I have never been a huge fan of explaining my poetry. It's as if I have given a nicely wrapped present and blurted out the secret of its content before the final piece of tape is pulled. But this one isn't really shrouded in mystery, so I will just say this, it is an amazing time to be living in St. Louis.
I Love You when You Sleep
Black Borsalinos and trench coats
Shuffle down sparsely populated sidewalks
Youthful eyes of old ladies carrying yoga mats
Agendas trickle down open highways
Previously filled with turn signals and brake lights
For some
The final stop
For others
The first of many
All motivated to get there
To be there
To move while the rest sleep
They lay
Behind locked doors
Beneath ceiling fans
Wrapped in wool and covered by down
Dreaming of red birds and sheep
Twitching to I, IV, V heartbeat
Those high on the hill
Wave their green, white, red
Paying homage to heritage and sister city
Southerners scar themselves in remembrance
Wide open West
Now cluttered with track housing and strip malls
Bridges built to bring together
Create barriers
Lines of demarcation
Fabricated fear surrounds the North
Where children play with innocent smiles
Unknowing
But now
Now they sleep
Peaceful
And the beauty of this moment is captured by those that see sunrise
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Reveille
I am kind of odd in that I am both a morning and a night person. It is mid-day and early evening that suck for me. I have definitely always had a special relationship with the morning, and that relationship is brought to its pinnacle when there is someone else to share it with.
I had just intended to create a #MicroPoetry this morning, but there were too many pieces to the image I was painting.
Reveille
Woke-up
Chest to back
My arm
Beneath breasts
Clutching ribs
Your hands
Beneath pillows in prayer pose
Angelic
Our lower trunks
Flesh to flesh
Both transuding and thickening
Our legs
Tangled root system
Soft silken skin
Woven through weathered limbs
Your feet
Cold
Burrowed between mine and sheets
Your hair
Shrouding sleeping smile
My white fringes
Pop against purple pillow
My lips find your lobe
To whisper your reveille
I had just intended to create a #MicroPoetry this morning, but there were too many pieces to the image I was painting.
Reveille
Woke-up
Chest to back
My arm
Beneath breasts
Clutching ribs
Your hands
Beneath pillows in prayer pose
Angelic
Our lower trunks
Flesh to flesh
Both transuding and thickening
Our legs
Tangled root system
Soft silken skin
Woven through weathered limbs
Your feet
Cold
Burrowed between mine and sheets
Your hair
Shrouding sleeping smile
My white fringes
Pop against purple pillow
My lips find your lobe
To whisper your reveille
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Connecting the Dots - Explaining the Poet Process
Lips lost in shadows
Nape of neck
Beneath pale yellow glow of Gibbous Moon
Exposed
Wanting
Tongue sears flesh
Those that follow my Twitter or my Facebook posts may have seen that already, and all of you will see it again when I do my next Quarterly #MicroPoetry recap, but I wanted to use it to play connect the dots.
A week or so ago one of my friends who has been very complimentary of my #MicroPoetry posts asked me where I get them from…where the words come from. It is a question that I am frequently asked. As per usual, I responded with something along the lines of, “The words are always in my head. I am just glad to have an outlet for them.” That is a true statement; however, it is a cop out. There is more to it than that. There is a process. Sometimes the process is as close to Chaos Theory as one who does not understand Chaos Theory and can only reference it because he saw Jurassic Park can come. Other times, this time, there are dots that can be connected.
My mornings begin at 4:00, actually 3:57. I am kind of freakish about numbers. I like 7s, 4s, and 3s. In my head, if I set my alarm for 3:57, I will be more likely to wake up than if I set it for 4:00 on the dot (No. I do not really believe this theory; however, I still apply its principles). I get up early so I can make it to the gym by 4:30. This is a two snooze process. The first 9 minutes are used to fight pains, keep my eyes closed, and take deep morning breaths. The second 9 minutes are used to check texts from overnight, Twitter, Facebook, and E-mail. God forbid something important waits more than the 5 hours I slept to get a reply. It is during this time that I start to gain cognizance, and my mind herds all the images and words from my paradoxical sleep into cohesive, logical, thought. When I wrote that poem, my mind could not stop saying new moon, so I went with it. Over the next hour, while my body was enduring a series of sweaty and pain inducing exercises, my mind wrote, but it did not put words on paper, it spoke the words. It switched out words, restructure lines, and tweaked them until there was a flow. By the time I left the gym, I knew, just about, what I wanted to post, but I was not done.
While I am a believer in “first thought, best thought” (a famed Ginsberg quote), I am also a fan of “Check yourself before you wreck yourself” (courtesy of Ice Cube). – At times I can get so wrapped up in the rhythm, the meter, the flow, that the words will not make sense (see rant about Chaos Theory above...I liked the flow and the comedic bend; however, when read closely, it doesn't really mean what I had intended to say, but I left it in there to prove this point...yes I am jerk for making you go back to re-read that). During college I was a member of the Griffin Literary Society. We were sharing work one day and Ryan Buller called me to task on it, on the fact that while a piece I had written had incredible flow, it wasn't accurate. One of the few critiques that has stuck with me. – The reality is I didn’t exactly know what a New Moon was. I knew it was part of the lunar phase, but not which part. Thanks to Google and Wiki, I learned a New Moon ain’t illuminating shit. Google also reminded me that it was part of the Twilight trilogy, something I wanted to avoid. I like entendre as much as the next self-absorbed writer, but if the allusion is to a teen-centric pop-culture phenomenon, thanks, but I will pass. By this time I was fixated on the nape of the neck, about how it looks with soft light of midnight moon breaking blinds to illuminate it, as hair and face, shoulder and arm, disappeared into the dark corners. I needed a different moon to accurately create that image. I could use Full Moon, but, much like Twilight, I did not want to make any blatant Werewolf references, so I opted for gibbous. With the brush and colors determined, I set off to paint my picture. The majority of my morning poetry posts come out of this process.
But why moon; why nape?
Well, this is where I speculate, where I try to uncover the secrets of the subconscious mind. As you probably know, I drive a convertible, and I LOVE driving top-down. I worked late last night. My trek home was a peaceful journey lit by headlights and moon glow. Another contributing factor could be my drives to the gym. The world is amazing in the 4 o’clock hour: still, silent, dimly lit by Closed signs and moon light. Those moments of calm have a tendency to ingrain themselves in my memories; they create multiple traces, causing quick recall. As a result, they often find their way into my writing.
Originally I thought "nape of neck" was just my love of literary consonance, and that definitely played a part, but then I remembered this picture my friend Jessica Hayley recently posted. Jessica is in the band Bye Bye Blackbird and is an amazing singer; she also acts and often has the best damn profile pictures on Facebook, not just because she is pretty, but because they are artsy. They have good composition and are emotive. Here is the shot:
The image made an immediate impression on me. The darkness of her hair and black shirt juxtaposed against her lightly sunkissed skin and the textured white backdrop. It was as if a painter was using chiaroscuro to provide dimension, to direct our focal point, and my eyes went to the triangle, the shadow of hair on neck, the tender skin between neck and collar bone. It was mesmerizing. It wasn’t until today, when I revisited the photo, that I realized her shirt was low enough to misguide eyes, driving them to another triangle, the dark shadow separating lust from love. This is also where poetic license comes into play. The photo did not feature Jessica's nape, but "side of neck" just doesn't have the same ring to it. But why now? Why some fifteen days since I originally saw the photo did it find its way back to my psyche?
This:
That image was being tossed around on Facebook yesterday. One of my friends posted it, and I shared it. I saw several of my friends share it, and I got a TON of likes on it. The statement obviously resonated with many people, and it really touched on a core belief of mine. Media and industry have done an amazing job of misrepresenting what is beautiful, like their sole purpose is to create unobtainable ideals that are only attractive to the fringes. Women (and men) are slicing themselves open at an alarming rate, stuffing plastic pillows in chests and asses because to a weak mind that is going to make them prettier, going to give them confidence, but their definition of pretty is so incredibly skewed by an industry that has it wrong, that never asked the consumer. I am sure there are several plastic-bros that will disagree with me, but the nape, the tender flesh hidden by hair, is so much more alluring than a set of inflatable double Ds which are completely demystified by an in-your-face culture that has been putting tits on display to sell products since there was an open market, but the nape…oh the nape is sexy, sultry, and it deserved it’s time in the moon light.
For the record, we are far less concerned with the size of your breast or your weight than whether or not you are fun to be around. Sure we have preferences, but I have yet to meet a breast I wouldn't play with.
Nape of neck
Beneath pale yellow glow of Gibbous Moon
Exposed
Wanting
Tongue sears flesh
Those that follow my Twitter or my Facebook posts may have seen that already, and all of you will see it again when I do my next Quarterly #MicroPoetry recap, but I wanted to use it to play connect the dots.
A week or so ago one of my friends who has been very complimentary of my #MicroPoetry posts asked me where I get them from…where the words come from. It is a question that I am frequently asked. As per usual, I responded with something along the lines of, “The words are always in my head. I am just glad to have an outlet for them.” That is a true statement; however, it is a cop out. There is more to it than that. There is a process. Sometimes the process is as close to Chaos Theory as one who does not understand Chaos Theory and can only reference it because he saw Jurassic Park can come. Other times, this time, there are dots that can be connected.
My mornings begin at 4:00, actually 3:57. I am kind of freakish about numbers. I like 7s, 4s, and 3s. In my head, if I set my alarm for 3:57, I will be more likely to wake up than if I set it for 4:00 on the dot (No. I do not really believe this theory; however, I still apply its principles). I get up early so I can make it to the gym by 4:30. This is a two snooze process. The first 9 minutes are used to fight pains, keep my eyes closed, and take deep morning breaths. The second 9 minutes are used to check texts from overnight, Twitter, Facebook, and E-mail. God forbid something important waits more than the 5 hours I slept to get a reply. It is during this time that I start to gain cognizance, and my mind herds all the images and words from my paradoxical sleep into cohesive, logical, thought. When I wrote that poem, my mind could not stop saying new moon, so I went with it. Over the next hour, while my body was enduring a series of sweaty and pain inducing exercises, my mind wrote, but it did not put words on paper, it spoke the words. It switched out words, restructure lines, and tweaked them until there was a flow. By the time I left the gym, I knew, just about, what I wanted to post, but I was not done.
While I am a believer in “first thought, best thought” (a famed Ginsberg quote), I am also a fan of “Check yourself before you wreck yourself” (courtesy of Ice Cube). – At times I can get so wrapped up in the rhythm, the meter, the flow, that the words will not make sense (see rant about Chaos Theory above...I liked the flow and the comedic bend; however, when read closely, it doesn't really mean what I had intended to say, but I left it in there to prove this point...yes I am jerk for making you go back to re-read that). During college I was a member of the Griffin Literary Society. We were sharing work one day and Ryan Buller called me to task on it, on the fact that while a piece I had written had incredible flow, it wasn't accurate. One of the few critiques that has stuck with me. – The reality is I didn’t exactly know what a New Moon was. I knew it was part of the lunar phase, but not which part. Thanks to Google and Wiki, I learned a New Moon ain’t illuminating shit. Google also reminded me that it was part of the Twilight trilogy, something I wanted to avoid. I like entendre as much as the next self-absorbed writer, but if the allusion is to a teen-centric pop-culture phenomenon, thanks, but I will pass. By this time I was fixated on the nape of the neck, about how it looks with soft light of midnight moon breaking blinds to illuminate it, as hair and face, shoulder and arm, disappeared into the dark corners. I needed a different moon to accurately create that image. I could use Full Moon, but, much like Twilight, I did not want to make any blatant Werewolf references, so I opted for gibbous. With the brush and colors determined, I set off to paint my picture. The majority of my morning poetry posts come out of this process.
But why moon; why nape?
Well, this is where I speculate, where I try to uncover the secrets of the subconscious mind. As you probably know, I drive a convertible, and I LOVE driving top-down. I worked late last night. My trek home was a peaceful journey lit by headlights and moon glow. Another contributing factor could be my drives to the gym. The world is amazing in the 4 o’clock hour: still, silent, dimly lit by Closed signs and moon light. Those moments of calm have a tendency to ingrain themselves in my memories; they create multiple traces, causing quick recall. As a result, they often find their way into my writing.
Originally I thought "nape of neck" was just my love of literary consonance, and that definitely played a part, but then I remembered this picture my friend Jessica Hayley recently posted. Jessica is in the band Bye Bye Blackbird and is an amazing singer; she also acts and often has the best damn profile pictures on Facebook, not just because she is pretty, but because they are artsy. They have good composition and are emotive. Here is the shot:
The image made an immediate impression on me. The darkness of her hair and black shirt juxtaposed against her lightly sunkissed skin and the textured white backdrop. It was as if a painter was using chiaroscuro to provide dimension, to direct our focal point, and my eyes went to the triangle, the shadow of hair on neck, the tender skin between neck and collar bone. It was mesmerizing. It wasn’t until today, when I revisited the photo, that I realized her shirt was low enough to misguide eyes, driving them to another triangle, the dark shadow separating lust from love. This is also where poetic license comes into play. The photo did not feature Jessica's nape, but "side of neck" just doesn't have the same ring to it. But why now? Why some fifteen days since I originally saw the photo did it find its way back to my psyche?
This:
That image was being tossed around on Facebook yesterday. One of my friends posted it, and I shared it. I saw several of my friends share it, and I got a TON of likes on it. The statement obviously resonated with many people, and it really touched on a core belief of mine. Media and industry have done an amazing job of misrepresenting what is beautiful, like their sole purpose is to create unobtainable ideals that are only attractive to the fringes. Women (and men) are slicing themselves open at an alarming rate, stuffing plastic pillows in chests and asses because to a weak mind that is going to make them prettier, going to give them confidence, but their definition of pretty is so incredibly skewed by an industry that has it wrong, that never asked the consumer. I am sure there are several plastic-bros that will disagree with me, but the nape, the tender flesh hidden by hair, is so much more alluring than a set of inflatable double Ds which are completely demystified by an in-your-face culture that has been putting tits on display to sell products since there was an open market, but the nape…oh the nape is sexy, sultry, and it deserved it’s time in the moon light.
For the record, we are far less concerned with the size of your breast or your weight than whether or not you are fun to be around. Sure we have preferences, but I have yet to meet a breast I wouldn't play with.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Music is Life
Seems like forever since I have done a blog, not a rehashing of poetry or a written advertisement for an upcoming show, but actually let you know where my head has been. As the title would indicate, for me, music is life. I say that knowing that in reality work occupies over 70 percent of my time these days, but this blog is not about that. This blog is the fantasy where I convince you all I am super cool and artsy and totally ignore the fact that I am every much the rat in the cage that you are, paying my time to the florescent light waterboarding just like you do, have the same daily debate…to go in or not to go in, that is the question. Sadly, mine always ends in to go in. I am not sure I have ever actually taken a sick day. At any rate, this is not about that. This is about music because music is life.
So my recent string of shows kicked off in August with a pretty fantastic roadtrip to NOLA (New Orleans, LA for the non-hip *smiles*) to see Death Cab For Cutie. There are a few things what would make an adventure such as this Amazing. The obvious two are NOLA, which I am absolutely in love with, and Death Cab. I mean my last band, So Much Closer, took its name from a Death Cab song. For those that never knew that, here is a video of Transatlanticism where the name came from.
The other reason would be my roadtrip companions. As you would expect, Stephanie was there, but we were joined by Julie and Kelly. I am not quite sure how I ended up on a roadtrip with 3 girls or why none of their significant others seemed to mind. I guess I am “that” guy. I can hear the discussions at home, “But it’s just Eric.” “Oh, well then in that case you have my blessing.” In the end, I’d rather be “that” guy than the guy that you don’t trust your girl around because he is super smarmy, and you never know when he is gonna cross the line.
Five days after the roadtrip, So Much Closer was playing its last show at Old Rock House. It was bitter sweet for sure. I loved So Much Closer, loved the originality of our sound, our diversity, and had a blast gigging with the guys, but sometimes things just have to end.
The next morning I was on a plane to California to see Amos Lee. In truth I was going to see my mom, but Amos and the desire to avoid holiday travel were the catalysts. I had decided early on that I was not going to travel over the holidays this year. Without a doubt it is the worst time to go anywhere, the airports are insane, everyone is on edge, weather is always a factor, and you miss out on two of the most chill weeks at work. Unless you work at the Post Office, UPS, FedEx, or some other delivery service, no one does shit around the holidays. But what do we do? We sacrifice a couple weeks of catch-up and decompression to fight crowds, screaming babies, lost grandparents, longing lovers, and home-bound college kids all trying to get to the tree together, to unwrap shiny new things together. Well not me, not this year. I am going to breathe deep and think fondly of the time I got to spend with my family, while nuking a microwave meal (that is a lie, one of my amazing friends will have me over for dinner).
My love of music definitely comes from my mom, and while our tastes are not exactly alike, we both share an affinity for soulful artists, and there are few that are doing it better than Amos Lee. When I was putting together my mom’s iPod, Amos was the first artist I added. She has been a fan ever since. To be able to take her to a show at Humphrey’s, to get the amazing suite, dinner, and concert package, felt great. After all she did for me growing up, her continued sacrifice to raise two kids by herself, to play mother and father and warden when necessary, to deal with the bullshit of two bad kids (and trust me Twyla and I were not saints), I love that I am in a place now where I can do for her.
In a weird turn of events, Mom ended up coming back to Missouri with me, and since it was LouFest weekend, well she got to live the rockstar life; we’ll call it Rockstar Life Light. I was definitely conscious of not staying out too late, no after parties, etc., but we stayed on the move and had a great time at LouFest. My favorite moments of the festival were QuestLove’s set and Ume’s set.
Since Mom has been back in Cali, I have lost track of the shows I have gone to. I know there was Larkin Poe at the Old Rock House, AUCW at the Firebird, The Features and Robert Cray at Old Rock House, and Controlled Fires at the Luna Lounge, but I think there were more. Let’s just say I have been staying busy, and I have no complaints about that.
Since I haven’t been doing much writing outside of my #MicroPoetry, I wanted to give you a little gem I came across while cleaning out my iTunes. Here is me covering “Home” by Michael Buble. I totally forgot I recorded this. Enjoy!
Home by Buble covered by Eric Ketzer by SoMuchCloser
So my recent string of shows kicked off in August with a pretty fantastic roadtrip to NOLA (New Orleans, LA for the non-hip *smiles*) to see Death Cab For Cutie. There are a few things what would make an adventure such as this Amazing. The obvious two are NOLA, which I am absolutely in love with, and Death Cab. I mean my last band, So Much Closer, took its name from a Death Cab song. For those that never knew that, here is a video of Transatlanticism where the name came from.
The other reason would be my roadtrip companions. As you would expect, Stephanie was there, but we were joined by Julie and Kelly. I am not quite sure how I ended up on a roadtrip with 3 girls or why none of their significant others seemed to mind. I guess I am “that” guy. I can hear the discussions at home, “But it’s just Eric.” “Oh, well then in that case you have my blessing.” In the end, I’d rather be “that” guy than the guy that you don’t trust your girl around because he is super smarmy, and you never know when he is gonna cross the line.
Five days after the roadtrip, So Much Closer was playing its last show at Old Rock House. It was bitter sweet for sure. I loved So Much Closer, loved the originality of our sound, our diversity, and had a blast gigging with the guys, but sometimes things just have to end.
The next morning I was on a plane to California to see Amos Lee. In truth I was going to see my mom, but Amos and the desire to avoid holiday travel were the catalysts. I had decided early on that I was not going to travel over the holidays this year. Without a doubt it is the worst time to go anywhere, the airports are insane, everyone is on edge, weather is always a factor, and you miss out on two of the most chill weeks at work. Unless you work at the Post Office, UPS, FedEx, or some other delivery service, no one does shit around the holidays. But what do we do? We sacrifice a couple weeks of catch-up and decompression to fight crowds, screaming babies, lost grandparents, longing lovers, and home-bound college kids all trying to get to the tree together, to unwrap shiny new things together. Well not me, not this year. I am going to breathe deep and think fondly of the time I got to spend with my family, while nuking a microwave meal (that is a lie, one of my amazing friends will have me over for dinner).
My love of music definitely comes from my mom, and while our tastes are not exactly alike, we both share an affinity for soulful artists, and there are few that are doing it better than Amos Lee. When I was putting together my mom’s iPod, Amos was the first artist I added. She has been a fan ever since. To be able to take her to a show at Humphrey’s, to get the amazing suite, dinner, and concert package, felt great. After all she did for me growing up, her continued sacrifice to raise two kids by herself, to play mother and father and warden when necessary, to deal with the bullshit of two bad kids (and trust me Twyla and I were not saints), I love that I am in a place now where I can do for her.
In a weird turn of events, Mom ended up coming back to Missouri with me, and since it was LouFest weekend, well she got to live the rockstar life; we’ll call it Rockstar Life Light. I was definitely conscious of not staying out too late, no after parties, etc., but we stayed on the move and had a great time at LouFest. My favorite moments of the festival were QuestLove’s set and Ume’s set.
Since Mom has been back in Cali, I have lost track of the shows I have gone to. I know there was Larkin Poe at the Old Rock House, AUCW at the Firebird, The Features and Robert Cray at Old Rock House, and Controlled Fires at the Luna Lounge, but I think there were more. Let’s just say I have been staying busy, and I have no complaints about that.
Since I haven’t been doing much writing outside of my #MicroPoetry, I wanted to give you a little gem I came across while cleaning out my iTunes. Here is me covering “Home” by Michael Buble. I totally forgot I recorded this. Enjoy!
Home by Buble covered by Eric Ketzer by SoMuchCloser
Sunday, September 4, 2011
#MicroPoetry Overload // June - August 2011
What is micro poetry you ask?
Well it is poetry for the ADD generation, poetry for the Social Media sluts offering up there minds, souls, and hearts to anyone that will read their 140 characters, or less. It is something I was introduced to by my good friend and fellow writer, Caroline Slee. Cara and I met in high-school, but our pens were lovers before we were born. Despite living states away for the majority of our relationship, we seem to always be able to find comfort in each others writings. I saw her making #micropoetry posts on Twitter back in May, and by the end of June I was all in. For me, it provides an opportunity to give life to the words inside my head, words that do not have time to materialize into a full-blown poem but may have enough poetic merit to justify a quick tweet.
Recently another high-school friend and writer (I know cool people, what can I say), Karen Greene, encouraged me to capture my #micropoetry posts, which I had not been doing. The more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right.
This is a culmination of all of my #micropoetry tweets from June through August. I have stripped them of their Twitter formatting, so they feel more like Tiny Poetry. Hope you enjoy!
And you
With permanent eyes
Gaze at me
Like you found something familiar
I do not trust this sky
Opaque clouds blacken horizon where you should live
You have forsaken us
And I
Live in the space between stillness and chaos
And you
Stare at me from the fringes
Sunshine warms cement
Clouds splinter the sky
Children pray for explosions
With exhausted eyes
I navigate the morning by feel
Like a blind man absent cane
Thickening self
Still wearing a ring of your lipstick
Greets the morning before eyes can say hello
Your kiss
While welcome in winter
Saddens in summer
Burns limbs
Blinds eyes
Brings beads that fall from foreheads
Open eyes to empty space
The sacred place where your head should be
Left untouched
For you
My summer hand
Caressing your sun starved skin
Beneath blue hue bedroom light
Your body
Parallel to ground
Moves with abandon
Contracts
Pulls emotions inward
Releases
Effortless
Palms
Nervous
Fingers
Tangled
Footsteps try to find shared rhythm
Arms sway in new love unison
Foreign flavors
Touch tongue
Send shimmers
Evoke emotions
Produce pleasure
Pinned to mattress
Immobile
Eyelids cemented shut
Ears deaf to inane buzzing
Mind in deep reflection
Exhausted
And I
Awake
Moon high
Shades drawn
Streets empty
Embrace morning
Like a friend I am happy to see
And you whose eyes have seen the same seas
Held me when I collapsed
Became family
Close eyes with you on my mind
Your journey
Peak to valley to summit
Your strength
Your love
Inspires
I close my eyes in reflection
As the city beneath the sea stitches another memory on my heart
Forever binding us
You who have seen my zenith and my nadir
Understand my orbit
Predict my course like plotting ancient charts
Waking
Sounds of Earth's energy and her magnificent light show
Calms
Makes me want to lie here for days
Painted sky
Smoke dissipates into desert canvas
Gentle burn of morning joe
AC units prepare for rise of Day's eye
Silence
Interrupted by shuffling feet on morning tiles
Returns
When lights dim and bedrooms are full
I will miss bustling mornings with no agenda
Returning, instead, to the silent rush of a schedule dictated by tasks
And I look for your face
The face that haunts me
In the Red Face Sea
You a ghost
I am happy
When daydreams of stage lights and audiences partaking in the communion of music
Hush white noise and routine
Well it is poetry for the ADD generation, poetry for the Social Media sluts offering up there minds, souls, and hearts to anyone that will read their 140 characters, or less. It is something I was introduced to by my good friend and fellow writer, Caroline Slee. Cara and I met in high-school, but our pens were lovers before we were born. Despite living states away for the majority of our relationship, we seem to always be able to find comfort in each others writings. I saw her making #micropoetry posts on Twitter back in May, and by the end of June I was all in. For me, it provides an opportunity to give life to the words inside my head, words that do not have time to materialize into a full-blown poem but may have enough poetic merit to justify a quick tweet.
Recently another high-school friend and writer (I know cool people, what can I say), Karen Greene, encouraged me to capture my #micropoetry posts, which I had not been doing. The more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right.
This is a culmination of all of my #micropoetry tweets from June through August. I have stripped them of their Twitter formatting, so they feel more like Tiny Poetry. Hope you enjoy!
And you
With permanent eyes
Gaze at me
Like you found something familiar
And I
Tired eyes
Watch your chest rise and fall
Pray we'll share this sunrise
Tired eyes
Watch your chest rise and fall
Pray we'll share this sunrise
I do not trust this sky
Opaque clouds blacken horizon where you should live
You have forsaken us
My fingers
Tangled in tangles
Your fingers
Attached to back
Our lips lust locked
Tangled in tangles
Your fingers
Attached to back
Our lips lust locked
And I
Live in the space between stillness and chaos
And you
Stare at me from the fringes
World before windshield
Flush with curves and empty lanes
Darkness in rear view
Flush with curves and empty lanes
Darkness in rear view
Sunshine warms cement
Clouds splinter the sky
Children pray for explosions
And I
Woke with the manufactured image
Of me inside you
And your face
As I moved deeper
Woke with the manufactured image
Of me inside you
And your face
As I moved deeper
With exhausted eyes
I navigate the morning by feel
Like a blind man absent cane
You
Full of intent
Look at me with daisy eyes
And I return the smile
Full of intent
Look at me with daisy eyes
And I return the smile
Thickening self
Still wearing a ring of your lipstick
Greets the morning before eyes can say hello
As rotations of sun
Quick and uncontrollable
Create blurred horizons
I lean on friends
Find myself in their eyes
Quick and uncontrollable
Create blurred horizons
I lean on friends
Find myself in their eyes
Your kiss
While welcome in winter
Saddens in summer
Burns limbs
Blinds eyes
Brings beads that fall from foreheads
Your words
Ride fissures
Hang on neurons
Float between synaps3
Land on receptors that make me feel
Ride fissures
Hang on neurons
Float between synaps3
Land on receptors that make me feel
Open eyes to empty space
The sacred place where your head should be
Left untouched
For you
In completion of another rotation around the sun
A full Cancer moon smiles down on me
And I am content
A full Cancer moon smiles down on me
And I am content
My summer hand
Caressing your sun starved skin
Beneath blue hue bedroom light
Buried beneath Blankets
Eyes find peephole
Investigation produces reassurance
Morning is here
Eyes find peephole
Investigation produces reassurance
Morning is here
Your body
Parallel to ground
Moves with abandon
Contracts
Pulls emotions inward
Releases
Effortless
Sun
An arm's length away
Shrinks pupils
Cooks skin
Controls days
Oppresses
An arm's length away
Shrinks pupils
Cooks skin
Controls days
Oppresses
Palms
Nervous
Fingers
Tangled
Footsteps try to find shared rhythm
Arms sway in new love unison
Your fight befuddles me
Cries of proletariat fall on deaf ears
As you hold tight ill-conceived convictions
Cries of proletariat fall on deaf ears
As you hold tight ill-conceived convictions
Foreign flavors
Touch tongue
Send shimmers
Evoke emotions
Produce pleasure
I dream of Silence
Like I heard that time in Alaska
One thousand yards of separation
Snow swallowing sound
Silence
Like I heard that time in Alaska
One thousand yards of separation
Snow swallowing sound
Silence
Pinned to mattress
Immobile
Eyelids cemented shut
Ears deaf to inane buzzing
Mind in deep reflection
Exhausted
You
With intoxicating eyes and dazzling smile
Me
With fluttering senses and short breath
Dance in silence
With intoxicating eyes and dazzling smile
Me
With fluttering senses and short breath
Dance in silence
And I
Awake
Moon high
Shades drawn
Streets empty
Embrace morning
Like a friend I am happy to see
And you who taught me to taste
Bring warm smiles with your antics and laughter
Make me grateful to know you
Bring warm smiles with your antics and laughter
Make me grateful to know you
And you whose eyes have seen the same seas
Held me when I collapsed
Became family
And you who road my rollercoaster with me
Screams pulled from lungs to mouth
Now teach me to live calm
Screams pulled from lungs to mouth
Now teach me to live calm
Close eyes with you on my mind
Your journey
Peak to valley to summit
Your strength
Your love
Inspires
Speechless moment
Three deep in recovery dreams
I trapped between solid yellow and broken white
Thought of you
Three deep in recovery dreams
I trapped between solid yellow and broken white
Thought of you
I close my eyes in reflection
As the city beneath the sea stitches another memory on my heart
Forever binding us
I
Try to silence the head words
They
Only quiet when eyes close
Wake restless and loud
Try to silence the head words
They
Only quiet when eyes close
Wake restless and loud
You who have seen my zenith and my nadir
Understand my orbit
Predict my course like plotting ancient charts
And you
Who can make me laugh in silence
Understand
The key to Forever is found in my smile
Who can make me laugh in silence
Understand
The key to Forever is found in my smile
Waking
Sounds of Earth's energy and her magnificent light show
Calms
Makes me want to lie here for days
And I question it all
37
Functioning like I am 21 with more money
Working more than living
Living instead of sleeping
Empty
37
Functioning like I am 21 with more money
Working more than living
Living instead of sleeping
Empty
Painted sky
Smoke dissipates into desert canvas
Gentle burn of morning joe
AC units prepare for rise of Day's eye
Returning to the womb
I am reminded of the me apart from we
The streets haunted and words written
The birth of man
I am reminded of the me apart from we
The streets haunted and words written
The birth of man
Silence
Interrupted by shuffling feet on morning tiles
Returns
When lights dim and bedrooms are full
You stalk me when eyes close
A face I cannot escape
A name I cannot place
You stare at me like I should know
A face I cannot escape
A name I cannot place
You stare at me like I should know
I will miss bustling mornings with no agenda
Returning, instead, to the silent rush of a schedule dictated by tasks
With head on pillow I contemplate chess
Aggressive offense absent forethought reveals weakness
I attempt to evade Mate
Aggressive offense absent forethought reveals weakness
I attempt to evade Mate
And I look for your face
The face that haunts me
In the Red Face Sea
You a ghost
Sunburned masses
Migrate from Blue to Orange
While early risers occupying middle ground flip chairs in unison
Migrate from Blue to Orange
While early risers occupying middle ground flip chairs in unison
I am happy
When daydreams of stage lights and audiences partaking in the communion of music
Hush white noise and routine
You with ancient finger and sad limbs
Tap my window
Let me know the barren season is near
Days of summer fade
Tap my window
Let me know the barren season is near
Days of summer fade
Alright, now that you have read them, I do want to clarify one thing about me as a writer. The ubiquitous "You" is rarely an actual person, rather an ideal, a construct. However, there are definitely poems in this batch that are directed to a person. I did a series for my friends, so they would know how much they meant to me, but for the most part they aren't about anyone in particular. So as much as your inquiring mind would like to read into the salacious matters of my life, just know you are probably wrong.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Yes It Is True...
I kind of dropped a bomb Friday night at the gig. It is true, that was our second to last show. So Much Closer's final gig will be August 19th at the Old Rock House. After the discussion there was a bit of a flurry on Twitter.
I did provide one answer:
However, I know you deserve more. I am sure many of you are hoping for some juicy details, stories of debauchery and drug use. Maybe Logan slept with Enright’s girlfriend, or while Swan was doing jail time he picked up a nasty Meth habit, but, sadly, none of that happened, not even some AA time for Logan and his Ice House addiction. The reality is we are just moving in different directions. Swan approached the band back in May and asked us not to book any additional shows. As you may or may not know, he joined Union Tree Review as a “fulltime” member about a year ago, I guess. Over the past year scheduling conflicts have caused us to cancel a tour, miss practices, and decline gigs, so we kind of saw the writing on the wall. He also wants to start doing some writing, and he should. He is a great musician and has an amazing voice. There is no reason he shouldn’t be fronting his own band. So with 3 potential projects, something had to give, and it was So Much Closer. At that time, I asked the Enright and Logan if we wanted to push on as a 3 piece, try to find a replacement, or call it (I was hoping for push on as a three piece…in my mind the less schedules I had to deal with the better, and I have always loved the space and freedom a 3 piece affords). Ultimately Enright pulled the plug. What I write has never been Enright’s thing. While we share some middle ground with Tom Waits and Smashing Pumpkins, most of the bands I love he doesn’t care about, and most of the bands he is into I have never heard of, so he, rightfully so, is going to look for a project that is more aligned with his interests. We used to joke about who would break-up the band first, and my money was always on Enright. I mean I wouldn’t want to play music I just kind of liked, as opposed to loved. In the end, there are no hard feelings, lots of shared love for each other, just time to move on.
The worst part about this break-up is we are just hitting our stride; we have settled in and finally found our distinct voice. I cannot count how many people told us our set on Friday was the best they had ever heard us play. Really it is like any relationship. We are just getting to the good sex. Sure new sex is hot, all lust filled and passionate, but at times it is sloppy. You’re breaking lamps and falling off of beds, hitting the wrong buttons at the wrong time and trying to recover; you spend too much time fucking on floors and tables to really enjoy it, but after a year or so, you settle in…you learn how to make your bodies talk together, learn the sounds, the unspoken language…you’ve moved into exploration, and you feel safe enough to spontaneously introduce your desires. Friday was a perfect example of how we have developed and matured, and this video filmed by Jarred Gastreich captures us in our prime.
So what happens now?
Well, you support Swan and Union Tree Review. We all wait to see what Enright gets himself into, and I do what I always do, build another band and play solo shows in the interim. Well, Chris is gonna continue to play with me, so they will be duo shows, but you should know by now I will never stop playing.
I did provide one answer:
However, I know you deserve more. I am sure many of you are hoping for some juicy details, stories of debauchery and drug use. Maybe Logan slept with Enright’s girlfriend, or while Swan was doing jail time he picked up a nasty Meth habit, but, sadly, none of that happened, not even some AA time for Logan and his Ice House addiction. The reality is we are just moving in different directions. Swan approached the band back in May and asked us not to book any additional shows. As you may or may not know, he joined Union Tree Review as a “fulltime” member about a year ago, I guess. Over the past year scheduling conflicts have caused us to cancel a tour, miss practices, and decline gigs, so we kind of saw the writing on the wall. He also wants to start doing some writing, and he should. He is a great musician and has an amazing voice. There is no reason he shouldn’t be fronting his own band. So with 3 potential projects, something had to give, and it was So Much Closer. At that time, I asked the Enright and Logan if we wanted to push on as a 3 piece, try to find a replacement, or call it (I was hoping for push on as a three piece…in my mind the less schedules I had to deal with the better, and I have always loved the space and freedom a 3 piece affords). Ultimately Enright pulled the plug. What I write has never been Enright’s thing. While we share some middle ground with Tom Waits and Smashing Pumpkins, most of the bands I love he doesn’t care about, and most of the bands he is into I have never heard of, so he, rightfully so, is going to look for a project that is more aligned with his interests. We used to joke about who would break-up the band first, and my money was always on Enright. I mean I wouldn’t want to play music I just kind of liked, as opposed to loved. In the end, there are no hard feelings, lots of shared love for each other, just time to move on.
The worst part about this break-up is we are just hitting our stride; we have settled in and finally found our distinct voice. I cannot count how many people told us our set on Friday was the best they had ever heard us play. Really it is like any relationship. We are just getting to the good sex. Sure new sex is hot, all lust filled and passionate, but at times it is sloppy. You’re breaking lamps and falling off of beds, hitting the wrong buttons at the wrong time and trying to recover; you spend too much time fucking on floors and tables to really enjoy it, but after a year or so, you settle in…you learn how to make your bodies talk together, learn the sounds, the unspoken language…you’ve moved into exploration, and you feel safe enough to spontaneously introduce your desires. Friday was a perfect example of how we have developed and matured, and this video filmed by Jarred Gastreich captures us in our prime.
So Much Closer - Palace Doors from Jarred Gastreich on Vimeo.
So what happens now?
Well, you support Swan and Union Tree Review. We all wait to see what Enright gets himself into, and I do what I always do, build another band and play solo shows in the interim. Well, Chris is gonna continue to play with me, so they will be duo shows, but you should know by now I will never stop playing.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The Multiple Lives of Beekeepers
Beekeepers, the new release by My Molly, finally found its way into my dash on Tuesday, and it did not leave all week, not until today when I took it inside to load onto my iPod. As a matter of fact its layers are surrounding me as I write this. By Wednesday I knew I needed to write about this CD, to do my part to spread the word because it is too good to be ignored, to sit on some sagging shelf filled with CDs of hungry artists seeking validation, to be ignored by a scene that is often so busy convincing itself how open-minded and awesome it is that it fails to realize that it is actually very cliquish and exclusive. But what is on this plastic spinning miracle defies clique maintenance, bridges borders, crosses gaps, and brings worlds together. Still I was struggling with what words to use. With all the adjectives floating from Broca’s Area to Frontal Lobe I chose two to focus on: Epic and Multiple Lives.
Beekeepers feels like an epic, and by epic I am not referring to Barney Stinson, rather Beowulf. In great epics themes had numeric patterns, often religious numbers 3, 4, 7, etc. Whether intentional or not, Beekeepers has these patters. In “Bad Things” they place the listener in the woods, dark woods, frightening woods, the woods that made us tremble when we were children.
Instantly I am trust into memories of me too deep into an exploration, lost, confused, crying, and praying God would get me home. Then during “Witches” (6 songs later or 3 songs and 3 songs) they bring us back to the woods accept this time they validate our fears.
But they don’t want to hurt us; they want to love us, so three songs later in “Circuit Sunsets” they paint the woods in a different light:
Now my mind finds me in the same woods where first kisses happened beneath conifers as sunlight fought leaves and needles to find young bodies exploring touch and taste. Three times the woods are mentioned each time separated by values of three. Again, this could all be coincidence, but intentional or not the varying patterns make Beekeepers interesting, help give it multiple lives.
A CD having multiple-lives is as much about production as it is about the songwriting. Some serious credit needs to be given to Brian Sowinski. As I stated earlier I have listened to this CD all week. Each time I hear something new. That is the sign of a good recording to me. It wasn’t until listen #3 when I realized there was mandolin on “Knitting with Penelope.” It had perfect placement in the mix where my ears heard it as part of the composition, but it wasn’t begging for attention like a jealous little child wanting to play airplane. Situationally it also takes on different forms. When the I was driving with the top down the vocals and rhythm were perfectly balance so I could hear them above the wind whipping about. When the rains came and I had to put the top up, I could hear the truly focused instrumentation and layers. Even today listening to it for the first time with a sub I am pleasantly surprised with the thickness of the bass lines. They have excellent tone and enough movement to contribute without distracting.
By now I am sure you think I have lost all objectivity, that because my history with My Molly and my previous declarations of admiration and adoration I am not hearing the faults with the CD, and you would be wrong. There are a couple sour notes, an instance or two when I may have blown out the tracks to ensure everyone was hitting the one after a break. There was one spot where I would have picked a different instrument to lead in from a break, but then I asked myself would any of that make the CD better? Absolutely not. It is just some picky bullshit that ears that have been doing this for almost half their lives hear, and while it may improve that tiny moment it would not improve the CD.
Having grown up with vinyl I certainly appreciate the hipster trend to drop recordings on LPs, but what I have always loved about CDs is they allow you to experience the creation in its entirety without interruption to flip the record or tape. There is no longer a differentiation between A side and the dreaded B side where tracks go to die, now everything must be good. Rather than dropping 6 great songs upfront and then letting the CD disintegrate into dribble, Beekeepers is a slow build with recurring themes that climaxes on the second to last song then gently holds you for one final track, letting you know you are not alone. I encourage all that buy this CD to give yourself an hour to hear it from first act through finale, and I encourage you all to buy it.
That being said, we all have favorites and for different reasons I have two. With the blessings of Morning Bird Records and My Molly, I have been given permission to share those two with you. “Fission and Fusion” is the most vulnerable song on Beekeepers from the first line they expose their hearts, allow us to see through the stories, the adventures, to really feel what they are feeling without metaphor cloaking their intent.
Fission And Fusion by My Molly
There was some mild debate going on between me and the head of Morning Bird Records, Abi Robins. I was cemented to “Fission and Fusion” as the best song, and she tied herself to “Tie Me to the Mast” for her pick. While I am always going to pick raw emotion, I cannot deny that the sweeping harmonies in “Tie Me to the Mast” are without a doubt my favorite musical moment on Beekeepers. For that reason it gets a shared spot for favorite track on the CD.
Tie Me To The Mast by My Molly
I hope you enjoyed the songs and seriously encourage you to purchase this CD and see My Molly whenever you get a chance.
Beekeepers feels like an epic, and by epic I am not referring to Barney Stinson, rather Beowulf. In great epics themes had numeric patterns, often religious numbers 3, 4, 7, etc. Whether intentional or not, Beekeepers has these patters. In “Bad Things” they place the listener in the woods, dark woods, frightening woods, the woods that made us tremble when we were children.
These trees are alive and smiling their teeth that are made of bark are sharp. Our feet are black and blistered from running through these dark woods.
Instantly I am trust into memories of me too deep into an exploration, lost, confused, crying, and praying God would get me home. Then during “Witches” (6 songs later or 3 songs and 3 songs) they bring us back to the woods accept this time they validate our fears.
I was racing late at night through Salem’s autumn woods.
But they don’t want to hurt us; they want to love us, so three songs later in “Circuit Sunsets” they paint the woods in a different light:
I kept an eye on animals passing through long waving grass in a motion much like dance. I threw my shoes on a telephone line where laces intertwined by a dark wood soft romance.
Now my mind finds me in the same woods where first kisses happened beneath conifers as sunlight fought leaves and needles to find young bodies exploring touch and taste. Three times the woods are mentioned each time separated by values of three. Again, this could all be coincidence, but intentional or not the varying patterns make Beekeepers interesting, help give it multiple lives.
A CD having multiple-lives is as much about production as it is about the songwriting. Some serious credit needs to be given to Brian Sowinski. As I stated earlier I have listened to this CD all week. Each time I hear something new. That is the sign of a good recording to me. It wasn’t until listen #3 when I realized there was mandolin on “Knitting with Penelope.” It had perfect placement in the mix where my ears heard it as part of the composition, but it wasn’t begging for attention like a jealous little child wanting to play airplane. Situationally it also takes on different forms. When the I was driving with the top down the vocals and rhythm were perfectly balance so I could hear them above the wind whipping about. When the rains came and I had to put the top up, I could hear the truly focused instrumentation and layers. Even today listening to it for the first time with a sub I am pleasantly surprised with the thickness of the bass lines. They have excellent tone and enough movement to contribute without distracting.
By now I am sure you think I have lost all objectivity, that because my history with My Molly and my previous declarations of admiration and adoration I am not hearing the faults with the CD, and you would be wrong. There are a couple sour notes, an instance or two when I may have blown out the tracks to ensure everyone was hitting the one after a break. There was one spot where I would have picked a different instrument to lead in from a break, but then I asked myself would any of that make the CD better? Absolutely not. It is just some picky bullshit that ears that have been doing this for almost half their lives hear, and while it may improve that tiny moment it would not improve the CD.
Having grown up with vinyl I certainly appreciate the hipster trend to drop recordings on LPs, but what I have always loved about CDs is they allow you to experience the creation in its entirety without interruption to flip the record or tape. There is no longer a differentiation between A side and the dreaded B side where tracks go to die, now everything must be good. Rather than dropping 6 great songs upfront and then letting the CD disintegrate into dribble, Beekeepers is a slow build with recurring themes that climaxes on the second to last song then gently holds you for one final track, letting you know you are not alone. I encourage all that buy this CD to give yourself an hour to hear it from first act through finale, and I encourage you all to buy it.
That being said, we all have favorites and for different reasons I have two. With the blessings of Morning Bird Records and My Molly, I have been given permission to share those two with you. “Fission and Fusion” is the most vulnerable song on Beekeepers from the first line they expose their hearts, allow us to see through the stories, the adventures, to really feel what they are feeling without metaphor cloaking their intent.
Well I warned you I told you so, that you could leave it up to me to make an unresolvable mess out of everything. The sun and moon were in your eyes, and now that you’re gone I’ll sleep alone tonight.
Fission And Fusion by My Molly
There was some mild debate going on between me and the head of Morning Bird Records, Abi Robins. I was cemented to “Fission and Fusion” as the best song, and she tied herself to “Tie Me to the Mast” for her pick. While I am always going to pick raw emotion, I cannot deny that the sweeping harmonies in “Tie Me to the Mast” are without a doubt my favorite musical moment on Beekeepers. For that reason it gets a shared spot for favorite track on the CD.
Tie Me To The Mast by My Molly
I hope you enjoyed the songs and seriously encourage you to purchase this CD and see My Molly whenever you get a chance.
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