My eyes sip the lemon sea
I inhale its salty spice
and the sugar sweet bouquet of wild roses
I taste the juicy sunset orange
and the mist of farewell tears chills my heart
I touch the silk purple coverlet clouds
and smooth them over restive waves
I listen to the pulse of the cold blue star
and sing a silent song of longing
I reach up to embrace the gathering truth
I kiss the unabashed face of mother moon
I know the cause of every wrinkle
I fall into a sated state
Dream and yet awakened
I have a sense of time and self and place
I need only to savor the manna of nature
To sustain my spiritual life.
I looked into the misty mirror. There was no i. There was US. I looked out the frost-coated window. There was no they. There was US. WE stepped through the doorway. WE raised our gaze to the sky. There was i, dissolving in the sunset. There was they, covered by the night. Tomorrow the sun promises. There will be only US. No distance. No difference. No me: no you. ME-WE. UbunTu.
I balanced a banana on my head. Why? It was there when I got out of bed. I know what to do I’ll make it a crown. A golden, potassium hue. I danced at the coronation, an invitation only celebration. I slipped on a peel! Life lesson surreal; I had never learned to look down.
Today the pillow stuck to my head. The sheets were my skin. The mattress my twin. My body the bed. The song of the bird a dissonant shriek pine furniture moan a deafening creak. I clamped my mouth shut I explode if I speak. I hid glasses from sight that my vision stay hazy. The light through filter. Shaded thoughts undefined, soft and lazy. Flowers were rude. Beauty seemed crude. I’m craving for silence escape from the dun. A moment alone Endless embrace of the sun.
Time does not fly. Sometimes it skips along carefree a wordless song. Then, you fall bruise your heart. A kiss of hope. A new, scar tissue start. In dreams you fly. In life you try to leave petty thoughts behind. elevate above the dead, the dying. Reach a place only you can find. No map to guide you. Close your eyes. Stand barefoot in imagined sand. Time flits. You are flying.
I found it in a trash can near the Granada movie theater. I was throwing away a box of candy (Not Good, though there was Plenty). Who in the world threw an old sax away? I remembered a black man that use to play Jazz music on a nearby corner. Some wise guys must have taken it. I followed a melody in my head to the place I remembered. There he sat on a peeling wood bar stool. He played on a strange instrument, like a small piano you blew into. The street light came on as I approached. He wore a green hat, red scarf, fingerless red gloves. Snow started to fall. He stopped playing. “I’m a little out of breath these days.” “You keep it.” “Merry Christmas.” It was.
The air on the fifty first floor was rarefied The haven overlooking the world of commerce . The destiny many had dreamed about. He had achieved. Some had put aspirations into action they had fought the bloody competitive wars But had to settle for lower floors. Less prestigious command posts. Only the chosen few were granted his audience. They were mesmerized like a cult recruit In the presence of the all knowing. They felt intimidated by dogmatic subtext . In awe of the unacknowledged cosmic view. He focused only on the encounter at hand. One left mumbling a cryptic mantra . Fully converted to an incomprehensible cause. Then, would he swivel . Not to witness the consequences of his power. Rather, to see his image superimposed on the realm he benignly ruled. -John L. Barbetta
I am in here.
Can’t you see?
I am in here.
Can’t you hear?
Can’t you feel?
I am real.
The craggy lines
that’s my wrinkled face
You can make it smooth.
Sharp chisel imagination
for splitting stone
Rhythmic, controlled strokes
Wipe my dust from your eyes.
Can you begin to see me?
I am in here.
my hardened skin.
Reinforcing, shaping impact
There’s the lines.
There’s the texture.
I am emerging.
Can you feel me?
Redefining rasps and rifflers
Inspired, sweeping motion
Emery words infuse the light
Features, folds, hair
I am David and the stone
that slew Goliath.
If there is enough of me,
Find his head
Place it at my feet.
If not, no matter
Victory is no less sweet.
I need no Donatello
You have sculpt me with your eyes
Can you see my beauty , now?
You have won the prize;
Not glitter gold
Nor, quick silver fame
I am here.
We are free.
You have won Life’s game.
We’ve created a new page for our project Vital Signs.
The work is scheduled for global release as an e Book early 2013 by Paris based Kiwai Media, Inc.
Take a look.
Your comments are much appreciated.
….little help from my friends,
* Bolts- -moments of electric awareness, clarity, epiphanies
And stuff that holds things together.
Poetry and music share the power to insight the senses.
Click on titles below to listen to samples from the CD “Tenth Muse “.
This newly completed Poetry/ Visual Art “must have, beautiful” work is soon to be released as an E-Book for rapid and global availability. We are pleased and honored that Paris based writer, editor, publisher David Applefield has taken the leadership role in transforming and marketing the Vital Signs experience.
If we do not see
the beauty of nature
the blight of disrespect,
If we do not hear
the soft cry of the wounded
the spontaneous laughter of friends,
If we do not speak
the words for those who have them not
the language of the heart,
If we do not feel
the pain of rejection
the joy of acceptance,
If we cannot imagine
the gifts we have been given
can make our shared planet
a better place for all,
we have not life.
Moving, accessible poetry is reinforced by black and white photo insights by scholar/artist John Howard Wolf.
Geoff Makousky, art director, has skillfully presented the material for maximum reader, participant impact.
Your interest in Vital Signs, release dates and purchase can be registered at email@example.com.
Thank you all for your inspiration and encouragement.