gets their gears going. Find yours. And when you do, I have a challenge for you.

Take a song, piece of art, etc. and write a poem on it. Doesn't have to be long; in fact, I'd love to see a haiku based on your work. So, if this happens to pass your eye, just leave a comment.

Be inspired, true believers. Love.

Monday, February 15, 2010

A White Rose in Nagasaki.

It's that time of the week again, true believers. It's going to be a tough week, but not impossible ("aim for its head!" A nice shiny quarter for the guy who can tell me what that's from.). Anyway, I decided to post one of my own today and see how you like it. If you like it, show some love. If you don't show some hate. If you're in between, show some in between-ness. And if you just don't care, then I hope you feel like it was 2 minutes of your time well spent. Stay up. Safety and peace, as always.

A White Rose in Nagasaki

He speaks his troubles before an altar.
Men twice his size surround him on either side
heads bowed without a second thought.
This is what it means to be respected.
He lets prayers in a language I don’t quite understand
fall from his lips and his fingers
into the walls of sumo halls where the cherry blossom smell still lingers
like tradition lost in time. He leads the prayer like every morning, but it’s hotter than usual.
And sensei, was it you
who told me the heat drives people crazy
and was it you who told me
death is but life’s next great adventure?
I wonder sensei, what it’s was like to be that man.
in a place I’ve never been
with people I’ve never seen
was it like a dream
when waves washed over practiced praying hands
that were not made of water.
And I wonder if they still smelled cherry blossoms
as the moments counted down to flames
or if there was a single white rose in Nagasaki.
A white rose, from Nagasaki. A white, ROSE from Nagasaki
and there was nothing left.
He sits, still as plutonium a second before the atom splits,
in a place I’ve never been
with people I’ve never seen
was it like a dream
and is it a dream he remembered?
Two bombs fell that August.
Hiroshima hit Monday
but the little boy played so violently
that no one remembers a Fat Man laughing from Thursday
I thumb through my history books
and see a tragic footnote.
War is tragic and I wonder
if we remember it? If we remember him,
if we remember the flower growing from the blank cenotaph
that stands on the land where a hero once lived
the old man leading a stable was respected
and now his name means nothing
and neither does the smell.
when the Fat Man’s last belly laugh
comes from the epicenter of the sweetest fallout I have ever smelled.
I feel lost in time.
He sits, waiting to be remembered with flowers placed on his grave
but does not expect any. He just chants
for the mistakes a world has made when we let little boys out to play
and left Fat Men out there to molest them
this city is dead and yet we still
can’t hear his guidance, too busy trying to drive one another out of a sumo ring
and I know war is not the fairest of things
and the world is in my hands and I don’t care
I’m just waiting on the roses to grow. To replace cherry blossoms
that this city’s touch cannot even remember
when foreign hands have tried to mend it
with shears too big and aspirations too small I wonder
if flowers can sprout from concrete why can’t fallout smell as sweet
as roses of a different name, marking the grave of our mistake.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Daily Inspiration #1.

Safety and peace to all reading this on Valentine's Day (as opposed to doing something with a significant other (not that you need on or anything (ok, I'm done now))). Anyway, I just wanted to drop by and drop something on you for today that truly made me stop and go "Damn. Go in poet!" This comes from one Shane Koyczan. I was texted/called no less than 8 times as soon as this gentleman lit up the stage in the opening ceremony of the Vancouver Olympic games, so I spent the next couple of days looking for him and this is the first thing I came up with. Let me just say, I was blown away, and I hope you are too. And remember, you are never worthless. As I feel is the point of this piece, I just want to say that you mean something. We all have talents, stories, meaning. It just takes finding it. Have a good one, true believers.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Valentine's Day.

Gonna be a short one tonight, true believers. V day's a-loomin', and I'm not sure how I feel about that. I know I talk about love quite a bit up here, but this is the only time I feel that love is my albatross carried across this ancient mariner we call life. It's just a very lonely time for the love-broken. Enough of my whining though. Enjoy this. Though from a feminine perspective, this vid definitely describes how I feel at the moment, though I'll withhold on who it is addressed to (muhahaha):

Good night, and love to you all. May your Valentine's day be about 214235253243252462081759847623974329857295373298476910283798403.3 times more magical than mine.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

But lately, words would escape me. . .

Somewhere along the line we all walk between "making moves in our lives" and "doing too much", I was left behind. Is it really a new year? A new decade? I insist that life slow down right now.

. . .
. . .
. . .

OK, so I'm fully aware that that's not how it works. I can't stop time, turn back time, make time get on the corner and get that money, anything like that. What I can do is have a heart-to-heart with her. Plead with her to squeeze the few extra seconds that I need to get anything done anymore, ask for a break from all the work that stacks up on us all.

I miss being younger. I miss feeling connected. Now, it feels like I'm all by myself all the time and while it has its perks, it's mostly just that empty feeling you get when you go to bed on Valentine's with not a single card to show for it. Oh, St. Valentine, you my friend are another post for another day.

Today, I just want whoever is reading this to remember their loved ones, remember the past, and use it to help shape your future. You only get one so make it count. And remember:

Love is the reason. For everything. Take that as you will.

Safety and peace, dear reader.