Long Island is arguably one of the most vibrant artistic locations on the face of the earth. I am confident in that statement. It is almost as if anyone who passes through New York City on their trek towards the "fish-shaped Paumanok" is somehow laced with an untraceable level of inspiration that slowly seethes until it unwillingly incorporates them into a culture of artists, poets, writers, musicians, and everything in between. It is infectious - a beautiful blight.
Last night, I had the honor of being a part of Bards Day, an annual event celebrating the release of the yearly anthology Bards Annual 2013, which included my poems Tete-a-Tete and I Am Thankful, published by Local Gems Poetry Press (the one's who released by book Death By Active Movement) in association with The Bards Initiative. I was honored with the Up-and-Coming Poet Award at the ceremony and am truly humbled by that gesture. Seeing so many people gathered at the Walt Whitman Birthplace in Huntington Station, NY, I could visually see everyone who had come to be a part of my extended poetry family. Not only poets - all expressive people on this Strong Island of ours are part of the collective effort to make this world better and to be a part of something bigger than themselves. We are a hellbroth of many different people, juxtaposed to each other like brilliant contradictions.
There is a revolution coming and us artists need to be the ones to organize it, to drive it home, to take back this great nation of ours, and to unite the globalized world under a canvas of culture, community, and equality. Language does not separate us, beliefs, traditions, we are a oneness bequeathed with being, this existence, together striving to make it more than what it is. That is the burden of the artist and we can help each other carry it. Long Island seems to carry more weight than others, but this is a call to all expressive peoples everywhere -
UNITE!!!
The Jackal And The Ghost
This is a shot in the dark
A road with no signs
A blind man’s pointing finger
A sentence without an end
This is a depth nothing can fall to
A hole no one can dig
This is a thought you can’t have
An heir you can’t breathe
This is a sight you can’t behold
A picture of nothing
A tree without roots in a world without gravity
This is a baby’s dream
This is a number you can’t count to
A hunger you can’t crave
This is a journey you can’t take
A trap you can’t escape
This is a knot that can’t be untangled
A well you can’t well
Decadence you can’t taste
A kiss you can’t feel
A peace that lays waste
A future you can’t make
A past you can erase
This is a blasphemy
A virtuous sin
A fleeting permanence
This is a split second glance
With no one else around
This is evidence
This is all the leafs in autumn
All the seeds you blew away
All the toys of childhood
All the games
These are all the jokes told
All the laughter
All the tears
All the boys and girls you’ve desired
All the fears
This all the preparation
This is all the grace
This is all the building up
The tearing down
The waste
This is the paper in the morning
The painting of a room
The doodles on a chalkboard
The gazing at the sky at noon
The trying and the buying
The regret and the hope
These are the nicks and scrapes
The jackal and the ghost
No comments:
Post a Comment