I can only abide in the light that leads me uncharted
Presumably from the Swedish främling, “stranger, alien, foreigner, outsider.”Framlings -are individuals who are recognised as being of the same species as the subject, but who are from another planet. Culture and manners between Framlings may be different, but they are still similar
Palpitations drum and kick my rhythmic heart
Art pops in hidden realms
Seismic shifts and swells
The keynote speaker is feeling
And we all give consent
Spent from days of routine
We let the jazz run wild
In through our ears rumbling in our brains
Untethered through power lines of nerves
Until it exits the other side
We’re lost in the swirls and colors of painting instruments
Distinct hues of oceans blues
Maroon and cartoon cats in over-sized suits
Flip fifty cent pieces palming pocket watches in the other hand
No land is locked when music lights the path
Imagination is elastic and unbreakable
The unorthodox rules the night
Let ourselves take flight from caution
No idea on a destination or distance until an empty tank
We fly blind and just align with the wind
It’ll take us where we need to be and when we need to be there
Care is waiting to catch up and catch us in mayday.
Though shaky we land once again
Every piece finds its place in the end
Because it’s Jazz
Because it’s life
We never fully control who’s coming or going
So the intent is to be unintentional in the moment
Just blend in with what’s moving and make the most of what the mixture is
Before you know it every sound’s profound tune swoons us
We hear how every part finds its place in the Equilibrium
And the liquid noise crashes the canyon walls in a downward rush
Then dwindles with one last pound and thrust of life before it plateaus
Dispersed in unity
We go our separate ways once again.
It was still-born dreams
I gleaned for understanding for the discomfort
Maybe I was finally facing what I knew was always there
Now I stare into the eyes of aborted expectations
Passions spurned, deflated
Hope deferred, complacent
In the basement of my mind
No intellect can stretch to the sublime
I was in need of
I ejected from the message A lost investment, Time to reconsider.
So I gathered my trust like garments
I boxed up the belongings of my beliefs
Evicted from true reality I sought solace in sane things
Thinking… if church is simply charity There’s no cure for the malady of belonging And if the gates of hell can prevail Maybe we’ve made our home in a kingdom we don’t belong
Reworded the message
Found security in Caesars incentives and
Fought freedoms that place us at the mercy of a god we can control
What if our Moses’s are Aaron’s in disguise And we’ve never known the presence enough to sense the difference?
I grew cold from the repetition
Mixing business and worshipLove and lust, God and goldThe service froze my potency
I retracted my expressions
Guessing where I could fit in
My real was too ideal
An awkward mammoth among men
Extinct in my train of thought So I thought.
I caught a flight South
Where my pen came alive and
I’d dive into verbs
Word and reword
What I felt
Or failed to feel
As I healed.
This was my detox.
And I never felt the cold turkey Nor the remorse of my leave Just the sound of barren leaves Crushed underfoot These were the pieces of me, Scattered parts 1-A heart too ambitious 2-Arms too passionate 3-Legs too determined for the task I’d unmask myself in the doing Then found my face in renewing identity I never thought pursuing deconstruction Would reflect a hurt so good
So I stood. Naked, again.
This time more bare than before
This time no care in the world
That swallowed up my ideas of the holy
I was unfolding shallow logic
Deposits of my naive consumption But I let the scales fall
And I saw like Saul
I had mistaken my enemy
Timidly finding the rhythm of trust
Until I thrust myself beyond the knowing
He was showing me how my glory was assaulted
Freedom came from mountaintops
And I found I could never fit where I wasn’t meant to be
Now I can see the treasures of my heart
I traded pews for evergreens
I abandoned feedback for birds songs
The open air makes things more clear now
And I hear the voice I always needed the most
Trekking through the wood
The unbeaten path of paradox
Inconvenience in adventure
Following the voice that leads me beyond knowing… Lost-religion, Freedom-found.
Got a chance to work with Lang Film Company on a piece for The Cross Mount Dora. I was tasked to craft a poem that embodied the Church’s mission statement using material from the Pastor’s messages. All footage was shot by Kevin Lang of the Lang Film Company, directed through a creative collaboration of myself, Kevin Lang and mainly Mark Crossman of The Cross. This was a fun project, I got a chance to unleash my inner pyro, especially Mark Crossman. Great collaboration.
If you would like words crafted for a promo, wedding, or funeral, fill out the contact form below and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Feel free to comment below on what you thought of the poem. Cheers.
From limbs that had the measure of the worm, shuffled
Off from the creasing flesh, filed
Through all the irons in the grass, metal
Of suns in the man-melting night.
Heir to the scalding veins that hold love’s drop, costly
A creature in my bones I
Rounded my globe of heritage, journey
In bottom gear through night-geared man.
I dreamed my genesis and died again, shrapnel
Rammed in the marching heart, hole
In the stitched wound and clotted wind, muzzled
Death on the mouth that ate the gas.
Sharp in my second death I marked the hills, harvest
Of hemlock and the blades, rust
My blood upon the tempered dead, forcing
My second struggling from the grass.
And power was contagious in my birth, second
Rise of the skeleton and
Rerobing of the naked ghost. Manhood
Spat up from the resuffered pain.
I dreamed my genesis in sweat of death, fallen
Twice in the feeding sea, grown
Stale of Adam’s brine until, vision
Of new man strength, I seek the sun.
The most consistent thread in Dylan Thomas’ work is a yearning to return or be transported to a place of youth and innocence. Thomas politicizes the world because he is never content nor accepting of the standards and norms that most adults adhere to, quite frankly his poems are a mockery of the real world. Thomas prefers the ideal. “I Dream My Genesis” is Thomas grappling with re-envisioning his beginning in the thick of a restless night. Thomas’ life story is consistently retold as one of carelessness, drunkenness and irresponsibility despite his incredible gifting and talent. Many critics seem to believe his poems exhibit a sort of drunken stupor, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worst. I find myself in both beliefs that some of his poems have depth and some seem to me a bit rushed.
However, hearing Thomas recite his poems, I am pressed to believe maybe the poems I do not understand have a depth I cannot quite grasp, at least not until I understand the poet more intimately. Taking into account Thomas’ history; his inability to hold a job, to stay sober, there is something the poet is running from or processing through. And though poetry is a great escape for many, maybe it was not enough of an escape for Thomas. I also ask myself, “where does he want to escape to?” The answer I believe is, to his childhood, or at least a place of purity, of innocence. This drive is what creates such a force in Thomas’ words and makes his poetry so bombastic, yearning, ethereal and youthful. His poems can be personified as a child skipping through nature, chomping at the bit to see over a new horizon. It is as if the poem could fly him away and the more forceful the language the higher he is projected. This is also clearly seen in his poem, “Poem in October”, where Thomas reflects on his childhood, stating, “his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.” The child’s heart was Thomas’s own heart, even as a man, this heart was inescapable and fantastically fascinated with repainting the world and marveling at nature.
This fascination with repainting the world and returning to innocence is what “I Dreamed My Genesis” is all about. This is what we see in lines 1 and 2 of the first stanza, it is this “breaking through the rotating shell”, the shell is his body similar to the shell of a bullet. Thomas in this dream-like state is similar to a bullet in the chamber, he is yearning to be propelled, ‘rotating’ as the bullet spins, so he spins in his sleep, and metaphorically piercing into the reality of his dream. This dream we speak of where he re-imagines his beginning, where he questions what life would be like if he had not lost his innocence. This dream where he repeatedly envisions what life would be like if he could choose the circumstance that shaped him. But he couldn’t. Continue reading →