Tag Archives: self portrait

September 15, 2013 · 10:27 pm

Crossroads

Bound to crossroads tie where soul stands strong to go awry,
I find my missing person.
Lifted to one glimpse of you, I duck to hide the view,
deny this moment’s bought incursion.

I look beyond the epitaph that’s carved upon my head.
I see the scrolling dust entreat the road’s long line of thread.

Held to witless smile, wherein my peace remains a while,
I hope forgiveness granted.
Stoked from leeward ways of hell, I hear the knolling bell
foretell of all the pain there planted.

I squint against the razor’d sun that beads the sweat in dread.
I curse below my breath a prayer, entrust to Gabriel’s stead.

Drifted here alone, resulting from the life I’ve known,
I count out what is due.
Pained to bargain past the hack, I turn to see the black
regress through all the lies there true.

I count the locusts’ humming thrums that beckon summer’s dead.
I squeeze my aching heart’s parlay of lying back in bed.

Bought, the coursers fly! Amidst an ebb of dust stormed high,
I cast the prayer free.
Stilled to crossroads tying grit, I scold this honest bit
that brought this moment back to me.

I memorize the epitaph that’s carved from what I’ve said.
I hear my footsteps toil against the first push back to red.

So mark the sun, the road, the dust.
So count the hell in all of us.
So paid the price of what was mine.
So freed to follow this life’s line.

So my soul here granted.

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August 13, 2013 · 3:47 am

A Poet’s Ride (aka the Penny Horse)

What sets the place of commas
as from this fluent pen does fall?
What strokes the pause in thinking?
What dries the ink past question’s call?

Who pokes the sudden image
into the static matter, grey?
Who sets the syllables in line there,
before the truth, as hand paints lay?

Who feeds the silent horses
in wait to craft an image dear?
What stands the milk to crème
that brings the poet’s thoughts to clear?

When is that time for writing
where eyes watch hand take pen to task?
What time is it when landing ink
colorfully paints a recalled past?

How can it be these diverse things
call summing into moment’s hold,
that in one fractioned second spin
scant letters into gold?

Who is the muse of ethos
that keeps the meter bound to clay,
so guides the subtle shaping of
the image felt and cast to lay?

Here are my moments stolen
when from my day my pen takes hand.
Here is the wild ride, in crafting
what I know not comes to band
the ether’d thoughts in floating,
the melding of what’s known, unknown,
the growing of a story
from the clips of life my past has shown.

I ride without a payment,
no penny here have I,
but cast my journey sacred
and never think to wonder why.

This is my blessing, this is my curse,
and tho’ I ride with empty purse
I feel the gift is gold!
… and selfishly I’ll return to ride
until I’m just too old.

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August 1, 2013 · 5:45 am

Write O Poet! Write!

Stand O King, amidst the hoard, drop your face, your shield, your sword. Draw a longer night for two, dance in pheromone candle hue. Scent and wring the shadow long, twist her limbs about yours strong, carry her sweet, carry her wrong, but stand O King! Stand!

Sing O siren, sing in chaste, scowl the horrid haggard face of time in etch upon the scene, drive a tear, a drop be seen. Cast the spell of hopelessness, sort the weak from what’s confessed and Sing O siren! Sing!

Stand O courage to what prevails, stand against the cries and wails of wanton, death and plunder, stand to rend the hate asunder, burn the last of love from you, but stand O courage, stand! Fight true!

Weep O mother, cry what comes, know the son you love is gone. Mourn in silent deafened sobs, deny the jeers, deny the mobs a single hint of fear. Weep O mother dear.

Come O mercy beyond this day! Peace be granted, let some hope stay and find the simple tinker, smile on the lane, drive the sunshine, push the rain, but come O mercy! Defy this pain!

Write O poet, bard’s tale be known of how a hatred here was sown. Draw your ink in blotted haste, and from it pour a lay that tastes of love and courage, fear renounced, of battles won and hatred trounced. Sear the wetted tear drop tracks and sounds of mothers’ weeping slack. Draw lovers spirit lost at night, and courage to overcome with might by just a handful of free men left, cast the horrid face of death, but write O poet! Write!

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July 22, 2013 · 4:27 am

Something Pulls Me

Something there does pull me –

Between the cracking daylight’s seam
and worn to rest at end of dusk –
Something there does pull me –

It leads with motivation born
upon the robin’s morning song,
guides me through a calm enjoyment
wrapped in sun’s rays streaming long.

I task about the pre-work day
with peace of spirit as my guide,
through feeding squirrels, birds, and dog
and watering potted plants outside.

It queues the time for coffee
in synch with chores’ work done,
sits me calmly in front of her,
to loving smile and morning sun.

It pulls me through the work day
with strength in knowing what I do.
It grants my confidence courage
to dive into the corporate zoo.

Yet it pulls me with a knowing
that every moment’s purpose met
will see in me the best of me,
on paths there meant for me I’ve set.

It draws me through the weekend chores
where hands grow tired and sting with sweat,
yet grants a cooling summer breeze
to pleasure useful purpose yet.

It builds a satisfaction
in craftsman’s work and job well done,
it strokes my motivation best
when worn I find it’s all been fun.

And so to evening’s solitude,
a final gift it brings,
granted quiet with pen and pad,
and cigars by which I can blow rings.

Something there does pull me –
Exactly what or who, I’ve guessed,
but the granted gifts in following,
are love, and purpose, and living blessed.

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May 13, 2013 · 2:02 am

Dare

Dare to stand between the lines
of metered meaning rhyme,
that space between the pen and page,
in infinitesimal time
where image conjured draws a slow
distortion through the space to think,
and forms another angled truth
before the page is wet with ink.

Dare to chance the rhythm’d flash
that grows in instant, yet’s quickly passed
to roll beyond the comma’s stay,
there bend the meaning of every lay.

Dare to let subconscious reign
when guided by a sweet refrain,
leave the moment fading fast
where each pen stroke might change the cast
of what you really want to say,
of what you thought so purposed,
so spent in dancing pen at play
brings only soul to surface.

Dare to watch the pen ignite
its personality won,
you think you writer, but that’s not quite
what happens when the pen stroke’s done.

Dare to set emotion free
through meditative spirit,
guide what’s written but let it be,
that as it’s written, heart it!

Dare to synch your worldly thoughts
with living ink and pen,
don’t think, don’t count or hesitate
just let the ether in.

Dare to open window frames
and push your head beyond,
listen in the whispers there
and let the page take such ink on.

Dare to write what comes to you,
what flows through ink to page –
find immutable spirit there,
and free it from its cage!

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May 7, 2013 · 2:21 am

Poet’s Muse

Long road spent between these pages,
life and worries, true love and rages
that fill the vacant lines with scenes,
reality based or wakening dreams…

‘Tis still the stuff of spirit’s life
when to this human form is shaped,
blessing’s miles, confounded strife,
be hero kind or villain caped.

For India in thanks and bows,
to fill the blotter with blackened tonic,
that by the quill and madman’s dreaming
twist the common to most ironic.

But bliss is this sweet expression lain,
when to myself and God explain
the content, part and parcel thought
and so by dreams in verse are wrought.

Be thankful, lazy wandering poet,
for published yes or naught, will know it
when days have waned to breaths in counting,
waiting for the last breath’s mounting,
that life fulfills this spirit’s dreams,
draws lessons from the daily scenes
of family, son’s and daughter’s trials,
to be charmed by quill and ink in vials.

So to the passerby may seem,
revelation in genius, or madman’s scheme.
Be heart at pouring tear and love,
be politically driven, remove the gloves
and belch and scream of disrepair…

But neither one, nor all of these,
enchants this poet or dress’ to please
as much as what his muse can bring,
when by her love and kiss doth spring
his heart and soul in flesh and care…
my pen and ink, words on lines –
belong to her – from her – I swear!

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March 19, 2013 · 1:28 am

The One Lovely Blog Award

Well what do you know…  I’ve been nominated for The One Lovely Blog Award. How about that?

Thanks to LovelyCollegeGirl for the nomination http://lovelycollegegirl.wordpress.com
You really need to check out her blog and her fresh and unique perspective. Good stuff!

So, the following rules apply for this award… sounds simple, right?

Thank the blogger who nominated you and post a link to their page
(thanks LCG!)

State 7 random facts about yourself

and

Nominate those you feel are deserving of the award.

Thanks again to LovelyCollegeGirl!

Seven random facts about me:

1- I’ve been writing (mostly poetry) since I was about 13. Have written many books, published a few.

2- I’ve been playing drums for over 40 years… (wow – I don’t feel that old!) and have done a little road and studio work to-boot.

3- I lived the life of a Colorado Mountain Man for a while – lived in general isolation on the north fork of the South Platte River near Foxton, Co – limited to wood heat, outhouse toilet, 6 gallons of hot water, a summer seasonal well, and a 4 party party-line. During that time my wife and I home birthed 3 children, ate lots of rainbow trout, and lived a life of Colorado Mountain discipline.

4- I have 5 kids between my wife (the love of my life) and I, with 3 grandkids and an ever extending family.

5- My family heritage is from southern Kentucky with history and representation in the Union’s 9th Infantry of Kentucky during the civil war.

6- I love a good cigar!

7- I love being on the road, on my H-D Heritage, with nothing but the Open Road in front of me.

Okay – now for nominations of those blogs I follow that I think are amazing and deserve to be recipients of The One Lovely Blog Award: Please take the time to check out the great work done by these amazing writers, photographers and living-world journalists!

http://palestinerose.wordpress.com/

http://leafandtwig.wordpress.com/

http://leannecolephotography.com/

http://sethsnap.com/

http://retconpoet.wordpress.com/

http://joshidaniel.com/

http://brokenlightcollective.wordpress.com/

Thanks to all of those who follow my blog. I appreciate your sincere comments and kind words.

Please let me know if there is anything that any of you would like to see or hear from me. I’d love nothing more than to be inspired by those of you out here, to embark on an unexpected project.

Thanks!
Jay Blue

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October 25, 2012 · 3:53 am

Evening Chair

a self portrait

Quiet corner, quite room,
evening folds around me –
shadows blur to unseen gloom
misshaping all to “could be” –

Bookcase cast in softened light
hinting names in titles worn –
desk and paintings fade from sight
as I set back to purpose born –

How this quiet has me held,
enamored so, I have fell
to count the details calling…

This house in hush and breathing
counts odd seconds as they fall,
that as the smoke from fingers rolls
its dance is timed to ticked-tock heaving,
and there my attention’s called –

Burns and Poe and Rupert Brooke
mingle with the Malbec here,
that fills my glass and so my mind,
and rests in heap beside my chair –

I sit without a care –
to watch what’s left of evening’s din.
I sit to grasp each moment,
pained and slow and let each in –

Silent corner, silent gloom,
my world enfolds around me –
my conscious darkened to this room,
awakens all that could be!

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