Ice...Lemon Supreme Moons and the Power of Art

from Love Poem #27

It was but a momentary dream in rhyme

a stolen moment in the scheme of time

Paralleled paradise under gloomy noon,

we shared a lemon supreme moon.

-- Richie M. (2010)

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

People of the Internet!  In order to survive apathy we must participate in our human endeavor, we must empathize, we must strive, we must create!

Don't take your voice for granted, fight for what you believe in -- because "if we die, we must die" but not until we have truly lived.

This is my call for action! Find a way for you to actively change something; even if it only a couple of minds.

Continuing on, I will discuss the nature of ice and the metaphors we adopt in order to enlist a justification for various ideals.

In his novel One Hundred Years of Solitude Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote that when Jose Arcadio Buendia upon seeing ice for the first time claimed "This is the greatest invention of the world" yet as the history of the family unfolds, so does the illusion; The City of Macondo --  the city of mirrors -- undergoes a whirlwind of destruction predicated on its own tragic self-reflexivity. Likewise, Japanese Haiku poet Gozan wrote "The snow of yesterday / that fell like cherry petals / is water once again."

-- Although Gozan encapsulates a zen-like meditation on the relationship,  both writers invoke the forces of nature and on a deeper level speak on the transience of life and desire. In this blog that is seldom read, I seek to take part in this discourse that transcends boundaries of time and space (credit Mucluhan with his notion of the text as an extension of the nervous system).

Our dreams were ephemeral, and like ice melted into water.
Not like thats a bad thing, water is fluid, it is strong. As Bruce Lee said, Be water my friend.

(coming next post: A Thrilling tale on the relationship between Lions and Sheep as they relate to modern life)

My band (The Stanton Street Collective) has been doing pretty well. We played for a benefit fashion show last weekend at The Lancers Club. Proceeds were donated to the battered women's shelter in El Paso. We played with Chrissy (wonderful singer) and the powerhouse known as Ribo Flavin'!!!! It was a really fun show, and to be honest I couldn't quite complain about the event :D

This weekend  (Sunday  March 14th) we will be playing another benefit show at the Border Network for Human Rights (BNHR) office on 2115 Piedras. This is to support the El Paso delegation in the Texas Caravan to join the national rally in Washington DC to demmand immigration reform. Show up and enjoy some local entertainment and delicious food from various members of the community. Volunteers and donations are appreciated.

Here is the flyer for the event:



I hope that you can make it. If you are reading this after the date then I hope you will be able to come out and support future events dedicated to human causes.

Now go and make a difference,

Peace and Love,

Rich

Welcome!

My friends,

Welcome to the Wandering Poet Society

Feel free to post original poetry, quotes/poems you find inspiring, posts about music, posts about art, posts about local culture, or simply if you need a space to put your thoughts down.

This should be a welcome atmosphere and a place for us to share ourselves to the world.

-- Rich

Stanton Street on the Beat

Hello all,

This is a post from my friends @ The Dodo's Nest

Stanton Street Fashionistas


The Stanton Street Collective had a small show this weekend for our pal David's Fashion Show this Saturday March 7.

It was a bigger spot than we were used to but we pulled it off nicely. Preceding us was Christine singing, with Josh doing bass work, and the mystical Mouse on the drums. Mr. Mouse went on to sub for our beatmaster Tony. Following our set was a great local band called Riboflavin' who performed some impressive hip-hop that sounded like it had heavy influence from People Under the Stairs.

The Stanton Street Collective: Rich, Eddy, Zelene, Freddy. (Not pictured: Tony)

I am currently looking for any recording someone may have made. In the meantime, here's a little list of our set:


* Freddy's Red Robin
* F Key for Sax
* Tiene Hambre, Tiene Sed
* ¿Como te Llamaras?
* Avian's Forgotten Dreams
* Zelene's I Am Leaving You
* Zelene's Juarez Poem

Achy Obejas was Here

Achy Obejas was here




Achy Obejas, Cuban-American writer, translator, and journalist just recently visited El Paso and UTEP for Women's History Month.

As a journalist, she has received awards for several of her freelance stories written in the Chicago Tribune. In addition, she has earned the Lambda Literary Award for her novels Memory Mambo (1997) and Days of Awe (2002).

After meeting her in person this past Tuesday, I have to say that she has a wonderful and refreshing personality. If you have the opportunity, check out some of her novels.

Bibliography:

* "Havana Luna (novel)" (2009) Akashic Books
* Ruins (novel) (2009) Akashic Books
* Havana Noir (editor) (2007)
* This is What Happened In Our Other Life (poetry) (2007)
* Days of Awe (2001)
* Memory Mambo (1996)
* We Came All the Way from Cuba So You Could Dress Like This? (1994)


On Tuesday, she signed several copies of her books for me; during which we had a small conversation. I noticed that in my copy of days of Awe she wrote: "Send me a Poem" with her e-mail. I found it very flattering; yet as soon as she had written this, I felt as though every thing I had ever written in my life was suddenly crap. Of course, I'll follow up though, I just wanted to share.

New Night

(Part I: Philosophical Treatise)
[scene: the mind; allegro, ryhtmic]

Oftentimes I feel misplaced,
torn apart, rearranged and retraced

So I sit late nights by a starry fire
And seek thoughts of which to inspire

So this must be what it feels like when a flower blooms
The simultaneous collision of a thousand heartshaped moons

Blurring the division between dream and reality
In a single daydream spent eternity.

***

(Part II: Invocation)

Humanity, Humanity,
You’re a muttering bum.
Sitting there, complacent
Under a stuttering sun.

Goodbye, Halcyon days
Golden goodness, will not end.
Human kind and our desperate ways.
Hello, darkness my old friend

But I’ve had enough of this
Dreary, desolate, way of living.


We have to do something!
So we may stay up late at night and write new stories for the stars.

***

(Part III: Wandering Poet)

Sometimes.
When the time is late and images of contemporary society are sprayed upon the canvas of earth.
Faceless masks and empty words, makes pens mightier than swords.

Although.
The images flicker, rapidly and enigmatic, shadows upon the wall. Shape-shifters roam the earth in nomadic tribes, extinguishing the flame of whim.

WOOSH! was the sound of moonlight breaking into millions of particles
which gently lay down in a blanket of dim fog upon the eclectic city night.
A snow globe of misty light; both lunar and electric are the sounds of the still dark flood as tragic faces move along like yellowed leaves crumbling in the wind.

The leafless trees outside the library stand like red giants, rustling and dancing to the beat of seismic samba as they anxiously wait for the final explosion.

An unknown HOWL darts throughout the fragmented universe as angel-headed hipsters grab their bongos and travel to the promised land -- seeking music lessons from god; the best improviser this side of the imagination.

An island onto ourselves; we build bridges to connect and shout: enough!
And sprawled across the wall. Across the canyon wall; the sacred word: LOVE!!!!

Trapped in the amber of the moment and with no "why," we prepare to be cremated upon our death that way so we may go on as lightly as we wanted to have lived.

And when the wind picks up around the ears of new generations, we -- the voices of the dead -- will attempt to whisper sense to those willing to listen:
Dammit children!, if you do one thing on earth, you've got to be kind to one another.

And they run away in laughter, the only way they know how: towards the future as other voices struggle to be heard.

So this broken world lays outside as a solitary stroll invokes a seemingly coincidental foray into the musical etudes of memory which trigger a brief moment of nostalgia.

This is the now and we must be prepared for any moment upon this spiraled timeline.
Like water, formless and strong. Both empty and full. Tranquil and relaxed yet, ready to act at a moment’s notice.

This is the life we live, no longer directed by sinister muses but by the gentle spirit of love. And the dreamers stand up and jam to the fluid movement of feeling romanticized in the form of other worldly rhythmic vibrations.

Two lovers: both existent and non-existent. Yet, lying in the realm of Possibility.

They stay up late and write new stories for the stars.

***

(Part IV: Masquerade)

Sometimes, I think that I too
have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness...
And burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo
In the machinery of night…

(looking for anything)
(…anything)


They are the burning hot quasars of existential memory -- nostalgic interludes of this melancholy masquerade

-------

(Scene V: Poetic Perseverance)

[scene:late night]

I step of my house -- tired.
I look out at the deep dark ocean of a starry night
and breathe a sigh of relief as my eyes caress
the milky white streaks of matter spilled across
the sky: straggling clouds separated from the herd,
distant star clusters blurred by restrictions of sight,
and spiraling galaxies -- whizzing by at tremendous
speeds. Unfathomable.


Drifting away.
Swept under
the gravitational pull
of an angry sun.


Humanity dwindles on the edge of reason
softly singing a song -- quite possibly a requiem.
The cool breeze of chance glides around
our collective skin -- chills recollect static.

The sound of silence, deep in space.
Under the glow of a million dead stars.
The settled dust of an empty planet
begs for the creation of life.

I gaze outward into the open void
of the desolate universe and wait

…waiting.

Waiting for the moment to soar.
Because this is the one where we learn how to fly in the end.

The Simultaneous Collision of a Thousand Heart-Shaped Moons

So this must be what it feels like when a flower blooms --
The simultaneous collision of a thousand heart-shaped moons.

Blurring the division between dream and reality
-- in a single daydream, spent eternity.

A Glance:

She ripped away the heavily-weighted nets of hate which instantaneously caused everybody to gently float upward
to the skies in a simultaneous dream of lingering euphoria.

She finally showed us how to love;
and her name was music.
Contemplating upon the complexity of a moment, a heavy thunder
hammers upon the fragile strings of poets and philosophers alike.

It leaves a resonating echo in the chambers of
both the heart and of the mind -- repeated invariably
across a landscape of fluctuating mediums.

They simultaneously sing the archaic elegies of yesteryear
and the pseudo-colloquialisms of our current endeavor.

The result is a blur of possibility that lies hidden
within the haunting chords of an unknown song.

Wandering the cusp of existence; where the world is
freshly planted in the soft damp soil of infancy
we are able to experience things again for the first time.

The soul is reborn and the origami dreams of the heart
take flight in a blizzard of rare snowflakes that have been
forged in the icy-blue jet-streams of mysticism.

Romanticized symbols dance inexplicably about my being,
unknown in the world yet meant to signify a refined, pure, soft
and gentle love. But in the process become choked up,
pianissimo mumbles, garbled up with the nonsense of
incomplete incoherent mumbling.

So this must be what it feels like when a flower blooms --
The simultaneous collision of a thousand heart-shaped moons.

The Place Where The World Ends

I temporarily gazed into the grotesque
and all too REAL eyes of Mortality.

The grand scope of all things threw its
intense weight upon my being and pinned
me down to the dusty earth.

- I saw sand turn into glass.
and all around me: glass dissolve into sand.

- I saw the mountain landscape change
flowers and plants and trees, disappear.

- I saw the hard wooden casket of a loved
face, no longer with us. Only then did we
regret lost time.

Staring out the window, I see a dead world.
-- have we truly removed ourselves that far from nature?

My heart sings a song of melancholic reflection
and My mind engages a maze of philosophic meandering.
but my soul...

my Soul transcends beyond the known
and into the hidden flux of all things.
I too, become a transparent eye

and I see what we have done
and I see that all is one.