Red

Red

What becomes

Of the color red?

A fiery passion,

No one can contain.

Does it yearn to be

Something it’s not?

A purplish hue

Or a yellowy hot?

Does it desire to be green?

As the wind kissed fields,

In the months of spring?

Or transition,

To an aqua marine.

The teal

Of the ocean’s pristine?

Jet black at night,

Not wanting to be seen.

Or does it simply fade?

Like night into day.

Losing its luster,

Marching endlessly,

Towards dull grey?

Selection from The Satchel of Dreams. Available on Amazon!

J.a. Wine

The Narcissistic Poet: Must Every Poem be about your Crappy Love life?

"Poetry is Narcissism."  
-- Loose Quote 


A friend of mine said that, and I'm misquoting a bit but it's pretty close.  When you read most poetry out there do you ever ask... "I wonder what the poet was thinking about when he/she wrote this?"  Consider the selection below.  
__________________________________________________________________

I Love You

I see her in the distance

A place afar off

Her beauty ever present

Her skin so soft

My heart begins to race

With the passage of time

As I behold her grace

And wish she were mine

My lips are sealed

My legs grow weak

Only my mind

Is brave enough to speak

I Love you.

She grows closer

A place so near

She fills my heart

And soul with cheer

She is close now

A place so nigh

I could reach and touch her

Though I dare not try

So I whisper the words

With a weak voice of fear

A sound so low

Nobody could hear

I Love you…

She is past me now

A place far away

My mind goes numb

My heart led astray

She secretly killed me

When she walked away

She secretly killed me

And she didn’t even see

It’s a price I pay

As I stand all alone

For daring to say

Words not condoned.

I Love you…

__________________________________________________________

As embarrassing as it is to admit I wrote that in high school (circa 2001) what was I thinking?  Well I was head over heels in love with this girl (Name concealed to protect the innocent).  I couldn't get her out of my head, I would think about her all day every day.  When she passed by my heart skipped blah blah blah all that love stuff.

She inspired me to write poem after poem, most of which was lost because I didn't care as much about poetry as I do now.  

"Who gives a F*** about your love life?"

-- Loose Quote

Good question...

I'm quoting my friend again but why should the reader care if you're hurt, or if you have an intense love for somebody?  Why should the reader care that you asked your high school crush out and she mercilessly shot you down with a chain gun?

Should others care, and why?  Must every poem be about your crappy love life?

The Time

“Excuse me sir,

Do you have the time?”

I asked hoping he knew, and

If he did, he’d be the first.

He glanced at his watch

Gold.

So fancy and new,

And proclaimed,

“Why yes,

It’s ten past noon”

With an arrogant grin;

A cocky smile

He tips his hat,

All the while

Never realizing

The clock hands were

Frozen on his dial.

Without protest,

I thank him,

I politely play along.

For how could I

Correct him

If mine too,

Was wrong?

Kiss Rhyming Goodbye: Non-Rhyming = Angry Rant?

Consider this poem that I'm going to make up off the top of my head.

I think rhyming can be cheesy.

-- If they're supposed to have the best pizza...
why do they keep changing their recipe?

like a pizza that's greasy
It comes from Domino's
Yellow like cheerios
Just under five bucks
but I think it kinda sucks.

Ok awful right?  Now consider this poem I'm going to make up with even less thought put into it.

Domino's pizza sucks
because it does
I hate it because its so greasy
and you never get enough cheese
it's just under five bucks
I hate it.

(Special thanks to Dominoes Pizza for being a good sport.  Seriously I love you... well maybe not "Love" but I don't hate you.)

Equally awful, I highly doubt either one of these guys would win an award in a poetry contest.  But hey the second one doesn't rhyme so the author must have taken more thought and have some profound deepness to his/her words right?

I've noticed in the world of poetry there seems to be this... higher esteem put on poetry that doesn't rhyme.  I've submitted my work to contest and I constantly see the disclaimer "NO RHYMING POETRY" my question is... why?  Can a writer be just as profound and skilled in rhyming as one who does not?

Months later I see the winning entry in this contest that I've been barred from and it's like some 500 line rant with an "F" bomb or two in it with no attention paid to structure and a meaning so abstract that it's impossible to grasp why the poet is so angry or what he/she is even angry about in the first place.

Don't misunderstand me.  I appreciate all poets and their unique writing styles.  I enjoy reading work that's vastly different from my own and have even written non-rhyming pieces myself.  But personally I enjoy bringing a sense of order or rhythm to my poetry and I blame the engineer in me for demanding this out of my work... but I don't see rhyming as the devil.

Sure rhyming can bring along some cheesy lines... (Who rhymes cheesy with greasy anyway?) but if the writer is crafty enough it can make for some pretty profound and clever works of art.

So here's the question:  When it comes to Non-Rhyming poetry what keeps it from being just an angry rant?  

Question 2:  Why do people seem to look down upon rhyming in poetry?  


Feel free to deviate from these questions.

Also feel free to share your Domino's horror stories... (Just kidding Domino's!  Seriously your pizza isn't half bad!)  = )

Choice

I peer down the hallow

Of a long endless road

It don’t go right,

Don’t go left,

And for how long

No one knows?

For miles and miles

There ain’t nothin’ around

If not for the wind,

There wouldn’t be a sound

The sun bakes hot

Burnin the ground ash white

I can’t take the heat

So I only walk at night

With withered legs

That Shuffle through the dirt

Tryin to keep the focus,

Off my bloody feet;

They hurt.

I must keep movin,

Just one more inch

If I keep going,

maybe then…

Sittin on the shoulder

With my face sunk in

I ask the Lord

To receive my soul

And Just then

I noticed a fork in the road

I rejoiced!

Cried tears of sand

Tears of a man

Whose faith had long since died

Yet I rejoiced,

Right then and there

I still had miles to go,

But now I had a choice.

Life's Random Encounters...

Witness if you will the little guy at the left.  Why is he (or she don't want to discriminate) significant?

Well I was at work, stressing  and thinking about how miserably horrible my day at the office was going and I saw him (or her, easy there ladies I'm not sexist) sitting on the steps outside my work place.

What was it doing there?  Not moving, not afraid of all the "ooohs" and "Ahhs" and the "Look how cute it is!" that was hovering around it's tiny little head.  Just sitting, in that pose taking it all in.  Ok realistically it might have strayed from it's mother who knows and who cares look how cute he is!!

Let me get to the point before I lose you.  I had lunch with a friend today and he said he had the most interesting encounter.  He's single, about 24 years of age and he's one of those real artsy type guys who seems to be good at everything and is completely open and honest about feelings and all that gushy stuff that I don't are about.  He went to a restaurant for... well lunch (Can a guy have 2 lunches?  What's wrong with that?) and he saw this woman sitting there alone.  With guts of steel he invites her to sit next to him and she complies and they hit it off.  Just like that, random encounter which might lead to something more.  We don't know this of course but stay tuned folks... and believe me I'll keep you updated.

The point is... life seems to be a bunch of random encounters, random chances that if we sieze them can become our greatest adventure.  For instance... Mr Albert Einstein (You know Mr. E = MC hammer himself) worked at a post office for a while, no doubt dreaming of things that you and I wouldn't understand if we sat in a Relativity class for 1000 years.  Maybe you're that smart but I for one am not!  But here's what terrifies me.  What if he had not taken his chance?  What if he said... "well... let me just sit on this thing, nobody will listen anyway"  Does it terrify you when you think about how different the world would be today had he made this decision?  Think about it.  If one man, Mr. Einstein, had sat on his gift and had not taken a chance you probably wouldn't be reading this blog right now.  So much of our technology is based on his theories of relativity.

The Bottom Line:  Random encounters make up the world.  You'll know when they happen, you'll feel them; those moments in which your heart says "Go for it" but you'll feel this little lump of fear inside called your brain say "Meh... maybe I shouldn't."  Word of advice... do it!  You just never know what will come out of it.  As long as it's a good thing for you, don't be afraid to take the chance.

...and yes I got all that from looking at a miniature squirrel.  I'm a lunatic I know.  = )

Hello all!

So it's been a while but I'm about to kick this in gear. I just wrote a new book called The Satchel of Dreams that I'm super psyched about, i mean just look at that cover!

It's a collection of my very best poetry to date! 

Although it's only a self publish (no shame here in any way.) I think it's time I joined the community in open discussion of the works of other authors out there trying to find their place in this big bad world we live in. Here's the link to my book because I do want you to read it. I really do.  I wouldn't have put it up if I didn't think I had something good to offer!

http://www.amazon.com/The-Satchel-of-Dreams-ebook/dp/B0086XF666/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1338766347&sr=8-1
Promise you won't be disappointed, and if you are come holler at me, I'll make it right for you.

Stay tuned to this blog for more updates on my journey into this brave new world. Until next time!

Cheers!

Mannequin (By Choice)

A mannequin by choice
You know you’re not real
You believe you’re alive
But you can’t truly feel
You have flesh of plastic
A hardened heart of stone
Wires for veins
And rigid iron bones
You cry acid tears
Scorching the green grass
Burns solidified, like
The scars of your past
You truly blend in
A source of envy to your friends
Shaped like flawless art
With sleek glossy skin
You have the whole world
Yet have an empty soul
You lay in bed at night
Wondering where it will go
You have a thousands friends
Without having one
To be crafted by hands
Forever the product of someone
To be loved only in lust
For an instant you feel alive
Only to be left
Feeling dead inside
You feel the emptiness,
Of having no vision to see
To be trapped inside
An invented personality
A mannequin by choice
Crying out to be free
Behind solid glass
On display for the world to see
A vision an entire nation
Aspires to be
A mannequin by choice
Seeking its identity.


J.A. Wine

Bitter Poet

Bitter poet…

Sittin’ there with a blank stare
Suckin’ a blunt
With kinks in your nappy hair
A pen in one hand
A pad in another
As you attempt to emulate
The darker brother
With passion you write
Anger on a page

Bitter poet…

“Filled with un-channeled rage
Worthless nigga’
With nothing good to say”
But that’s just what some say

Bitter poet…

You continue to write
Pen mightier than the sword
Maybe you’ve struck a chord
Or perhaps a nerve
As in the last
Dead last in your class
A brilliant lazy ass nigga’
Trying to escape his caste
By venting with blue ink

Bitter poet…

Angry at the world
Or the injustice you see?
Personally you’re free
So what is it you see?

Bitter poet…

Lazy as can be

Bitter poet…

The price of freedom
Wasn’t free.


J.A. Wine