Cross My Heart and Hope to Write
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Saturday, November 10, 2012
After Sandy: Chawdron
I live on the East Coast. As such, we have experienced a lot of destruction and uncertainty lately. The New York area I think is fairly well known for its ego and hubris. We're always bustling around, rarely thinking of our fellow man. "Frankenstorm" Sandy (and the nor'easter that followed it) has been a humbling experience, returning people to the things that truly matter and making our collective humanity far more real. Though tragic, I believe life sends us harsh messages to remind us of the things that transcend the material and revamp our awareness of the deeper things in life.
The destruction brought by Sandy has compelled some in my community of poets to take action. The Bards Initiative, a local poetry organization on Long Island, has banded together to create "Songs of Sandy (SOS)," a collection of poetry and reflections on the events of the storm, and other hurricane related subject matter. The anthology will be included in a disaster relief bundle, consisting of SOS, two ebooks, four poetry collections, an indie album, and recordings, videos, and performances from poets (myself included) and artists from around New York and abroad. 100% of the proceeds from the selling of this bundle will go toward disaster relief efforts in the wake of Sandy. For more information, and to learn when the bundle will become available, check out the official Songs of Sandy website. Interested in contributing? Submit your recordings, poems, reflections, videos, and/or performances at firstname.lastname@example.org, but act fast! The deadline is November 13th (this Tuesday).
One cannot help but think of the worst as we look at images of the damage on our laptops, TV screens, and phone (if we even have access to those things). Our own destruction looms in the back of our minds and is brought to the fore in gazing at such vivid imagery. Our things are temporary; the memories they carry are temporary. We are temporary. Hold close to the preciousness of this life, and don't let it be flooded beneath the weight of petty things.
When the entire world has fallen away
You’ll find me steeped in rust,
Attempting to keep boredom at bay
By sifting through the dust.
Squalor to riches,
Night to day,
Death, the common lust;
And only a sliver of trust
Blood soaked into the smattered loam,
Like decadent red velvet cake,
Arsenic had seized the foam
Of the sea, turned to bile, and ached.
A ghoulish husk,
Of what once claimed this dank mirage,
A lasting hush,
A creeping gust
That sluggishly patrols the hodgepodge.
I toil to find
The remnants of mind,
And where the body lay
To rebuild Fate
From humdrum waste
And the world’s newfound decay.
I wish to confine
What’s left of Time
To reclaim that soiled day.