"Art, like morality, consists of drawing the line somewhere."
--G.K. Chesterton
"The man's body is sacred and the woman's body is sacred.../Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you."
--Walt Whitman
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According to the Buddha, right speech is a statement that is timely, true, kind, helpful (connected to liberation), and spoken with a mind of good-will. Let us all try to observe this precept.
My pen pal "Conway", who is serving 25-to-life in California state prison for receiving stolen goods, returns this month with a revised version of "Trapdoor" and other new poems. I'm enjoying the surreal turn that his work has taken, as he feels a greater freedom to make associative leaps and use imagery rather than explanation to convey emotions.
Trapdoor
All the eyes that have groped-- invoked, these melted sands, us trees in the snow, reaching out for warm lights brightness instead, suffocated by whiteness.
The Sun only dissolved the black asphalt melted its pain, in vain reflecting on this concrete crumbling, like stale crackers.
All these faces tied together on the same chain vacantly staring out of a teasing television's lens
A world of opportunity offered, taunted without scents, glints but never relents.
A cliche "so close yet so far away";
This distant world's condemned by icy wind, forgetting its place in the prison's pecking order; Seasons listening for prompts.
Still, the only real sounds offered will turn into useless static untuneable noise we avoid.
Paranoid, of a despicable crowd's opinion, wonder, about thunder's irrelevance.
When the Earth falls open to swallow your soul; Then, like a trapdoor spider closes back up to hide the hole...
********
Memorial
This nostalgic promise retraced is still yours, till the end of time yours was, to always be mine those cold feet at night disturbing our warm bed so fine recollect the crash shielding your face with mine reminisce, we missed a sign I won't forget my distress watching you bringing our bonded blood into this world howling--kicking & screaming make note: who made you a mother we awoke in love with each other.
Now summon the silence: (when I fell) when I landed in jail this slow dragging Hell. I carry you still, I always will that crept up on me like a whisper instead I conceived my widow, before I was dead
memorizing it all, I had no one to call no one to talk with, cushion this fall the stillness complied too it almost implied nothing of you except A tragedy like that has not happened yet I'm still alive, besides so are you these shackles they try to disguise just might catch our lords eyes then trust the true light to come shining on through.
still, I can promise you this we will never regret a kiss your name on my breath, forget my voice as it dies in the wind an authentic heart can never pretend, or dishonor fate's dividend...
********
Failure
A Guitar string breaks slakes away the note Picks this translation weak inspiration coils up like a snake ready to strike out fangs on the concertina slice razor sharp through the flesh this song being sung on those broken dreams hungry schemes of fate shake off the silver strands empty music surrounds the silence counting another approach when wounded strings fail to sing...
