Decompression

I posted the beginning of this, or a version of the beginning of this, yesterday as a #MicroPoetry, but I did not like how the constraints of 140 altered the meaning. I felt it had more to say. So here you go, enjoy!


Decompression

Decompressed
Beneath slate blue sky anointed with jet trails
Concrete river littered with restless red lights

Freedom seekers
Intercepted broken white lines looking for quick escape
Serenity moment lost to timeframe dictation

Old souls
Took deep winter breaths ignored endless rush
Exhaled slowly directing warm air across cracked lips

Aged eyes
Squinted while trying to decipher braided bends
Pulled back slowing rapid river pace

Innocents
Smiled gleefully at extended arms fighting invisible force
Made silly faces reminding onlookers to decompress

Portaits from Lemonheads

By Wednesday, February 1st I will have gone to six shows since Wednesday, January 25th. One of them is my own, but it still counts; right? Everyone knows I see a lot of concerts. It is what I do, but this is a bit much, even for me.

I kicked this string off with Samantha Crain at Off Broadway. I saw Samantha for the first time three years ago, and I have made it a point to see her every time she comes through town. She puts on a great show and is a brilliant songwriter. Friday I headed out to Plush, which is a really cool new venue in town, to check out My Molly. You all know how much I love this band, so I will just stop there. After seeing their set I bounced over to the Firebird to check out Gubenthal. I had a pretty chaotic drive home in the pouring snow-rain-muck that evening, but I made it safely and Saaby only took on one pot hole she should not have.

Last night...last night was the Lemonheads at Old Rock House. If you are a fan of people watching, I HIGHLY recommend checking out a band that is 20 years past their prime. Shows like that bring out the most amazing cross section of fans. You get the diehards that never grew out of the era, the superfans that went to tons of shows back in the day but have since allowed life to consume them, the fans that never got a chance to see them in their hay day but didn't want to miss this opportunity (that is the group I fall in), and even a good selection of kids that weren't even born when the band was big but they heard the legend. I went to the show with a fellow writer. It is always a dangerous situation to be with a fellow writer when people watching is involved, inevitably it becomes less about the show and more about painting the moment. Here are a couple portraits I jotted down. They are kind of #MicroPoetry, but they were too big for Twitter, so I thought I'd just go to the blog with them.

Portraits from Lemonheads

He
With intent eyes
Stares down flat screen flicker
As if he witnessed Jesus
Too awkward to join the masses worshipping at his feet
Too timid to look God in the face

Mom bob
Bops inverse to driving rhythm
Tonight
She revisits youth
Dreams deferred
Tonight
She is 18
Free
Life’s trappings years away from reality
Tonight
She is Mrs. Robinson

This evening, Sunday, January 29th, it is my mid-day show at Broadway Oyster Bar. Definitely one of the coolest venues in the city, and I am covering a full 3 hours (there will be a set break, of course) which is always a fun challenge for me.



I'll end this string of shows on Tuesday, January 31st at the Peabody Opera House watching Ryan Adams and Jason Isbell. Gonna go out on top!

Hope you have been seeing some great music or dance or art...Let me know in the comments below what you have been up to lately. I'd love to know...Eric

Purity's End...

I have become lazy. Seems as though my only poetic thoughts happen in under 140 characters, like I have given in to the ADD that society has forced upon us through 30 second commercials that have us clambering for $5 food we know will kill us one day. Still we hop in cars to drive the same block we would have walked 25 years ago. Make no mistake, growing old sucks, and while I have done my best to embrace the change and continue to chase my youth, I know it is slowly dying too.

There has been so much going on in my world lately that I felt I needed to reconnect with youth, so I started this piece a month or so ago, and I forced it finished today. It is pretty typical Eric poetry, rule driven, fissure surfing. Ultimately I am playing with numbers and words. Seven is my favorite number, so there are seven stanzas. My other favorites make up seven, three and four. I begin with three stanzas of three lines with three words in each, and then transition to four stanzas of 4 lines with 4 words each. At the end, I hope I have something that means something. You can be the judge of that.


Purity’s End

Meet midnight nightly
Surrounded by strangers
Wearing intoxicated smiles

Weathered eyes, tired
Silver and dirt
Replacing youthful sunshine

Boy buried beneath
Callused voice responses
Signifying purity’s end

Paradise lost long before
Drawing purple cloud skies
Exchanged for green grass
Brown tree trunk reality

Thirsty pupils pointed left
Trying desperately to recall
Agendaless days of summer
Play, life’s ultimate apex

Fearless moments of flight
Falling freely from roofs
Too tall for survival
Tennis-shoed feet escape

Glint of excitement returns
Lips curl upward, slightly
Remembering first kiss power
Restoration of innocence lost

#MicroPoetry Recap - The last of 2011 (Nov-Dec)

Ah January 1...the previous year sits in the rear view while we move towards hope and actualized potential.

For me, it also means it is time to consolidate all of my Micro Poetry posts from the last 2 months. As a reminder I am a writer, and sometimes I just want to play with words, to create fantasy...so just enjoy the images, don't try to figure out if these moments actually happened. You will never know :-)

I lay
In white noise silence
Staring into a circulating ceiling
Creating conversations with the dead

I watched your lips
Their fullness
Make marvelous shapes during conversation
I silenced them
With my lips

Tender eyes witnessed
Great grey bow cut purple ocean
Forming iridescent angel wings
Beauty through fog of conflict

The dark days are upon us
Light
Wasted on a world forbidden to play
Evenings
Spent in deep solitude
Hibernation

I heard you howl beneath shadowed moon until morning light broke
You thrashed about raising skin with excitation and fear

My bed felt empty
Legs mourning the absence of the tangle
Hands missing the softness of your sea salt skin

I cannot focus
My mind tirelessly weaving a chronological tapestry
Taking me from first breath to you

Pale skin glows beneath purple hue
Clean line from hip to chest interrupted by hand
Body wilts from temperature of touch

I witnessed
Grapefruit sun rising between brown earth and quilted sky
I paused
To take pictures with my mind

I woke-up in dream
Sensation of your touch
So real
My hand searched mattress and covers
Looking for your body

Days between when I kissed your lips
And when I clutch this pillow trying to recall your scent
Have grown too many

Profound white-noise of pre-dawn holiday
The world
Still and silent
Except for the incessant hum of the machine

My fingers
Trace your curves
Effortlessly moving between attractions
Like a skater planning a competition run

Scent of sex
Still lingers on sheets and pillows

I
Lay in thickened thought
Longing to feel your touch
Again

Snapped the comforter
Watching it fall into place
Forcing the release of hidden air
Caught your scent
Inhaled a smile

I
In silent reflection
You
In vocal rejection
Dance with personal demons
Lean on each other to stand

Even in the darkest of mornings
My mind
Rich with thoughts of you
Provides light

You
Tore me from sheets
Where she
Still naked and wanting
Lay
My resentment has never been so strong

You entered through a window
Painted shut
Seal unbroken for years
But here you are
The breeze feels magnificent

I watched you falling
Floating through dark pre-dawn sky
Dissolved before I felt your presence

Buried beneath blankets
Head moving between pillow and breasts
As we danced in short-breath silence

Sleep
Once peaceful
Replaced by nightmares
No words
Just footsteps and clawing
My mind
Uncontrollable

Sandwiched between semi's
Cold rain and mist wiped from windshield
While dividing lines disappear into street shimmer

And I lie here
Alone
Naked and Shivering
Longing for warmth
For Summer's sunshine kiss
For your touch

And I
Having taken my last conscious breath
Met you with closed eyes
Where we lay beneath lilac and walked in clouds

I have fallen from favor
Purity Wings
Once outstretched
Now bound to back
White feathers gray
Tarnished from soot

Children
Sleep restless
Dreaming of elves and Jesus
While parents
Drink wine and tape folds
Trying to bring the joy they once knew

I remember when I lost my poet
Hiding in deep confusion's dark forest
Shouting words into silence
I refused to listen

Lungs
Filled with crisp 4 am air
Push body forward
Brain
Filled with sullenly etched images
Lives in rewind

I awoke to the image me and you
Dancing
Palm to palm
Chest to chest
Eye to eye
We moved with absolution

The world waits
For corks to pop and balls to drop
Ten seconds of unbridled hope
Newness greeted with a kiss