A little snapshot of a poem I wrote recently.
From the sacred
Mania and domination
History and habit
I have seen the unseen
The same blindfold
Fallen from grace
Mother Earth gives life to energy
Blindfolds falling off
I opened my heart
That my breath
Is my spirit
Journeying into transcendent realms
Into a distant heaven
Illusion is our blindfold
I was recently talking to a Bay Area native about music. Do you know how rare it is to meet a native of the Bay Area? Well, a native of anywhere? We are constantly all moving, and wandering the planet for one reason or another. Our talk? Music.
Now I can get down with most types of music. So open your ears, and open your eyes. Sometimes you may just find something that you’ll really like. His goal… turning me on to some Pat Metheny.
The man… silver hair pulled back into a braided pony tail. Apple cider vinegar a day type. His cousin learned guitar from Jerry Garcia. He protested with black panthers in Berkeley and Oakland. He lived through the crack epidemic brought on my you know who, and lives to tell about it.
The movie, “Soul” by Pixar brings up the recent Jazz topic too. Perhaps the newest hot button lately? Escaping your conscious into subconscious with jazz. Look at the painters who lose themselves in jazz while painting, or the writers who lose themselves in writing… with a beat rolling and jumping and flying and diving.
It is now that I really know what this guy is talking about. So… forget your typical sound baths with crystal bowls. Well, don’t forget about it, if you like it … then keep on keeping on. But the point I guess, is that you can get the same feeling from this that you can of that. Because sometimes it is nice to just escape to another planet of sound, and land back on earth soundly.
The wind howls in the cool wet darkness
The rains ease graciously
The heavy truck door is forced shut by the storm’s breeze
Only to be stopped from latching shut
by my knee…
to my brain
The knee burns
Maybe it bleeds
Not enough to soak through my jeans
Hey, you got any cash??
I need a hotel room tonight, and I ain’t got no money.
No cash here.
Chocolate, Citris, Almonds.
Vanilla, Oak, and Apples.
An overly talkative checker
You two find everything okay?
Oh wait, you aren’t together…
Well, that’s awkward…!!
Now is your chance….
You can crack open your breath mints before you talk to her if you want.
The poor twenty something froze.
His tennis shoes probably a gift from mom,
shortly before she became an empty nester.
All he wanted was his nutella snack,
and his ice breakers mints.
He fumbles to get through the line.
Still he does not turn back.
Back to the cool dank night
Dog kibble scattered on the ground.
dark to light
light to dark
Well, NOW can I have money.
Sores cover her pale face
Short hair knotted sporadically atop her head
No, you cannot have money.
I am not your ATM.
The dog eats her kibble
off the concrete.
A sense of entitlement
used by instability.
Drunk off the overindulgence of humanity.
-K. K. Powell
I use this blog more for poetry, but today I am writing something a little more personal. It is about the process of being a writer. Starting, stopping, being welcomed, being rejected, and that awful day of accidentally losing all your work.
Have any of you ever lost all your work writing?
As it turns out, I was not so great about keeping my work backed up. Two years of research, and writing of ideas… gone. Poof. Smoke bomb. Gone like the wind. The dust has settled now.
What I didn’t realize is if there is too much music stored on a Mac Book Pro, that it will literally wipe out the writings on Scrivener. That is exactly what happened to me. Luckily it was just research. Luckily I write my outlines on paper, and there weren’t too many projects already started. So after some research, and re-writing the good ideas I can remember…I have started again. Where some folks feel bad about my loss, it actually isn’t that bad. It just tells me what I already know. Time to actually jump on an idea.
So I am looking at this as a fresh clean slate. The days are getting darker, and my writing is getting better. At least I think it is? I still continue to write poetry. I still paint. The idea is… never give up. Today I started writing a new novel. I could not be more excited about the twists and turns it will take. My trusty sidekick doesn’t sit too far away in my apartment while I write. Sometime she grumbles at me for a head scratch, or a ball toss which is a much welcomed break.
Lesson learned. Back up your work, before it goes bye bye. Stop being weird. Stop thinking nobody wants to hear your story. Stop being fearful of the judgement. Just finish it, publish it, and the universe will do what it will with it. These novels are just my brains way of painting a picture. More for me than the general public. There is a certain vulnerability displaying your imagination to everyone. It is much like the feeling of standing naked in front of someone for the first time. It can be exciting, and terrifying all at the same time.
Shoulder to shoulder.
The truth was…
you were never really all that good at stoking the fire.
to never reach a flame.
To your disdain.
The spark lay in her ground-
with only a smoulder.
The cloak was your last magic act.
just to hold her.
She lets go.
Little did she know…
The foundation was shoddy.
The pipes fell apart.
It was just the start…
Waves of water spray.
a wet blanket.
How could she stay?