A Fool or a Visionary

Crawl

I had an idea for a poem

But I fell on the floor

And the nascent nectar of new thought

Vanished like a lifer set free

I could not rise

Captured by my diseased immobility 

A character I have spurned

“at last” it laughed

I captured you with lyrical bait

You couldn’t wait to write

And you missed the chair.

I looked at the broken glass

From the humbling crash

And spoke to my ethereal tormenter

“I shall find metaphors

in my rise from this crash

that shall banish your crippling breath from my life.”

With new resolve

I crawled to a chair that rolled away

      I cursed your existence

Then realized that you are my foil

He who tests the supplicant

Has a badge of acceptance

To ward off the hatred given tough teachers

Once I fashioned a clay coffin

With an objecting occupant

clawing his way out,

Foreshadowing my descent into illness

Yet the message clearly captured

The concept of never surrender.

Even if your legs betray you never surrender

Even if your speech slurs never surrender

Even if the paper is unreadable never surrender

Face it straight on

And compose another song another poem another story

For on the floor I discovered truths hidden from me

in the rarified air of before

i discovered

That  in order to succeed I had to start on the floor

at dirt level

and relearn all the tricks of living 

so first of all i must learn to cry

then Crawl

 stand up By pulling yourself up

And walk 

Then write

And finally read.

then write again

For weeks for months I was on the floor..

sitting there

just sitting there crying

it took me such a long time 

to learn to crawl.

 

Compose Your Escape

Escape from the clutter of my mind

Time to travel in any way possible

through beauty of pictures

taken by a lens not mine.

Escape from the clutter of current crib

Savor the visions of authors now dead

captured in words weaved into sentences

then cryptically combined.

Escape from the wreck of current existence

close the eyes,

transport to the past

constructed by neuro transmitters

memories of moments that did not last.

Yet the best escape takes fuel

in the form of imagination

combining three parts of memory

a jigger of observation

a penchant for change

a dash of adventure

and the passion of creation

all baked in kilns of recitation.

Poetry for consumption.

Journal Entry: poetry

A tornado descended from the sun

and wrapped me in awareness

of another.

Each moment contains a passage

to the ecstasy of passion

to the poetry of living

to the sunlight.

Secretly I explore my days

until I find a rip in the facade

and step through

to you.

 

 

 

Journal Entry: Movement Mined from the Mind

Throwing a football.  The grip on a worn leather football. I had better form and  a much quicker release than Tim Tebow.  Throwing a baseball.   The grip for a slow curve ball. Pull the curtain right elbow leading and drop the curve off the table.  Shooting a basketball, shoulders squared to the basket, elbow underneath, the flip of the wrist, perfect backspin.  All mined from memory sitting at a computer.  

My brain remembers and and at the same time undermines my movements.  I can feel the football, the baseball and the basketball; see a completed pass, a third strike and a perfect swish; yet I cannot get out of the couch due to a lack of dopamine.  

The brain.  What will happen when it is wired?  It is 6:12 AM on Thursday February 16, 2012.  I am finishing a brief today.  I can barely dress myself yet I have a brain from which I can mine strings of words.

Three Days in April (a journal): Linsanity

   Valentine's Day 2012.   This weekend I spoke to an old friend in Massachusetts for an hour.  He played for the Raiders in the 1980's.  Semi-Pro baseball a world in which I thrived and now only remember.  I briefly think about other teams of which I have been part: football, basketball and baseball. I mastered each of those sports. Some of my best days, some of my best friends, but now my skills are gone and a few friends are gone forever. 

      It is Tuesday  at 5:00 P.M.  I am thinking about many things and listening online to the New York  Knicks playing in Toronto.  It is the extension of the "Linmania" the sixth game and the kid is getting beaten.  The magical run may be over.  I have to go back to work on the brief.

     On April 2 i will have a hole cut in my skull and a wire inserted.  I need to consider my days now so I can compare in the future.  Will I no longer wake up frozen in bed?'

    Suddenly, Lin has had a few scores but Toronto is ahead by 15 points.  And Sarah has not shown up.  I was expecting her to come by this afternoon.  But now I must work on the brief.

       Mental note: I need to recall my conversation on Sunday with sister.  Later.  And I am considering an analogy between sports phenoms and writers.

    I eat tortillas with lettuce, tomatoes and parmesean cheese.  And two mini microwaved potatoes.  All with olive oil.  

    Olive oil.  I do not buy butter anymore.  And I am writing again.  Will I be able to write after a brain operation?

    The Knicks cut the lead to 2 points with six minutes left but the Raptors get the lead back to six. Lin goes to the basket hard and is knocked down.  He misses his first freethrow and hits the second. But quickly the lead goes to nine.

    Lin has twenty points and ten assists but a loss will dampen the madness.

   Yet Lin ties the game with a drive for a layup and a freethrow with a minute left.   Then Lin buries a three with one second left to give the Knicks their first lead since the first quarter.  Fearless.  Jeremy Lin.  I am thrilled that I listened.  Lin hit 27 points and the Knicks won on a 13-3 run.

    His fellow player said, "I am happy to be on the ride."  Final 90-87.     

    Now back to the brief.  Work Hard.  I can learn from Jeremy Lin.