FARE WELL FARE WORLD

Vocal version: 

when we walk out this morning
dew drops on the growing green
new and nude day still aborning
like none i have ever never seen

this darling day won’t last forever
it may not even last today
I say never ever say never
it could go the other way

best let’s not waste one more tomorrow
looks like this day we may not change
let’s just smell to hell the roses
that it’s too late to rearrange

here hold my hand and let’s just watch it
until it’s come and long has gone
long enough for me to have told you
i am SO glad you came along

should we be so blessed to see
the evening come around
and you once more lie down with me
count the stars that fall to ground

I will tell you that i love you
maybe you will tell me to
by all the stars that shine above you
darling i love you

when politicians have spent all our money
when the good book has no more to say
and greed just looks so FINALLY funny
we had you and me and the dog and today

SUN

audio verson – set volume before clicking: Sun

sun_earth

Sun –by everyman jack

I shine for you
I am a sun
I vaunt not
I boast not
I am one of many suns
But I shine for you

I shine for your mercurial whirl
your effulgence, your brilliance
your quotidian butterfly rush through existence
here today, gone tomorrow
ball of energy
your desire to transmit, emit, remit, and flit
from one space to another but always
communicating and innovating
absorbing and reflecting
and you think I light up your life
but I do it just to see you shine

You are my venus
You are love and beauty
orbiting clockwise
not anticlockwise as others do
because beauty brings its own direction
I don’t ask if love is contextual
I don’t ask if beauty would be so beautiful
in some other solar system
I just shine
I shine for you
That’s what I do

You are my earthy
scratch an itchy back
in a hot sand
zephyr sniffing
hair blowing
water dripping
surf riding
snow angel
You are my optimally heeled
catamaran in a wild wind
You are my texturally consummate
tetherball
I will never let you go
When you shake off the fleas of humanity
and rejuvenate yourself into the next eon
harmonizing to Joan Baez singing
Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young”
I will still shine for you
That’s what I do

When your martian bellicosity is seen
for what it is, a resentment of the hurt inflicted
by past civilizations that didn’t care about
the hurt they did to you – to their own detriment
I understand and send warm rays to help
you heal and feel again the warmth of your own
rejuvenating heart until your red anger
turns agains to green and blue
because I shine for you
that’s what I do

Your jovian magnanimity
Your saturnine tenacity
Your tipsy Uranus
Your brooding Neptune
Your mysterious Pluto
shroud yet complement the more obvious
atrributes
All those things even I don’t know about
inspire me to marvel
And yes, the unknown,
the X factor bring the whole of you
into an integral completeness

and me?
I am part of you
You are part of me
We are just holons
holding on and whirling through the
universe
on a joyride

We are a planetary system
to be precise and
I am your sun
I vaunt not that fact
I do not boast
I am one of many suns
But I shine for you

If all the grains of sand
on all the beaches
of the planet earth
were counted
that number of grains
is approximately the number of
suns in our universe
so I am one of many
but you
you are my one out of many
you are my “e pluribus unum”
all my planets comprise one you
me?
I shine for you
That’s what I do

[from candojack.com all righs reserved]

ONE PAGE STAGE: POETRY HOW TO

Here is jack’s one paragraph or so guide to creating poetry. 

Beware authorities. If you find yourself in that setting try to stick around a bit for comedy’s sake. 

Don’t try to rhyme if you haven’t a gift for it. Robert Frost (most widely known US poet) though, said, “poetry without rhyme is like tennis without a net.” I suppose a dozen kinds of rhyme exist. I think my favorite is found in Emily Dickinson. She will have a stanza (say four lines) She will have a solid clear pure rhyme in every line but one. Say the last line. It may be a half rhyme: a different consonant, a short vowel,something that makes the line a little different from the rest. So one must ask, “why is that line different?” It is different e.g. to accent meaning. Perhaps like an exclamation point in punctuation. 

I love the hiphop technique of repeating a rhyme sound until it is about to scorch into monotony.

Robert Pinsky, was US poet laureate about a decade ago. He said, “there are no rules.” Some assume that removes responsibility. Rather it increases it. He is saying you can do anything you want with poetry. But, you must make it work. 

For me poetry is best thought of as jazz. That is one of the reasons I think poetry is best when performed aloud. It IS performance. Some really great poets fail in delivery. Not loud enough, poor pitch, poor enunciation, poor timing, well read, flat. The current poet laureate of San Luis Obispo, Jerry Douglas Smith, is notable for his ability to capture dialect. In one of his poems you hear the poet dialing through the radio driving along a road. Different dialects, language accents, attitude. Each voice connects to the overall poem in a vital way. 

Whatever language techniques, poetic devices, word coinage, meanings twists, ah hahs, paintings drawn, are fair game. Here is how you know a poem is good. As you deliver, check the faces of the audience members. When they are smiling, nodding, on the edge of their seats, crying, laughing, laughing and crying, ole, bravo: that is a good poem. No feeling is as great to a poet as clearly discernable audience reaction. That is true sometimes even when they are throwing tomatoes or eggs. Love every smatter, kid. You have the experience of a life time. Twist of thought will come into a vibrant poetry creation session. When you get a good one and perform it, try to play it as a kayaker plays the rapids in swift moving water. Have no fear. You may drown. No problem. You are a poet. Eternally.

In the next node of my stream I will put up a poem called BLUE HAIRED POETRY. I don’t often let this one go out running around. Some myopic people might think it is stereotypical. They may be correct. And they may be right, as it were.

A PORTRAIT OF THE ICONOCLAST AS AN OLD MAN

Iconoclast – AUDIO

Christ Cleaning the Temple

temple

i am still yearning, i am still learning
to choose free of conditioning
to select out of silent consideration
to expectorate sugar coated propaganda
to regurgitate traditional victuals
to make this life my own
no pawn in their game
no name that they name
no same that is their same
my life is my own web site
no templates please
no dreamweaver, no web fusion
let me write the raw code
let me create my own icons
let me compose my own style sheet
let me become my own layout
i am an ancient youth
still yearning, still learning to be free

i am not the sheep
i am not the bellwhether
i am not the shepherd
i am not the wolf who steals the lamb
i am not the eagle who feeds from its carcass
i am not form
i am the infinitely inchoate
i am the always becoming
i am not the “I AM THAT I AM”
i am the “becoming that which i am becoming”
still yearning, still learning to be free

credit card numbers cannot contain me
computer programs will not process me, confess me
big brother will not discover
the secrets of my soul
how i become whole
that spymaster mole
will not unroll
this secret code
because it is not
it is becoming
it is the humming
of the summing
of the me
still yearning, still learning to be free

i am not your nielsen rating
i am not your prophet prating
i am not your flag waver
i am not your citizen
i am not your patriot
i am not your passport bearer
i am not your ballistic
i am not your statistic
for you cannot see this sample
you cannot fathom this six feet under
becoming asunder
the root of the shoot of a tree with no name
the story with absolutely no history
still yearning, still learning to be free

look
i am not your altar boy to fondle
i am not your poster child for a god fearing upbringing
i am not the blood stained proof of virginity on your white wedding night sheet
i am not the contents of your skinner box
i am not the pavlov’s dog for your ringing bell
i am the becoming of originality
still yearning, still learning to be free

I AM BECOMING… me

 

SHE BRUSHED

shebrushed = AUDIO VERSION                MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

she brushed a wavy arc
it soon became a bay
a line a road along the park
and it went that a way

it ended on the edge of town
and then became a trail
she brushed it ’til it went around
the bay, a boat, a sail

crested rise and disappeared
into an evening sun
a flick just there a figure reared
a figure of someone

a silhouette on a crest
that one just could not say
was headed toward the west
or coming this a way

it hung on many different walls
each time a different name
when asked what it was really called
she said to me it’s all the same

it is not to take someone somewhere
nor bring somebody back
it speaks of no concern nor care
it is art not artifact

BISCUITS AND GRAVY

AUDIO VERSION (set volume before clicking) Biscuits and Gravy

The only tie
that just won’t die
from my
growing up in the south

Is that bisquit and gravy
craving
I’m still savoring
in my mouth
It’s just a flour
and water paste
that takes
me back to when

But the power of that gravy
taste
has seen me
through thick and thin
That pasty glue
that some folks use
to fuse
and stick their stuff together

Has kept me true,
has helped me through the
the blues and blue
and foulest weather
But like sooth in seeds
the truth one needs
that sprouts like weeds
from within the conscience

Gravy’s cheap
and bisquits keep
me humble deep
beneath my nonsense