Beneath the Mask

The story behind the poem below is a tragic one, and true. A ‘father’ throws acid on his daughter’s face which leaves her disfigured. In a course of time she develops a deep level of depression from the abuse she suffered at the hand of her own father, and from the notion that she will never be beautiful again. Reeling in disparity, she takes her life. Very sad.

I first heard this piece performed a couple of months ago by one of the most gifted spoken word poets I’ve ever met, Cassidy Belville. I was left in awe at its delivery, and finally got the courage to ask Cassidy if I could post it here. Without skipping a beat she said yes. I was (and am) totally honored that she did so.

About the poem itself, it’s a really good read; but when I heard it performed by Cassidy at the pool I was blown away! The deliverance of it was perfect, the internal rhythm and cadence were astonishingly harmonic, the constant back and forth between ideas (life vs. death) made one feel the existential struggle the poem puts forth, and the subject itself was both breathtaking and tragic at the same time.

Now, I’m a writer of poetry, not a performer or spoken word poet. Cassidy is both. I’ve heard a lot of poets deliver their pieces before- and deliver them well- but I was utterly floored by the gravity of Cassidy’s gift to write and recite a work of art such as this- pure talent. You’ve got to read this poem and let me know what you think …



Beneath the Mask

R.I.P. Katie
Death? Unpreventable. Suicide? Pathetic.
For one who regrets with a life that's less? Death? No.
You are a breath,
Even if it's a mind going crazy on meth, it is not death! It's life. And for
those who give it up with the stroke of a knife, listen Tony plight.
For this girl gave her life for a reason. She had a father of treason.
The liquid of acid threw her porcelain skin to acid,
In a hospital bed she lie, because of the one that said the lie,
The lie, that made her die.
We have life. Does she? Yes, she survived.
However her face she has to hide under a mask that divides, her beauty
from her life. Who wants that life
A mind bent on suicide? Because she died.
An act of breaking of what that mask was making.
Suicide? Some may say so. But for the ones that know,
She is a victim of death because it was her time to go. So next time you
take that knife to your wrist,
Think of the girl that lived the life of a risk.


Thanks, Cassidy ... this is a very touching piece.

—Patience—

One morning last week I came across a poem one of my Facebook friends wrote- it was incredible! So short, so seemingly simple, yet so astonishingly deep and detailed. I had to ask her if I could post it here- she thankfully said yes.

The poem is called —Patience—, the poet is Deanna Elaine. Thanks for the gorgeous write, Deanna.


—Patience—

Eagle waits, unseen.
Scurry below, oblivious.
Reaper, Biding time.

Green Trees- Short Poem by my Daughter

Green, green trees
So, so beautiful
So much as the world is beautiful

I think trees are the best

- chelle -

Love Divine- by SGK

I have a friend who produces music and writes songs. A few days ago he recited a stanza from a poem he had written some time ago. After having explained its context, and reciting it a couple more times, I had to ask him if I could post it. Anyhow, here it is, it's called ...


Love Divine

You were my woman-
that funny smile was mine-
but you made it all so clear
when you finally picked up the line:
in an unspoken voice your heart said goodbye
and with preservation for your feelings,
and no concern for mine,
I say farewell, my good friend,
and goodbye to a love divine.

-skg

Carefully: by Jessica Doss

Negative thoughts lead to negative actions then can't be erased.... Trying to move carefully yet at a faster pace... Hiding from the truth cuz secure in the lie... There's no chance at failure when you don't even try... Shackled in the sky by our own understanding... To paralyzed to take off by fear of the landing... Fear keeps you safe from great life experience... The awareness learned might be worth the risk if you're really feelin it.. Subject to personal perception but lacking the self reflection... Questions ever puzzled down the right path with indirect directions... Unwrapped barely naked longing for internal embrace... So blinded by fear that your comfort I can't seem to take... Slowing towards the end quickly yet powerless to stop... Guess the question will be answered are these feelings we caught...

Of the Poem (Brief Summary & Thanks):

The poem above was submitted by a friend of mine, Jessica Doss. In it is found a tension that consumes the speaker, a tension between stagnation as a result of fear, and a latent but new hope that looks upon the possibility of a great life experience.

The poem employs to a great extent the use of cognitive terminologies: thoughts, understanding, awareness learned, perception, reflection, etc. This indicates a contemplative aspect of the poem that the poet wishes to relay. The opening line immediately discloses the poem's creed: all action comes from thought, and, after having come, is then indelibly marked onto the soul.

When coupled with the negative predicates of the poem- failure, fear, naked, blinded, powerless- its contemplative nature takes on a sort of existential desperation, one that painfully desires change and reformation (a change and reformation that no doubt must occur at the aforementioned level of thought itself).

Before the poem concludes there's a reference to an obscure figure: your comfort I can't seem to take. The line prior to this speaks of a longing for internal embrace, so my personal conclusion is that the figure in the following line is God Himself (or some other spiritual import).

As always, it excites me when someone honors me with a chance to read their works, their poems. Where deliberate effort is put into a work- especially where these efforts pertain to aspects of human existence and the world within which we live- I take special care to acknowledge it.

So thank you, Jessica, for sharing your poem here.

My Self-Summary by Aaron Cole

On the very first day of this very new year, 2010, my neighbor shared a poem he recently wrote. To say the least, I was excited to check it out. To my astonishment, however, I came to find that he intentionally adhered to a chosen metrical foot, tetrameter.

Now I use the word ‘astonishment’ because, from my perspective at any rate, one seldom comes across a contemporary American who chooses measured verse verses free verse- much less a contemporary American who lives right next to you . That the poem had my complete attention goes without saying.

Here’s that poem below:


My Self-Summary

Listen Hear my soliloquy
as I try to Unravel these
false dichotomies existing
tween the outer and inner me
Not bi polar, but bi solar.
I stand in the crux of 2 suns.
One physical, and warms my flesh
And one spiritually guides the mesh
None the less both are part of me
war wages perpetually;
but separately agreed they make
me the man I have come to be.



Of the Poem:

A seemingly tension-ridden dualism runs through the poem that’s extremely obvious:

~false dichotomies
~the outer and inner
~bi solar (i.e. two suns)
~the crux of 2
~physical (flesh)/spiritually
~and latently, division (war wages) and unity (separately agreed)

I stand in the crux of 2 suns.
One physical, and warms my flesh
And one spiritually guides the mesh

These lines, lines 6,7 and 8, are highly reminiscent of Swedenborg’s doctrine of two suns (now as far as I’m aware, Aaron has never read Swedenborg, which makes the relation of the poem above with the quotes below rather interesting):

There are two suns by which all things were created from the Lord, the sun of the spiritual world and the sun of the natural world. All things were created from the Lord by the sun of the spiritual world, but not by the sun of the natural world; for the latter is far below the former, and in a middle distance. The spiritual world is above and the natural world beneath it; and the sun of the natural world was created to act as a medium or substitute.

The expanse of the centre of life is called the spiritual world, which subsists from its sun; and the expanse of the centre of nature is called the natural world, which subsists from its sun.

The tension of the dualism that’s apparent throughout the poem culminates in line 10:

war wages perpetually

But immediately thereafter the poet reconciles the tension through a sort of Heideggerian acceptance of the inevitable- which in this case would be the fact that the author must come to terms with the influence of these two seemingly opposing poles. This is apparent in the following lines that conclude the poem:

None the less both are part of me
war wages perpetually;
but separately agreed they make
me the man I have come to be

I’ll comment here as I did to him on Facebook:

“Absolutely astonishing display of poetic prowess, Aaron. No joke. The sheer fact that you chose to adhere to classical meter in the face of popular free verse reveals an authentic aspect that, as Plato would say, is seldom seen amongst men.”

… and I’ll add that not only am I honored that he’d share his work with me, but most especially honored that he’d grace me with the opportunity to post it here.

Thanks, Aaron. Great write.

I'd love to hear what others might think of his work. So please, leave a comment if you will.

Rapture (by Richard Garcia)*

Rapture

Born to dwell in darkness, this carrier of light.
Denied rapture with the Holy One, called to stand and fight.

For the sake of the lost sheep The Shepherd does require,
a child to lead them from the Butcher's blade,
sparing them the unquenchable thirst of the everlasting fire.

I look to the heavens in search of lost grace.
Shadows of this world I'm left to comfort,
tears anoint my face.

I'll walk this world of darkness, I'll carry the sword of light
I'll face the Accuser of the brethren.
Fot the Good Shepherd's flock,
I'll lay down my life.

Of the Poem:

So many have taken as their poetic topic noble subjects such as love, beauty, romance, honor, heroism, and a plethora of others. These subjects have been so thoroughly exhausted that it's difficult to produce a written work that doesn't sound like another's. So when I come across a poem that has an original signature to it, an original sound or way about it, that takes on a topic or aspect that is atypical, I get excited.

The poem above, written by aspiring poet Richard Garcia, is one of those that falls in the atypical category. Not often enough- or at least from my perspective and studies- not often enough does one come across eschatology in poetry, especially eschatology pertaining to the Christian idea of the rapture. The poem above is about one left behind after the rapture has happened, and the resolve this person has to maintain the Christian faith as a soldier of Christ in what will ultimately become the darkest of times.

In reading the poem I’m reminded of the eschatological poem of Yeat, The Second Coming. I think this poem is a good read, and give much do accolade to Mr. Garcia for the scripting of it. I’d love love love to know what others think of it.

*****

Poetic Parameters

Meter: Open Meter

Stanza: Mixed
The opening stanza is a closed couplet
The second and third are tercets
The concluding stanza is a quatrain

Rhyme Scheme:
1st stanza: a.a.
2nd & 3rd stanzas a.b.a. (per stanza)
4th stanza: Open (with a possible oblique intended with 'light' and 'life')


*Rapture by Richard Garcia
© 09/12/2008

Blue Moon So Rare: A Nancy Villanelle

With recent posts on the structure and (challenging) nature of the villanelle, I was pleased to see that a good friend of mine took up the task of creating one … and an absolutely beautiful one at that.

Nancy, as I mentioned to you on Facebook (where she posted this poem): you’ve singlehandedly set the bar for writing villanelles … in fact (I dare say), you’ve trumped Dylan’s popular verse … absolutely incredible ...

Below the asterisks (with her permission) is the post as laid out by her. Thank you for sharing this, Nancy. Everyone else: Enjoy!

*******

Blue Moon So Rare

The moon above so full so rare so blue
She rises high in a night sky most fair
And leads us home, you to me, me to you

Keeping deep held secrets only she knew
She whisper'd their myst’ry into the air
The moon above so full so rare so blue

A lunar lifetime one fulfill’d, then two
Spawns folklore of veil'd occurrences rare
And leads us home, you to me, me to you

To propose it is said woman sh’ant do
Still on this night with this moon she doth dare
The moon above so full so rare so blue

Hearts echoed refrain may thus engage true
Two souls as one reflect in her mirror
And leads us home, you to me, me to you

She’ll pray that you this day may say “I do”
To life’s magic and love without compare
The moon above so full so rare so blue
That leads us home, you to me, me to you

~ Nancy, 9/10/2009


Regarding the topic:

I love the folklore of the blue moon and have researched it on more than one occasion. Though the phrase “once in a blue moon” can be traced back about 400 years, its present usage only came into being in the mid-1940’s from an article in Sky & Telescope magazine. Still it was not widely known until made popular by the 1986 Genus II edition of the Trivial Pursuit board game. However, the most common understanding, the 2nd full moon in a calendar month, is now considered inaccurate and the “true” meaning said to be the 2nd full moon in a season.

Ironically, by this definition a blue moon is not even that rare – a calendar blue moon occurs 7 times every 19 years - the next of which will occur on 12/31/2009 at 7:14 p.m. MST. A seasonal blue moon is less frequent, but still not especially rare – the next occurring on 11/21/2010.

Of course, having a romantic heart, I like the superstition that under a blue moon a woman can propose to the man, and hence used that for the inspiration of my poem. This notion was born in an article about blue moons published in the long-running, and thereby taken as authoritative, Sydney Morning Herald feature, Column Eight (formerly called Granny's Column). It repeated the previously published theory and added that “under a blue moon a woman is permitted by tradition to propose to her sweetheart.” Perhaps echoing the genuinely ancient custom of women being able to propose marriage in Leap Year (or on Leap Year Day, February 29), which began with Scottish legislation to that effect in 1288.

Also being a fan of things scientific, it is interesting to note that there can be an actual visible blue moon under certain (and yes, rare) atmospheric conditions. This is caused by a concentration of dust or ice or sometimes even clouds in the air. Some recent occasions have been Krakatoa in 1883 which caused green sunsets and moons of blue, a 1927 monsoon in India, and a forest fire in Alberta, Canada in 1951.

Regarding the poem (technical aspects):

This poem was written in the form of the villanelle. A villanelle consists of:

* 19 lines broken up into five tercets (3 lines) and a concluding quatrain (4 lines).

* The meter is iambic pentameter and consists of ten syllables per line.

* The rhyme scheme is aba aba aba aba aba abaa.

* The first refrain (the first line) repeats in lines 6, 12, and 18; the second refrain (the third line) repeats in lines 9, 15, and 19. This causes the last two lines (18 and 19) to form a rhymed couplet.

Very tricky stuff and a fun challenge!

I also intentionally included personification, archetype, person, and recurrent themes (in word choices), as well as several enjoyable poetry techniques which I have only recently learned about such as polysyndeton, assonance, alliteration, oblique rhyme, and metric consolidation. A number of metaphors have been pointed out as well. They are mostly unintended and are merely the result of my natural writing style.

Of Poetry -- Thank you my friend, my yoda, my muse, my inspiration, for opening my eyes and expanding my world.

My Daughter's First Poem

This poem below was written by my daughter about a year ago (in fact, it is the unedited version of her very first poem).

Apart from the fact this is my little girl’s first poem, I like it because it reflects an innocence and a joy of the earth that adult life seldom remembers; it is pure, and its simplicity is so powerful that intellectual critique is not only powerless, but offensive.

I posted this poem on Facebook on April 20th, the 10 year anniversary of the school shooting at Columbine. I thought to myself there:

Remembering the tragedy of Columbine on this day 10 years ago had me remember this poem. I post it only to show how simple, how beautiful the mind of a child is. I'm certain God wouldn't mind my saying that it's almost scripture. It's certainly divine.

This truly is my favorite poem. Thank you Chells-Bells.

Today it’s going to be a wonderful day
Nature is pretty in all ways
Clouds are puffy and trees are greenish
The grass is green
The sun is really bright
And our families protect us in every single way

A Birthday Poem: by Nancy

Tomorrow will be my 38th year on this gorgeous planet. I'm very thankful to have had this chance of life- from every element of ill to the highest forms of elation. I thank God for every one of these years, and for seeking me and my well-being in them. I thank Him for my family (especially my little girl), I thank Him for my friends, and thank Him for teaching me about life while living it in the shade of imperfection at times.

*******

A good friend of mine was even so kind as to write a poem in celebration of my 38th year! Actually, as I think about it, of these 38 years here this is the first poem anyone has written to and for me ... thanks Nancy. Below is the poem (untitled for now), and the kind words she attached to it:*

*******

"… a day late and a dollar short?... how about a day early, and no money whatsoever!

To celebrate your day of birth
Cast cares away, seize joy and mirth
Reflect back on blessings great
Look future towards, no dreams abate.

The gift of life is yours today
For many more we truly pray
Forever, always, without end
Best wish go forth to you, my friend.

la'bri-ut yoda sheli



(Sorry for the early delivery. I suppose I should have waited until tomorrow to write something, but once loosed my proverbial horses refused to be reined in) "


*with her consent … תודה רבה שבעה

*******

Side Note:

I've always had this sort of strange curse of 'agelessness' since about the 7th grade: same height, same weight, same facial hair, same everything (minus the immaturity I hope). I jokingly call it a curse, but refuse to deny the 'strangeness' of it.

I wrote a stanza some time ago that refers to this 'anomaly':

It seems to me somewhat a sin
To curse this youthful look of mine.
By cursing am I cursing Him-
The Giver of this youth divine?