Raw

There's a silence surrounding me
I can't seem to think straight
I'll sit in the corner
No one can bother me
I think I should speak now
I can't speak now
My words won't come out right...Keep Talking; Pink Floyd

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Raw

Tonight I thought I would try to just place thoughts upon the page without major editing. So here goes...

My poetry seems to have taken over recently. I am trying to paint a picture, but not sure what that picture should be in the end. This is dangerous. You are always lost if you never know your destination, but sometimes being lost is the only way to find out who you are.

I ponder each word in my poems, to see if they are what belong on the page. As does the painter, as she drips color onto a canvas to show the world what she sees, even if it is skewed from the way most see reality. Art makes you question what we know.

Poetry makes you question what you know. I know I said poetry is my way of painting a picture. But, that may not be the entire story. Poetry is really my exploration into the intersection of language and thought. It is an exploration into the psyche for an attempt at drawing the reality I see and perceive.

That's it, I think, the reality I see and perceive. Because each of our realities are different, who is to say that my poetic explanation does not do some justification to what I think, feel, and experience. The mind is not simplistic thought; at least not mine. There is a complex machination of thoughts that intertwine to make a logical picture of abstract concepts.

For example, I cannot simply state that I love her. Rather, I have to explain the myriad of thoughts and feelings that surround my being as I tell her I love her. She sleeps among the night songs, to which I seek her sensuality. She is my soul. My existence. My song. My being.

And, the roses I give her are not just red. They are silky petals that offer a sensuous perfume within the vaginal bud, as the thorns remind us that there is a hurt that underlies the sustenance of this beauty. This flower offers no forgiveness nor emptiness.

That, my dear friends, is reality.

Furthermore, I cannot simply state that my generation wasted its existence on frivolous crap. It got high on materialism. But, to state it bluntly foregoes the complexity how this materialistic high caused many to overlook what is important; the generation focused solely on the triteness of a secular existence. It also takes away the imagination you bring to the poem as you read. Shape your own thoughts from the ideas spawned through the abstractness of a piece; it's all right to do so.

So, I may not have utilized this medium for the manner it was designed. It may have not been designed for poetry. I may push out too many poems. I may actually be too abstract at points.

At the end of the day, however, poetry is one way I can express what I perceive our world and existence to be. A complex machination of thought that places this generation into a deficit of attention.

The wind rustled the leaves and I picked roses. They can be red, pink, yellow, and white. You already had a color in mind when I mentioned them. Let your imagination tell you which color it was, not me.

Dream and explore...EjG

Continuum

The sweet smell of a great sorrow lies over the land
Plumes of smoke rise and merge into the leaden sky
A man lies and dreams of green fields and rivers
But awakens to a morning with no reason for waking. Sorrow; Pink Floyd

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Continuum
My generation got high
to experience elements
of the continuum.

It was both beautiful
and serene.

But, our minds
became a wasteland
for the triteness of reality.

So, into the forevermore
we stared,
searching
for the magnitude
of understanding,
only to realize
the latitude
of our awareness
was stifled
by limits of space,
mythology,
and thought.

But we stumbled
upon our own feet
while pondering
the greatness of nothing;
intelligence
sometimes opens a door
to an abyss.

Silence,
echoes,
and laughter
haunt the soul
in the presence
of solemnity.

The damned
cry out in fear,
and my generation
gnashed its teeth
in sorrow
as it circled dreams
into a brothel
of misnomers.

The Celtic circle
spins its desire
onto our peasants.

Yet, we blew our brains
onto the streets;
only to allow the vagrants
a chance to supersede
our misfortunes.

The circle has no end.
Infinity has no beginning.
Reality has no dreams.

And my generation
is no longer high.

We can no longer breathe,
nor can we contemplate
the philosophies
of yesterday.

A madness and an echo persists…

She knows only her generation;
the symbiotic understanding
between our souls
is lost in a reality
of the here and now.

Blessed are the damned;
the forevermore offers a hope
and an understanding
only the simple minded
can comprehend.

We define our existence by heaven
and the fear of hell…

The damned, stand in silence. – EjG

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Solomon asked the scribe, “If a picture is worth a thousand words, what are a thousand words worth?”

To which the Scribe replied, “A thousand words are worth a nanosecond of heaven. The musician, the poet, and the philosopher know this all too well.”

And Solomon replied, “I have written a thousand words, have I yet drawn a picture?”

To which the Scribe noted, “You have drawn what needs to be drawn. The mind comprehends nothing more than the reality it perceives in the here and now.”

“And that is knowledge, a picture?” asked Solomon.

“No, that’s understanding. Many have knowledge; few have understanding.” noted the Scribe.

With that said, the heavens opened and we cleansed ourselves within the early fall rains.

“Where will we be in the time of the rapture?” I asked.

Neither the Scribe nor Solomon knew the answer.

And at that we wept.

I think it was closing in on midnight about then.

Sunday Silence

There was a great silence and a sadness that covered the land.

And though I never knew anyone there, nor had I ever seen the Twin Towers in-person, I still hid the tears from my family as I silently wept while the family members read the names of those who died. A loss we all must remember, even if we never personally knew nor experienced the vibrance of these people and these structures.

May God give this world peace one day, and bless the souls and the families suffering from this tragedy.

As for today, September 11, I treasure my family even more.EjG