A Wednesday poetry reading /or/ The Artful Blogger

santabarbara2
Guess they gotta good grip on me

Answer to my critics

This popular idea today of writing is something of a distraction. It is hard to escape it’s trappings. Form, style, punctuation, bow down to them and we will love you, publish you, sing your praises. But to write as art is different than all that. Telling you just where to stop and start, which words or syllables to emphasize would be like telling you what to see in a painting. Words have notes, and colors, and scents. They can be drum beats, or paintings, or melodies when put in a certain order. You can taste them, or smell them, even breath them. Sometimes they are sharp and loud and unsettling, other times smooth and flowing. Editors are looking for something that sells, the same ole same ole. I am looking for something that moves, that lives, or dies. Warhol didn’t need a canvas the size of the Sistine Chapel to reach into peoples soul, Jean-Michel Basquiat could intrigue an entire generation with a few letters on a wall, Patti Smith could move a whole city with just one set.  But what my writing means to me is of little importance, what it means to the reader is what counts. All I hope, is that when I am done with one of my works it hits you like the opening riffs to Sweet Jane, or Honky Tonk Women. Or like Kevin Blanch saying “they’ll be calling you a radical”. Now that moves me!.
Love is the answer!

1 Corinthians 13New International Version (NIV)

13 If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

A Short Love Poem on a Thursday

close breaths draw deep these colors

close breaths draw deep these colors
that shade cool the attraction growing
in sights small want builds it’s castle
where pecks evolve in melting moisture
on fallow ground star dust seedlings
share chilly bumps an intimate soothing

 

whitesands

A Sunday Evening Poem

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The Beating Rhythm Psychotic

swirling clockwise the sands surround my head
violently throwing up a black widow brain twister
sucking at the orphaned airborne chattering near by
a taste of green drops, and catches on tongues edge
spit up ascending the ladder of the dark mass growing

yellow woven turnstiles shade broken mirrors blushing
few castaways survive the blue sharp edged slivers
a cutting positioned high slicing multiple hard wares
shaved metal showers fire the gears to slow grinding
hot the forging casts an orange tint inside quick lightning

skull bobbing and nodding a whitish poultice oozes out
backwards talking carnies run this shaky festival booth
the show, a perpetually moving storm of three card Monte
red the queen traveling veins of this tornadic spun tempest
to fall in monster hail stones pounding out the beating rhythm

Afternoon Poetry for Memorial Day 2017

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Have not been feeling well for a few weeks, here are a few to catch you up…. peace!

 

 

 

on the mantel I found your note

on the mantel I found your note
sitting, I read it by the fires light
drowning in the words you speak
arms flailing at ears flash pierced
woven inside I tasted the strings
stuck to the web of a silky trap
sniffing at branches in the dark
sprung loose cracking my teeth
die rolled lost in the floor boards
smoke or a vapor up the chimney
waking in the dark coffee chimes
drifting shale scents over fences
whiteness grows in sight reflected
blown ashes the glowing doth fade

There Is Only One Shade Of Black

cling hard the colors fading
under skin loosely hanging
hundreds of green sparks
showering the open garden
palettes of shades watering
the sky an ocean of blues
powdered hues cast subtly
of reds and yellows shining

distinctly separated bows
the horizon ever changing
glazing now these doughnuts
set in facial sockets aged
scents and sounds do reign
each note has it’s own ringing
yet as night settles here darkly
eclipsing the shadows dull light

in blindness I discover harshly
there is only one shade of black

perpetual the change that remains sweet

muffled giggles in blooming flowers
spark light the butterflies cool rise
yellows, oranges, and blacks scattered
in a blinking musical whirlwind ballet
lilies and crocuses spinning a melody
delicate antenna mimic a child’s wave
May shadows at noon disguise liquid
puddles skated smooth froze as ice
floral scents carried along spring winds
perpetual the change that remains sweet

[ in that barren, dark place ]

in that barren, dark place
only those who know, know
solitude commences loudly
enemies all who pass here
self the worst provocateur
humans scampering all earth
in a kaleidoscope of shadows
swords reach just shy a slice
but the echos of words ring on
swollen, a tribute to Vincent’s ear
they rattle the brain unconscious
oh how can loneliness be so busy

chasing rabbits breaking bones
a lie, a trap set, the fowler’s snare
sanity too high a price to chase now
looking through those looking through me
forgoten groceries laid at the doorstep
or the gas never pumped, the stares
the wind strikes without royal regard
while graveyards seem a quiet place
out beyond the bustling brainwaves
no you can’t feel it just a vapor passing
here though rides a desperate cowboy
breathing this dusty trail until it’s end

nonukes1

US FESTIVAL 1983

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Here we go again, another true adventure from years ago. As always the main thing to remember is that this is a true story.
The year was 1983, and this time I am sure about it. The radio station in New York that I listened to at the time announced this spectacular concert that was to take place in California. Something called the US Festival. It was being put on by some Apple computer guy, which to be honest I had no clue who he was back then. But who cared, a three day concert in California that had all the great bands of the day and David Bowie was gonna do a set. They told me it had been years since he had toured so I was in. Of course I also had about the same amount of knowledge of California as I did of Apple Computers so you can imagine how well this is going to come together.

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Now I would go anywhere for a concert, but California was quite a distance from The Bronx. This was going to require some skillful planning. First up was securing tickets at the closest Ticketron outlet which just happened to be in the Travel Agency located on the ground floor of the building I was living in at that time. Dale, a bud of mine said he would go, and I figured we would be able to get another victim also so I went in and arranged for the tickets to the show along with the required round trip plane tickets. When to my surprise the agent asked if I would be needing a rental car at our destination. I had not even considered that since we just took the subway or busies around the city anywhere we need to go. Turns out it would have been impossible to get around where we needed to in California without a car. In fact it turned out even with the car we almost didn’t make the show, more on that later. But when asked of course I said ‘sure’, mind you now I barely ever drove, just the work van for deliveries, and also I didn’t even have a credit card. After asking all the questions and filling out some forms the kind lady asked for my credit card at which point I replied, I’ll just pay in cash if that is alright?”. Sure, she explained “we will put it on our card, but we will need to get a deposit in cash now also”. Fine, how much, three hundred no problem, but make sure I have the full insurance coverage with that, good another hundred no problem. And with that the deal was done notching to do but wait the two months until the concert took place.

So that’s the lead in, I will try to get the rest written tomorrow if there is some interest. But this one is a real killer adventure, airplane rides on acid, cops holding shotguns to our heads, bloods crips, magic mushrooms, Van Halen, David Bowie,and a rental car disaster. I mean mud and blood and beer, sunburn, lost in the desert, aliens, it’s like Prego…it’s all in there.

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crowd shot from across the lake
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Talking Heads dust storm

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http://ultimateclassicrock.com/the-us-festival-remembered-30-years-later/

http://www.setlist.fm/festival/1983/us-festival-1983-3bd6b840.html

 

 

Oroville Dam UPDATE !!!

http://www.drroyspencer.com/2017/02/is-failure-of-the-oroville-dam-possible/

Is Failure of the Oroville Dam Possible?

February 11th, 2017 by Roy W. Spencer, Ph. D.

“The last couple of days have not made me very confident in the predictions of engineers associated with the Oroville Dam.

While I am a climate researcher, and not hydrologist, it took me less than an hour midday yesterday (see comments here) to estimate that the emergency spillway would be breached around 9 a.m. PST this morning. I was off by an hour…it was breached at 8 a.m.

But engineers were leaning toward the lake level never getting that high (901 ft.)

This kind of calculation isn’t rocket science. As long as inflow into the lake exceeds outflow (both of which are monitored hourly), the lake level will rise.

Why were engineers reluctant to predict the (admittedly historic) event?”

 

http://www.kcra.com/article/oroville-spillway-outflows-increase-as-damage-continues/8701837

The latest releases have caused even more damage widening the hole and cutting away at the side of the hill. The lake is at about 95% so they have to keep releasing I would suspect. This is an earthen dam and if this thing goes it will be a major catastrophe. If you live in California stay alert you do not want to have all that water and earth coming at you.

here is a short video:

A video posted on YouTube shows big trouble at the dam, as the spillway has developed an almost 200 ft. hole. For the earthen filled dam this may turn out to serious, though officials are saying there is no danger at this point. .

According to Wikipedia this is the most important water source for the California Department of Water Resources’ State Water Project.

“The Oroville-Thermalito Complex is a group of reservoirs, structures, and facilities located in and around the city of Oroville in Butte County, California. The complex serves not only as a regional water conveyance and storage system, but is the headwaters for, and therefore perhaps is the most vital part of, the California Department of Water Resources’ State Water Project, the world’s largest publicly built and operated water and power development and conveyance system.”

Courtesy: Richard Winterrowd

Richard Winterrowd

CBS13 reports,

“Operators increased their water releases at the dam on Tuesday as a significant storm rolled through Northern California. However, as peak water releases started happening around noon, people started noticing some concerning signs”

In terms of a catastrophic failure besides the residents below who could lose everything and the immediate lose of life, there also could be major impacts throughout California in terms of water and power.

This is something to definitely keep an eye on.

PSALM 32

 Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.

Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no guile.

When I kept silence, my bones waxed old through my roaring all the day long.

For day and night thy hand was heavy upon me: my moisture is turned into the drought of summer. Selah.

I acknowledge my sin unto thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid. I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin. Selah.

For this shall every one that is godly pray unto thee in a time when thou mayest be found: surely in the floods of great waters they shall not come nigh unto him.

Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah.

I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.

Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding: whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle, lest they come near unto thee.

10 Many sorrows shall be to the wicked: but he that trusteth in the Lord, mercy shall compass him about.

11 Be glad in the Lord, and rejoice, ye righteous: and shout for joy, all ye that are upright in heart.