Bards and Brews

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This event was held at the Birmingham Botanical Gardens.  It is a beautiful place and draws a rich mixture of people.  It was similar  here tonight.  A Poetry Slam I learned is an odd mixture of hip artsy folks and folks that just want to be around those folks.  There is a particular vibe and energy and rhythm about it.  It is kinda like the Gong Show but kinder.  The themes generally are urban or cutting edge progressive.  It is as much about emotions that are elicited than the actual poetry in a sense.  But the spoken word and the live performance creates emotional fields to provide the context for what the artists are attempting to accomplish.  It is a particular genre that I discovered is not where I am most fluent.  I will return and continue to do me there but don’t have any ambition of winning a competition of this type.  But I did not go to win.  I went to test and stretch my Self, to risk and discover new aspects of being alive.  It is amazing to me that I would be doing something like this.  It is something that was completely foreign to me just a few months ago when I was young (only 51).  I accomplished what I intended.  First and foremost I did something I was afraid (well afraid is too strong a word) of doing.  I only risked my ego and survived. Not that big a deal.   I also met some new people and sowed new seeds that may produce fruit unforeseen down the road a bit.  I guess part of what I am doing is providing an example of stepping out.  I have found that sometimes it is not all that sexy and exciting. . . but sometimes it is. 🙂

I used to call what I do Spoken Word but after hearing it I realise that is not me. I am not urban.  I have plenty of soul but it comes out of different roots.  Louisiana rural, country, jazz, R&B, with a little Funk thrown in the mix was the context of my groove.  Maybe Spoken Jazz or something along that line would be more correct.  If anybody has any ideas holla.  Here is a recording of me doing my thing.  A kind soul recorded it on their phone.  I like the poem better with the music but that is just me.  It is slow to load here so if you have come this far and still want to hear it you may let it go ahead and load before trying to listen. It is an mp4 file if some of you know what that is.  I selected the option to imbed the media player.  I use Windows if any of that matters.  Maybe it will be better where you are.  Be Groovy! 🙂

 

 

Chuck – My Friend

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This is a short clip of Mr. Chuck King.  He is one of the most gracious souls I know.  He is philosophical, yet likes to laugh.  He is profoundly talented yet remains a student.  He is helping me find my groove.  Thank you Chuck!

 

Seeds Sown – Plato’s Groove

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Spiritual path...

I had a crazy idea.  It was connected to my soul somehow.  It has been at the periphery of me for some time.  It is funny how crazy dreams will manifest and change over time.  I have a musician’s heart but I can neither sing nor play anything other than a few chords on a guitar and the CD player in my truck.  But the crazy idea which was birthed a long time ago has persisted.  I had no idea that it could ever become real.  Sunday I decided to get way out of my comfort zone.  I contacted some friends who are some of the best jazz musicians there are.  We are going to do some experimental jazz improv along with my poetry readings.  I figured that I can’t sing but I can talk.  I have realized that the spoken word can be very powerful.  It was and is still somewhat intimidating to think about but crazy might just be my path.

What follows is something that I wrote three or four years ago.  Last January my sons were helping me start this blog and we did this one night after a couple glasses of wine.  Now I’m thinking we can take this thing on the road. Or not.  It don’t really matter.  What matters is that we cast the seeds into frightening and new places.  But I do have at least one place lined up that wants us.

Time winds down. . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .

The clock ticks.
It fades in and out of my awareness.

The clock ticks.
Marking Time as It winds down to finally rest in Eternity.

The clock ticks.
Independent, without regard It plucks the very strings of the Cosmos.

The clock ticks.
Time now divided makes meter possible and cadence contingent.

The clock ticks.
The fabric of possibility is woven, lining the womb that is time.

The clock ticks.
Sacred Space emerges between the beats of past and future. Seeds can only be sown in the Now.

The clock ticks.
Slumbering Soul, never at rest, seeks completion of Its’ chord unresolved.

The clock ticks.
All existence is in motion, potential, moving toward harmony or dissonance, creativity or chaos, Life or death.

The clock ticks.
The metronome beats out the call to choose or not to choose. Both require a choice.

The clock ticks.
Whether background or fore, whether conscious or dreaming, It makes possible the awareness of Plato’s Groove.

The clock ticks.
Out of the shadows Life calls to life. There is underlying order within the chaos. The pilgrim seeks that which has always been hidden within view.

The clock ticks.
The artist’s heart does not create ex nihilo but rather chooses one and not the other, manifesting particular harmonies that resonate and call them into Being.

The clock ticks.
To act or refrain from motion is the artist’s prerogative. Variation ads pigment, or not, to the evolving tapestry.

The clock ticks.
Soul becomes more harmonious; at rest in the body, powerful its resonance with the Real. Dissonance no longer a mystery to be feared but rather consciously strummed to accentuate and more clearly articulate the Soul’s growing chorus.

The clock ticks.
Oh, Traveler strain through the dissonance to hear the notes which resonate with the pattern of your soul. Choose it at the cost of all others.

The clock ticks.

The clock ticks.

The clock ticks.
Each Soul’s resolution is to cultivate and balance It’s own polytonic sound in preparation for joining the romp with all other pure souls in harmony, dance, in art, in mathematics, and all other lenses through which we glimpse the mystery of the Eternal celebration that is Life.

Consonance. Congruity. Harmonious. Original. Authentic.

The Word made Flesh

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Where did the music go

What does the poet do when the Song goes silent

He must wait and listen

There are empty spaces in all compositions

A foundation of silence, of stillness, which makes all else possible

Without the empty still spaces movement is random and vibration noise

Is is not a horrible thing

There is no reason to be afraid

Only wait and listen for Her cadence, Her rhythm

That is your Soul’s Groove silly forgetful man

She will return again as She wills

She is not a creature tamed and trained to do tricks for others

She is alive and wild like the wind

When She moves raise your sails and let Her fill them with Her

Ride the storms of Her, feel the touch of Her cooling breezes on your skin

When She is quiet you are not abandoned, it is only a punctuation before the next Word waiting to be spoken

When She is still remember that even your breath is filled with Her

In Her you live and move and have your being

She has stirred and taught and moved and awakened your sleeping Self

The inner world has grown and now awaits the poet’s action

Her stillness is a signal that there is Outer work to be completed, a new balance to be discovered

She moves at the will of the Creator continually calling forth the intention of you

A new creation, a path in the wilderness, a spring in the desert manifest on the material plane, awaits

The Outer life can be a trap and a trick, but so too can the labyrinth of the Inner

Her rhythm seeks harmony and balance, consonance

Her movement calls you in, Her stillness sends you out

It is never either/or but Both

The Word spoken from before the foundations seeks It’s incarnation in you

 

The Intention of the I AM

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He ain’t scared! 🙂

I want to write something just because I can
I feel cocky and the wilder parts of me have been stirred up
I don’t wait for permission
Or some other’s indulgence
I am
I write for me because I wish it, cause I’m alive
I beat my chest and growl, I roar
I am present on the savannah
Hear me, feel me, wonder what I will do
I am
I feel my heart’s beating, my blood rushing
I fill my lungs with the fragrant life surrounding me
Feet solid, gaze unblinking, alert, unafraid
I walk as one with authority, the earth trembles beneath my steps
I am

And so are You

Roar for the joy of it

Run, jump, laugh, do your dance in spite of circumstance

All that is wrong is the belief that something is wrong . . . with you

Be Groovy! 🙂