Thursday, November 5th, 2009
I Know Love Because of You
Saturday, October 24th, 2009
Fireflies •••
“bioluminescence”: the production and emission of light by a living organism. Like fireflies ••• and Michael Jackson.
On September 30th, I put this 2002 poem of mine called “Fireflies” with this photo of Michael - because it seemed somehow appropriate - but I wasn’t exactly sure why. Part of it was that the look on his face in this photo is that of desperate desire - which is sort of what Fireflies is about.
When I did this, I had NO idea about a story Kenny Ortega (Michael’s film director for some years) would tell Oprah on her show on October 16th. The story was that Michael called Kenny in wee hours of morning during O2 rehearsals and said “Fireflies!”, “We need fireflies!” and “Victoria Falls!” Apparently, Michael wanted to reproduce Victoria Falls onstage - with fireflies. Michael was always a big Dreamer. They talked him out of that idea, due to the expense of such an endeavor.
But, maybe that had a little to do with why I felt compelled to put this poem with Michael’s photo. Or, maybe not. Maybe it’s just MY desperate desire to have my Angel back in this World. Still raw from the loss of him, I was aghast at hearing this interview where Kenny talked about this 2-3 weeks *after* I’d designed this poem/photo combo.
Then I just cried. Again.
Saturday, October 24th, 2009
Accomplice (a poem on my father’s prejudice)
He chose his lies carefully
unveiled me, screamed into my memory
in a thousand dirty voices
cramming his communion wafer
he hated all kinds of people
and murdered them in my head.
Was this his endowment
to the World?
Yet another addition
to the insidious bastions
of maniacal persecution?
Was this all he could add -
a violation of my horizons
a strange justice ripping my soul
making me wish to be
or worship the dead?
I would rather be affixed
to the name of someone else, anyone
but instead I was trapped alone
inside a jagged white lie
choking on the stench of prejudice;
the discounted souls he left behind –
and one of them was mine
I would rather be an accomplice
to something better, something
honest, instead of this cold
sickening scheme - someone else’s
cancer incubated in an invisible me.
“If you’re gonna fall”, he scorched,
bellowing words like flame
“do it in a damn straight line!”
My soul lost its voice on every page of this.
If I fall in line, what would that make me?
© Seven, 1997, 2009
Thursday, October 22nd, 2009
‘Planet Earth’ by Michael Jackson: His poem, read by him. Enchanting. Haunting, and Beautiful.
Wednesday, October 21st, 2009
Be Not Always (An Angel Sings)
This is from the Jackson’s Victory album back in the 80s. Michael is of course, singing. This is probably one of the first humanitarian-related songs he sang. Others - all touching and prescient, even moreso today, followed. The World has no idea what it’s lost. The Heart of the World is gone, no longer beating, and his messages continue to be lost while talking heads and tabloids continue to debate about his physical appearance, habits, and origin of his children. It’s a petty world, given to distraction at its own dire expense. It’s never changed. We continue to destroy ourselves based upon our own inability to evolve or to even know at any moment, what REALLY matters. An Angel was sent to teach us - but who was listening?
LYRICS:
Always be not always and if always, bow our heads in shame.
Always, please be not always.
And if always, bow our heads in blame.
‘Cause time has made promises, just promises.
Faces, did you see their faces?
Did they touch you?
Have you felt such pain?
To have nothing, to dream something, then lose hoping.
Is not life but lame?
But time has made promises, just promises.
Mothers cry, babies die helplessly in arms while rockets fly and research lies in progress to become.
But what of men are flesh and blood?
We turn our backs on life.
How can we claim to stand for peace when the race is armed in strife, destroying life?
Always, be not always.
But if always, bow our heads in shame.
Always, please, be not always.
‘Cause if always, bow our heads in blame.
‘Cause time has made promises, just promises.
Death promises.
Monday, October 19th, 2009
Justice
Time isn’t only a song
it’s the pressure of my doom
There’s a man in a white suit
I don’t trust
he’d probably like me to think so,
but I don’t think he’s Jesus
What do you want from me
There’s justice everywhere
for the guilty
but none to be found
for the innocent
Maybe it’s there somewhere
but not nearly often enough
Nevertheless, I’ll take it
when it comes
I’m not sure i can keep this up
’cause I can see right through
Maybe it’s time to leave
I never promised I’d stay here when
the World turned upside down
and I don’t believe
this is the way it’s always been
There could be justice here,
but no one’s interested
get their hypocrisy and hatred
from Fox “News”
Rabbi Schmuley I don’t trust
he’d probably like me to think so,
but I don’t think he’s Jesus
People with twisted ideas
of what morality really is
wouldn’t know the difference
between right and wrong
or guilt and innocence
if it bit them on the ass
They’ll waste another afternoon
destroying the lives of millions
with sheer willful ignorance
You know, people should really
stop tearing each other apart
but will they do it before it’s too late
for someone else I love?
Maybe it’s time to leave
I never promised I’d stay here when
the World turned upside down
and I just can’t believe
this is the way it’s always been
© Seven, 10/2009
Saturday, October 17th, 2009
Who is conducting Love’s symphony now that Michael is gone?
On June 25th 2009, the Sun went out
We loved him like Everything
father, son, lover, husband
friend, brother, mentor, inspiration
We loved the way he touched us
more than the Universe
He touched the way he Loved us
and it was too much for words
so he translated it
into song and dance
The vast emptiness
left by his absence is fire
fueled by an ache that never runs out
the only analgesic for this
is Michael’s Love
His pulse, his breath
all he did and all he gave
was the Heart of the World
and now, it seems
there is no Love left,
except ours for Him
… but He’s gone.
What fills this, what empties it
what takes it away
even the crickets seem to know
that something is different
that something is missing
they don’t even sound the same
Who cares now about the children
in Romanian orphanages?
Who cares now about the cries
in the night that no one else
could hear - when no one else
is even listening?
Who remembers now those
the rest of the World forgot
or those the World rejected?
Who holds the World’s children
so close in their hearts
and prays for them every day?
Who hears the cries of Earth
as she tries in vain to heal
the damage wrought by humanity?
Who cares more?
Who loves more?
Who loves most?
Who gives everything
the way Michael did?
Who will send us tingling
with the ecstasy of dance
the way no one else could dance?
Who will help us believe
in ourselves, that we could be
everything we dreamed
every time he sang?
He saw God in all of us
and gave pieces of our own Hearts
back to us,
wrapped up as sparkling gifts …
pieces of ourselves
we’d lost and didn’t even know it
Every moment in life with
Michael Jackson was like Christmas
There is no replacing this
I miss those big brown eyes
I miss that magnificent smile
I miss that sparkling laugh
I miss that Heart bigger than the Universe
I miss my father, son, lover, husband
friend, brother, mentor, inspiration
I miss the love notes he sent
I miss the Love he WAS more than anything
On June 25th 2009, the Sun went out
The Heart of the World went missing
and Nothing seems like enough
No one seems like enough
There will never be another One
Who is conducting Love’s symphony now
that Michael is gone?
© Seven, 2009
Thursday, February 26th, 2009
Mirage
he showed up
after many years
and called me ‘beautiful’
hadn’t talked to me before
but wants to know me now
said I was always in the periphery
always on his radar
if I’m so beautiful then why
is he with someone else
I think this is more than timing
something about it lies or
otherwise makes no sense
he said despite all this
what’s in the mirror is mirage
he said in spite of what I saw there
how beautiful I really was
run into the arms of a mirror
and see what it gets you
pound it with tears and fists
it will only absorb you
I bought into the whole idea
when his compliments came calling
and I’m sure someone loved me once
but I don’t remember when
or who I was then
run into the arms of a mirror
and see what it gets you
pound it with tears and fists
it will only absorb you
run
run
run
(c) Seven, 2009
Monday, August 4th, 2008
point
i ain’t nobody’s angelina.
just an agile bloodstain
from bold genetalia
a lanky beat
of hellbent vain
keen tenth of a novel
i awaken a gloomy hothead,
fall asleep
a legendary lobotomy
and nag lovingly
in trim dignity
and with one last flourish
of tidy verbal massacre
i’ll die like this
snarky rich and poor
as smacking dirt
befitting a dynamic hag
but will have wanted
to be more, otherwise
what was the point?
(c) Seven, 20080804