July 20, 2014
Wait… wasn’t this a poetry blog?
Why, yes it was and is- when I write poetry but lately the focus has been elsewhere and I’m okay with that. I have not been focusing on my disbelief in any god or gods but have been playing music again and seriously studying to become a better musician. Mostly Jazz Trumpet and reading music – Trumpet is a new thing for me as of last October and I am coming along with it as well as can be expected I think – maybe even better than can be expected as this is where all my creative energies lie. You may think it a shame that I am not posting more poetry regardless of what I am writing – there is surely more poetry written than I’ve ever placed on this blog and if you had that thought then you thought correctly and it isn’t as if I haven’t written since I started with the trumpet but I haven’t written much and am waiting to see what of it gets published elsewhere before it lands here.
This is a meditation on the blog in recent light of the most popular post I’ve ever written – far and away the most popular post and I need to consider what this blog is really about as I’ve never really wanted a random blog but one that held out meaning and a constant theme – more or less.
So, I will put a poem here for the followers that are with me for the poetry –
speaking of hell
this is one poem that will not get written
not everyday can contain a poem
or the written word
or the vague ramblings and ideas
of abstracted madness.
my beard grows long
and I am in good company,
months of tender care
with shampoo and conditioner
with little gray.
I am younger than I look
and more experienced than the color of my hair.
it’s resilience, perseverance
it’s sitting down and getting to it –
keeping hell in a back pocket.
most people live truly blessed lives
their nightmares kept safely at night,
others don’t sleep and howl at the moon
raving like sharp toothed dogs
gnawing at their own fingers and bones.
– Hoc Scripsi
And put this here for the randomness of it. I don’t think the article needs comment from me but you should know that it is sorta about vaginas – or one particular vagina and it isn’t mine.
November 11, 2012
From ‘hands on the hips’
Meditation on the death of a soldier
life ended abruptly by the
bullet of another’s weapon
paid for by a master neither
one of you has ever met
weapon that was cleaned
with as much care as yours
and placed firmly in hand by
another country such as yours
and without thought, fired to
bring ends to ideals and have
certain glory from gods or God
fired a bullet that ended it’s
own journey in your body
your body, which lies there
weapon in hand that surely would
have ended the bullets owner
if given the chance
this is the death that you have chosen
as if picked out from a catalogue
listed under ‘means of dispatch’
and you nation mourns forgetting
your choice
never blaming the decisions
that placed you there
yours and your masters
but I am colder and I cheer
not at your death but
at the end you were able to choose
for yourself
I am not so lucky and
I will die unknowing from where
the bullets came
the platitudes of willful resemblance 