Adrift
Out 'pon the ocean where horizon meets sky
Distance is timeless and the blink of an eye
Reflections of promise in the vastness of sea
In the softness lies hidden unforgivable plea
Dreams gone awash from the shores where we'd sit
Throw in the secrets we release bit by bit
With the sun gently fading what is light starts to fade
The singer can sing but the songs' all been played
I watch and I listen and I search to no end
The ocean demands quite a lot of a friend
Copyright SGW 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Poem: Loves Ones
Loved Ones
The quiet moments are fraught with complexity
Your absence is painful reckoning
Reminiscences of countless memento images
Better times
Someday, smiles will recall infinite joys
Now there is empty need for just one more shared day
Sense awareness of you lingering within my soul
I can’t lose that … I won’t
For you brightened my life a million times … a million ways
I will keep a lock box safely in my heart
Visiting you there
Never forgetting; always loving
Always
Copyright SGW 2011
The quiet moments are fraught with complexity
Your absence is painful reckoning
Reminiscences of countless memento images
Better times
Someday, smiles will recall infinite joys
Now there is empty need for just one more shared day
Sense awareness of you lingering within my soul
I can’t lose that … I won’t
For you brightened my life a million times … a million ways
I will keep a lock box safely in my heart
Visiting you there
Never forgetting; always loving
Always
Copyright SGW 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Poem: Blanket
Blanket
To lie in the sun
On the first day of springtime;
A reward of peace
Copyright SGW 2008
To lie in the sun
On the first day of springtime;
A reward of peace
Copyright SGW 2008
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Abbie Gardner: Hope
Abbie Gardner has followed up her brilliant “Honey On My Grave” CD with another fine piece of artistry called, simply, “Hope.” The Red Molly member continues a long tradition of diversity in her music, with ample displays of blues, jazz, country, and pop/rock.
Gardner opens with “Break It Slow,” which does nothing of the kind. Her skill on the dobro comes quickly to the fore in this rollicking, bluesy beginning. But this track is merely setting a mood that is prevalent throughout the eleven songs on this CD. And that is what I believe defines “Hope’s” essence; it is a mood. Each song is unique, but they all blend together to create a feeling that the listener is sitting in a dark and smoky bar, with drink in hand, leaning back, and taking in musicianship extraordinaire.
Gardner brings vocals to the table that are at once sweet and soft, while also feeling edgy and sly. Her voice gives the impression of a wink and a knowing, furtive smile. The dobro only enhances that sensation with its alluring pull of playful, soulful, street-wise touch. Add in the smooth base of Craig Akin, slick piano of father Herb Gardner and the unassuming organ of sister Sarah Gardner (Can everyone in this family play at a high level!?), and the atmosphere of the downtown Chicago or New York bar/nightclub flourishes all the more. This is a tight group of musicians, also including Ben Wittman on drums and Emily Hope Price on cello, playing together as if one. The backing vocals of fellow Molly, Laurie MacAllister, along with Robbie Hecht and Fred Gillen, Jr. are also placed brilliantly and seamlessly throughout the tracks.
“Comes Love” is the ultimate seedy-tavern song, with Herb Gardner’s ivory keys dancing about throughout the track. His lively playing joins hands with Abbie’s bouncy and smiling, “It’s You,” later on.
Abbie Gardner is also a gifted songwriter, and this has rarely been more clearly on display than in the title track, “Hope.” She sings: “Got no cause to believe, but my hope just won’t leave.” This, with the vibe her dobro transmits, and the musical accompaniment enhancing all the songs, is really what Gardner is most attempting to convey here. We should never lose faith, even in the worst moments, and Gardner has to “give up. I give in;” she won’t fight the reality any longer that she is a sucker for the promise that we tell ourselves; that in the bleakest moments, there is … hope.
Gardner also cannot resist other elements that define her. In “Bang Bang,” she is mischievous, devious, conflicted, and unsure. “I could aim for her or aim for him,” or she could do herself in or walk away. Bang bang takes on multiple meanings and possibilities here and one can only guess who gets banged, or not, in the end.
When taken as one, “Hope” always comes back to mood. The bar is filled with ominous-looking folk, there is a lot of something going on just beneath the surface or in the shadows and no one really knows what will happen next. However, through it all, there is a sense of possibility and insinuation that makes us wish to stay and see where it all goes.
Abbie Gardner gives us “Hope:” listen, feel, love and, most of all, hope.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Poem: A Fucking Poem
I do not often curse in poems, though sometimes nothing gets a point across more clearly. However, I was thinking of the ever-versatile word, "fuck," and, well ...
A Fucking Poem
If someone should ask you the most dimensional word
Cover kids’ ears so it isn’t soon heard
It is deemed rather vulgar or crude to its use
You won’t find it in classrooms or the famed Dr. Seuss
Fuck is a word that knows limitless place
“Fuck it” or “Fuck yeah” or “Fuckin’ disgrace”
“Fucked over quite royally” or “No fucking way”
“Fucking like rabbits” or “That fucker just may”
“Fuck up” a project; “Get fucked faced at the bar”
Or the envious marvel for “The fucking rad car”
“That mother fucker’s just fucked me,” so “Fuck you” returned
“I’ve no fucking idea” when a plan’s not discerned
“Fuck!,” you’d exclaim in a moment of pain
“That dumb fuck’s a moron” you would rightly proclaim
“Where the fuck are we” and “Who the fuck cares”
“Who gives a fuck” or “He is fucking downstairs”
The word can be fit into any deemed spot
It is a marvel of English though a prude’d rather not
I use it here freely as a tribute as such
The fucking poem is finished having used fuck … so fucking much
Copyright SGW 2011
A Fucking Poem
If someone should ask you the most dimensional word
Cover kids’ ears so it isn’t soon heard
It is deemed rather vulgar or crude to its use
You won’t find it in classrooms or the famed Dr. Seuss
Fuck is a word that knows limitless place
“Fuck it” or “Fuck yeah” or “Fuckin’ disgrace”
“Fucked over quite royally” or “No fucking way”
“Fucking like rabbits” or “That fucker just may”
“Fuck up” a project; “Get fucked faced at the bar”
Or the envious marvel for “The fucking rad car”
“That mother fucker’s just fucked me,” so “Fuck you” returned
“I’ve no fucking idea” when a plan’s not discerned
“Fuck!,” you’d exclaim in a moment of pain
“That dumb fuck’s a moron” you would rightly proclaim
“Where the fuck are we” and “Who the fuck cares”
“Who gives a fuck” or “He is fucking downstairs”
The word can be fit into any deemed spot
It is a marvel of English though a prude’d rather not
I use it here freely as a tribute as such
The fucking poem is finished having used fuck … so fucking much
Copyright SGW 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Poem: Escape From Newark
Escape From Newark
Four hours and counting on United Six Forty-Five
Stuck on the runway; not a hope we'd derive
Chicago flights passing as we miss each connection
Cramped on the airplane with no moving direction
Pretzels and bread crumbs our in-flight consumption
Our eventual departure is a hopeful assumption
Control tower's offered little sign we'll be leaving
And with words such as Kilo there's a chance they're deceiving
We've sent for more ice and First Class got a cookie
But as to whether we'll fly soon - make no bet with your bookie
Great, now a baby is crying and my cell phone's gone dead
What I wouldn't give for a sandwich on some fresh, made rye bread
We're off of the plane ... for a moment ... removed from embarking
At Gate 18 stopping, our plane is now parking
Wait! We've re-boarded quite sudden and I'm back in my seat
At least we've made friends on the flight we did meet
The questions remain if we'll take soon to the skies
The door was just closed so let's see what's implied
Happy Days! Hallelujah! The planes in the air
On our way to Chicago; at last we are near.
Copyright SGW 2003
Footnote: I was flying from Newark to Seattle, with a stopover in Chicago. This was 2003 .... The weather was fine and there were no situations in Newark, not even a Mike "The Situation," as far as I know.
Anyway, we sat on the runway for 5 hours. Since the plane ran out of food and water, we finally went back to the terminal gate, got off the plane and crowded into the nearest restaurant. After 15 minutes, we finally got close enough to place an order, at which point we were called back to our plane without getting food.
Back on the plane, we sat another hour before taking off. This inspired me to write a poem called "Escape from Newark," which I then shared with my friend and travel partner. He loved it, but the girl on my other side heard it and asked me to read it again, which I obliged. She, in turn, told the flight attendant.
With about 45 minutes to landing in Chicago, they had me stand in front of the cockpit door and recite the poem over the intercom system. After, I was asked to announce my E Mail address.
Returning home from vacation, I had about 15 requests for copies of the poem, and, just a year ago, a girl wrote to me and said she was on that flight, found my E Mail address, and asked if I would send her a copy of the poem.
So, Bruce Springsteen may have performed at Madison Square Garden. But when he can claim to have put on a show at 30,000 feet, tell him to talk to me!
Four hours and counting on United Six Forty-Five
Stuck on the runway; not a hope we'd derive
Chicago flights passing as we miss each connection
Cramped on the airplane with no moving direction
Pretzels and bread crumbs our in-flight consumption
Our eventual departure is a hopeful assumption
Control tower's offered little sign we'll be leaving
And with words such as Kilo there's a chance they're deceiving
We've sent for more ice and First Class got a cookie
But as to whether we'll fly soon - make no bet with your bookie
Great, now a baby is crying and my cell phone's gone dead
What I wouldn't give for a sandwich on some fresh, made rye bread
We're off of the plane ... for a moment ... removed from embarking
At Gate 18 stopping, our plane is now parking
Wait! We've re-boarded quite sudden and I'm back in my seat
At least we've made friends on the flight we did meet
The questions remain if we'll take soon to the skies
The door was just closed so let's see what's implied
Happy Days! Hallelujah! The planes in the air
On our way to Chicago; at last we are near.
Copyright SGW 2003
Footnote: I was flying from Newark to Seattle, with a stopover in Chicago. This was 2003 .... The weather was fine and there were no situations in Newark, not even a Mike "The Situation," as far as I know.
Anyway, we sat on the runway for 5 hours. Since the plane ran out of food and water, we finally went back to the terminal gate, got off the plane and crowded into the nearest restaurant. After 15 minutes, we finally got close enough to place an order, at which point we were called back to our plane without getting food.
Back on the plane, we sat another hour before taking off. This inspired me to write a poem called "Escape from Newark," which I then shared with my friend and travel partner. He loved it, but the girl on my other side heard it and asked me to read it again, which I obliged. She, in turn, told the flight attendant.
With about 45 minutes to landing in Chicago, they had me stand in front of the cockpit door and recite the poem over the intercom system. After, I was asked to announce my E Mail address.
Returning home from vacation, I had about 15 requests for copies of the poem, and, just a year ago, a girl wrote to me and said she was on that flight, found my E Mail address, and asked if I would send her a copy of the poem.
So, Bruce Springsteen may have performed at Madison Square Garden. But when he can claim to have put on a show at 30,000 feet, tell him to talk to me!
Friday, March 4, 2011
Poem: Eat
Eat
Eat with abandon within love of the meal
Shine with contentments from the joys that you feel
Taste buds should revel with distinguished perception
Each bite or lick is attuned for reception
Eat like you're dancing with a partner of food
Meals for sustaining are just blessings eschewed
Passioned embracing of sensations unbounded
God's food is yummy where the glee is compounded
Dive into dining so all limit's released
Eat like a Viking who will recklessly feast
Consume without conscience so the body's acquiver
Food can bring pleasure if allowed to deliver
Me, I'm a puppy who will pounce on his bowl
Tail is wagging as I frolic in whole
Face has a smile as I sing in delight
I love what I eat, every morsel I bite
So eat like the food is a gift you've unwrapped
Explode to the skies; you're the well that's been tapped
Join me in savoring every sip, every munch
... poem is over as I sit down to lunch
Copyright SGW 2006
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Poem: Tumult
Tumult
Inside the dark of tranquility lies a numbing lament
Where the long, lonely hours mark the dreams gone unspent
Bereft in an ocean sits a ship with no wind
Secure is the man stands untouched by the sinned
Destinations might open to a land suffering’s spared
But the map is in tatters and the sailor grows scared
Winds whip with vengeance in an all-knowing rage
Escape not an answer for the battles we’d wage
Conclusions are wrought with uncertainty’s vice
As wrong choices linger to a far-reaching price
Devices of reason are unreasonably wasted
The tonic for suffering is consumed but not tasted
Screaming and laughing, always cursing the sky
Forget any wisdom or the gifts she’d imply
Slowly unraveled lies the nightmare delusion
Where all of the rhythms are but empty illusions
Copyright SGW 2009
Inside the dark of tranquility lies a numbing lament
Where the long, lonely hours mark the dreams gone unspent
Bereft in an ocean sits a ship with no wind
Secure is the man stands untouched by the sinned
Destinations might open to a land suffering’s spared
But the map is in tatters and the sailor grows scared
Winds whip with vengeance in an all-knowing rage
Escape not an answer for the battles we’d wage
Conclusions are wrought with uncertainty’s vice
As wrong choices linger to a far-reaching price
Devices of reason are unreasonably wasted
The tonic for suffering is consumed but not tasted
Screaming and laughing, always cursing the sky
Forget any wisdom or the gifts she’d imply
Slowly unraveled lies the nightmare delusion
Where all of the rhythms are but empty illusions
Copyright SGW 2009
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Poem: Boo
Boo
My special friend and roommate
Belly laugh inducer
Patting my chin with outstretched paw
Demanding a scratching
Let’s crawl about together
Lie in the soaking sun
Meow at the birds
You snuggled up beside me through my multitudinous struggles
Greet me at work day’s end
Sleep by my side
Head butts and kneading
So now, you and I,
We will enjoy our time together
No more false and torturous “treatments”
Let’s laugh together while we can
And then I will remember
Copyright SGW 2011
My special friend and roommate
Belly laugh inducer
Patting my chin with outstretched paw
Demanding a scratching
Let’s crawl about together
Lie in the soaking sun
Meow at the birds
You snuggled up beside me through my multitudinous struggles
Greet me at work day’s end
Sleep by my side
Head butts and kneading
So now, you and I,
We will enjoy our time together
No more false and torturous “treatments”
Let’s laugh together while we can
And then I will remember
Copyright SGW 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Poem: Incitement
Incitement
Shots ring out in the morning air
Death comes to young and old
Snuffed out by madness
Madness enflamed
Madness incited
Madness called upon
Madness condoned
With targets, speech and fear
Of violent rhetoric en masse
You called for this day
Asked for it
And it came
It came and a nine year old is gone
It came and a judge is dead
It came and left others lost
And still more, clinging to life
You – Palin, Angle, Bachmann, Perry, teabaggers
Blood is on your lips
Copyright SGW 2011
Footnote: Perhaps the Arizona shooting was not caused by the violent rhetoric in this country in any way. However, the incitement has created a climate and that is real. In that way, I find a correlation between the shooting and the inciters.
Shots ring out in the morning air
Death comes to young and old
Snuffed out by madness
Madness enflamed
Madness incited
Madness called upon
Madness condoned
With targets, speech and fear
Of violent rhetoric en masse
You called for this day
Asked for it
And it came
It came and a nine year old is gone
It came and a judge is dead
It came and left others lost
And still more, clinging to life
You – Palin, Angle, Bachmann, Perry, teabaggers
Blood is on your lips
Copyright SGW 2011
Footnote: Perhaps the Arizona shooting was not caused by the violent rhetoric in this country in any way. However, the incitement has created a climate and that is real. In that way, I find a correlation between the shooting and the inciters.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Poem: Cords
Cords
Cords from sweatpants are cut away
Precautions of another time
Served up as a reminder
Of overwhelm and panic
Now these sweatpants with no cords fit less tightly
And am I wound less so?
Copyright SGW 2008
Posted for R.A. as a reminder that others understand, and that things do improve from the darkest moments. You simply must keep walking until you walk into a lighter space.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Poem: Incitement
Incitement
Shots ring out in the morning air
Death comes to young and old
Snuffed out by madness
Madness enflamed
Madness incited
Madness called upon
Madness condoned
With targets, speech and fear
Of violent rhetoric en masse
You called for this day
Asked for it
And it came
It came and a nine year old is gone
It came and a judge is dead
It came and left others lost
And still more, clinging to life
You – Palin, Angle, Bachmann, Perry, teabaggers
Blood is on your lips
Copyright SGW 2011
Shots ring out in the morning air
Death comes to young and old
Snuffed out by madness
Madness enflamed
Madness incited
Madness called upon
Madness condoned
With targets, speech and fear
Of violent rhetoric en masse
You called for this day
Asked for it
And it came
It came and a nine year old is gone
It came and a judge is dead
It came and left others lost
And still more, clinging to life
You – Palin, Angle, Bachmann, Perry, teabaggers
Blood is on your lips
Copyright SGW 2011
Friday, December 24, 2010
Poem: Black Swan
Black Swan
(Inspired by and “written with” the aid of Natalie Portman’s brilliance)
I lost myself in you
Consumed by the purity
Purity held, lost, convinced of
Who are you
Who am I
The sheltering womb consumed
Fragile lies unreachable dreams
Devouring the mind, spirit and whole
I lost me in you
In me
In this
As I reach
And grasp
Hold for all to see what I’ve attained
But what is real
But what is me
What is this
And I die
Wrapped in the blood of
Perfection’s duplicity
Copyright SGW 2010
Note: Who/what devours Nina? Is it the controlling, slightly demented mother? Is it her own innocence at war with the hunger of her just out of her grasp/within reach dream? Is it something inside her too in opposition with itself to live after it is discovered?
Note: I wrote this with uncontrolled passion. It was completed instantly. I was left exhausted and needing to re-find myself upon completing this piece.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Poem: Festivus
Festivus
Many have Christmas for holiday cheer
And Jews with Menorahs hold Hanukkah dear
The rest of us empty of our own special day
Until Frank Costanza, non-conformed, led the way
Festivus, Festivus, the day he devised
Four major pieces, you should be so advised
A Festivus Pole stands erect, unadorned
“Tinsel distracts me,” as Frank has since warned
Airing of Grievances would begin dinner plans
The disappointment in loved ones is heard by demands
“I’ve got a lot of problems with you people,” Frank’d angrily spit
And all ‘round the table, “Now you will hear about it!”
Then holiday supper does, of course, have its role
Feats of Strength are required for the night to be whole
If Festivus strikes you as especially clever
Make checks to “The Human Fund,” a “Money for People” endeavor
Copyright SGW 2009
Many have Christmas for holiday cheer
And Jews with Menorahs hold Hanukkah dear
The rest of us empty of our own special day
Until Frank Costanza, non-conformed, led the way
Festivus, Festivus, the day he devised
Four major pieces, you should be so advised
A Festivus Pole stands erect, unadorned
“Tinsel distracts me,” as Frank has since warned
Airing of Grievances would begin dinner plans
The disappointment in loved ones is heard by demands
“I’ve got a lot of problems with you people,” Frank’d angrily spit
And all ‘round the table, “Now you will hear about it!”
Then holiday supper does, of course, have its role
Feats of Strength are required for the night to be whole
If Festivus strikes you as especially clever
Make checks to “The Human Fund,” a “Money for People” endeavor
Copyright SGW 2009
Friday, December 17, 2010
Poem: Contemplation
Contemplation
Out in the whispers of wishful relent
Soothed by the seasons in offered consent
Seeds of forgiveness will open the heart
Fog falls to tinker with unconscious part
Keep at a distance until left all alone
No call to reason’d forever atone
Sit with me, linger and hold tight my hand
Love knows its limits as drops of the sand
Copyright SGW 2010
Out in the whispers of wishful relent
Soothed by the seasons in offered consent
Seeds of forgiveness will open the heart
Fog falls to tinker with unconscious part
Keep at a distance until left all alone
No call to reason’d forever atone
Sit with me, linger and hold tight my hand
Love knows its limits as drops of the sand
Copyright SGW 2010
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