3/4 Time

We live a life filled with music
I hear you softly humming
In the wind through the trees
With my eyes closed,
In a silent room
Your voice creeps into my head
Making itself comfortable
More than a long found friend
Soon we are singing the familiar chords
That brought us together
Then, and now
The notes lilt and sway
Catch up then lay back
Waiting for that moment
To let the full orchestra in
As it speaks our tale
Forever captured in 3/4 time

— GLB

good night

good night
good night
good night
and
good night

my sleep is here
and I go
without a fight
hoping to dream of you
just a fleeting glimpse
of something shared,
I’ll be grasping
reaching out for
for just a wisp
of what I thought was there
no
it isn’t
so…

good night
good night
good night
and
good night

sweet dreams
to be left
as what they are
a place to catch
our hopes and desires
tied to a shooting star
flying far away from here
so…

good night
good night
good night
and
good night

good

night

— GLB

Poets to Come

Tonight I was filing through my library in the basement to try and find something to read.  The last three books I’ve tried to start have been false starts, mostly because I had a hard time getting into them.  When that happens, 98% of the time I can’t just power through, I have to stop and try something else.  So, going through my collection in the basement, I came up with 5 books that I have read, but through the magic of ECT, are new to me. In no particular order, they are:

“The Art of Racing in the Rain” by Garth Stein (actually I read this book just over a year ago, but I loved it)
“The God of Small Things” by Arundhati Roy
“Nothing Special; Living Zen” by Charlotte Joko Beck
“Plath: Poems” Selected by Diane Wood Middlebrook
“Leaves of Grass” by Walt Whitman

The last two are primarily for reference for me and the things I write.  I don’t plan on reading them cover to cover.  But, after opening “Leaves of Grass” at random spots and reading a poem or two, I find myself humbled.  I can’t help but wonder at what people were thinking when they originally gave his works poor reviews.  I know that it doesn’t always take a poets 50-100 years for their work to be appreciated.  I look at Maya Angelou, Nikki Giovanni, and even Allan Ginsburg and I can see that time frame is inaccurate.  Then I look at myself and I start to wonder whether or not I might become famous for my writing.  What do I have to do to get my work in front of the right person?  Who is that right person?  And of course, it wouldn’t be a good course of self examination if I didn’t ask the ultimate question:  Am I good enough to even be mentioned with the likes Whitman, Plath, Angelou, Giovanni and Ginsburg?  I guess only time will tell.

Here’s one of my favorites by Whitman, as an inscription to “Leaves of Grass”

POETS TO COME

Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for,
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known,
Arouse! for you must justify me.

I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,
I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness

I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a
casual look upon you and then averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you.

———-  I feel like Whitman has thrown down the gauntlet with this inscription.  Now all I have to do is try to live up to that challenge.  Damn!

empty space

I’ve been talking outside your door
you’re not answering
at all
I just wanted to talk about things
you’re not answering
at least
you could say something
let me know that you hear me
at least
you could come to the door
let me see you
is that too much to ask
at least
I would know that you’re in there
that I haven’t been pouring myself
into an empty space

— GB

Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby

I was reading and writing this afternoon, and listening to Spotify. I forget which “Radio Station” I was listening to but, this song came on that I used to listen to all the time.  I’ve listened to this band since college, the song is from 2008 but I have mental ties to the band since 1993-94.  They have seen me through thick and thin, up and down and the wrong way around.  It’s safe to say that they have had a significant influence on me.  My favorite poet, for a long time, has been Adam Duritz.  He has a perspective that opens my eyes and blows my mind.  I agree, he can be an acquired taste.  My dad doesn’t care for the way he whines.  Anyhow, I was so happy to hear this song this afternoon that I almost (almost) started to well up.  This is “Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby” by Counting Crows

“Well I woke up in mid afternoon cause that’s when it all hurts the most
I dream I never know anyone at the party and I’m always the host
If dreams are like movies then memories are films about ghosts
You can never escape, you can only move south down the coast
Well I am an idiot walking a tightrope of fortune and fame
I am an acrobat swinging trapezes through circles of flame
If you’ve never stared off into the distance then your life is a shame
And though I’ll never forget your face sometimes I can’t remember my name

Hey, Mrs. Potter, don’t cry
Hey, Mrs. Potter, I know why
But, hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me

Well there’s a piece of Maria in every song that I sing
And the price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings
And there is always one last light to turn out and one last bell to ring
And the last one out of the circus has to lock up everything
Or the elephants will get out and forget to remember what you said
Oh and the ghosts of the tilt-o-whirl will linger inside of your head
Oh and the Ferris wheel junkies will spin there forever instead
When I see you, a blanket of stars covers me in my bed

Hey, Mrs. Potter, don’t go, I said
Hey, Mrs. Potter, I don’t know, but
Hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me

Well all the blue light reflections that color my mind when I sleep
And the lovesick rejections that accompany the company I keep
All the razor perceptions that cut just a little too deep
Hey, I can bleed as well as anyone but I need someone to help me sleep
So I throw my hand into the air and it swims in the beams
It’s just a brief interruption of the swirling dust sparkle jet stream
Well I know I don’t know you and you’re probably not what you seem
Aw, but I’d sure like to find out
So why don’t you climb down off that movie screen

Hey, Mrs. Potter, don’t turn
Hey, Mrs. Potter, I burn for you
Hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me

When the last king of Hollywood shatters his glass on the floor
And orders another
Well, I wonder what he did that for
That’s when I know that I have to get out cause I have been there before
So I gave up my seat at the bar and I head for the door. Yeah.
We drove out to the desert just to lie down beneath this bowl of stars
We stand up in the Palace, like it’s the last of the great pioneer town bars
Aw, we shout out these songs against the clang of electric guitars
Well, you can see a million miles tonight
But you can’t get very far
Aw, you can see a million miles tonight
But you can’t get very far

Hey, Mrs. Potter, I won’t touch and
Hey, Mrs. Potter, it’s not much but
Hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me
Hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me
Hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me”

All comments, as always, are welcome.

Closure

I am constantly searching for closure in everything I write.  Sometimes it works out, other times, most times, I start but do not finish.  But I had a thought.  My writing is not the only place I strive for closure.  I try to find it everywhere in my life.  What I am learning and trying to live is that life is infinite in it’s possibilities.  Gaining closure something I have aspired to for many situations in my life but it happens in fewer and fewer places.  So, I have to consider alternatives.  Maybe what I need is an answer, not necessarily the answer.  That would certainly go a long way towards answering questions I have about things in my Bipolar Life.  I don’t know for sure, and I may have mentioned this before, I believe that my encounter with Bipolar Disorder started on St. Patrick’s Day, 2003.

I know, I know… this again.  I think the fact that I lost my life for seven seconds on March 17, 2003 and that I started having bouts of depression after that may be an indication that something inside my brain took a hit that day.  Somewhere in the process of dying and being brought back set me on the path I find myself on now.  This is something I will never know the answer to, I will never find closure here, but I have to believe that I am on the right track.  I do find it puzzling that it took four to six years for the mania and psychoses to start but that will have to be a footnote to the story.

What does all of this have to do with getting closure in what I write?  Well, I think that it will be easier for me if I don’t always put the pressure on to finish what I’m writing.  Maybe what I’ve written is done without an extra paragraph, stanza, verse or line I’ve been working on for hours.  I’ll try it out and see how it goes.  Please don’t hesitate to call me on anything.