Category Archives: poetry
She laughed a beautiful tune and twirled around
to blow a sweet breeze across the muggy woodlands of a Midsummer’s soul.
This was her only answer.
Always and forever.
The same lonely song,
the same unwilling sonata refusing to be written.
Thanks Eric Keys for thinking I’m Epically Awesome enough for an award. I suppose I better make up…er, I mean LIST 1o awesome facts about myself.
1. Once, in the days before cellphones, I got a flat tire in the middle of the night. I had to walk to the nearest house and use the only phone they had: in the master bedroom which mom, dad and a whole gaggle of kids were sleeping in. No one even got out of bed.
2. My favorite baseball team is no longer a team. R.I.P. Montreal Expos. When I was a kid, I’d scour stores for Expos gear and hardly ever found any. Now, it’s apparently the choice gear of young thugs and I see it on every little miscreant with his pants sagging to his knees. Go figure.
3. I fix computers for a paycheck; but secretly, I hate computers.
4. On a road trip to Reno my buddies and I were running low on gas money. So when we stopped in Vegas on the way back, we elected the best gambler in the group to take the remainder of our funds and win us more at blackjack. He lost.
5. On another trip to Vegas I was harassed by hookers when my friend mistook a business card for a “Private Exotic Dancer” to actually be a Private Exotic Dancer. When he figured out what was going on and sent the…uh…Private Dancer away, the agency kept sending more to the room on a sliding scale of looks. The final one looked something like a Norfin Troll.
6. Sometimes I cry at movies.
7. I believe in magic and miracles. Or the magic of miracles. Or the miracle of magic.
8. While at a bar in Chicago, I was approached by a Bachelorette Party on a scavenger hunt. They asked for my boxers. Thinking I was clever; I went into the bathroom, took them off and dipped them in the toilet. They took them anyway and bought me a drink.
9. I enjoy ghost hunting/ paranormal investigating.
10. I believe in the power of the human imagination to either create the future or destroy it.
I hope those were epically awesome enough for ya’ll. Thanks again to Eric for nominating me. Here’s three to send on down the line:
Moments With Millie: Great poetry and insight. Good blog to read with morning coffee. 😀
Mere Inkling: Cool stuff and well written.
Words of Birds: Great poetry blog.
before they are
screwed or blued.
Nothing to talk about
talk about nothing.
crying to mother
(her stolen mascara
running down smooth cheeks
in rivulets of watery night)
because coffee was cold
and life’s unfair.
She’ll make it alright
with hugs and promises.
No more tears.
Only smiles now.
tomorrow is always a new day
for cool hipsters.
Another quote from Stephen Mitchell’s translation of the Tao. I know there are several translations out there, but this is by far my favorite. Poetic and powerful all in one.
Ever thought to yourself, “There isn’t enough time in the day!” “I can’t get everything done!” Or maybe you’ve noticed all the other busy little bees buzzing around the streets and stores and thought something similar about them. Little do they (we) know, our lack of time stems from trying to do too much with our time. Enjoy!
The Master doesn’t try to be powerful;
thus he is truly powerful.
The ordinary man keeps reaching for power;
thus he never has enough.
The Master does nothing,
yet he leaves nothing undone.
The ordinary man is always doing things,
yet many more are left to be done.
The kind man does something,
yet something remains undone.
The just man does something,
and leaves many things undone.
The moral man does something,
and when no one responds
he rolls up his sleeves and uses force.
When the Tao is lost, there is goodness.
When goodness is lost, there is morality.
When morality is lost, there is ritual.
Ritual is the husk of true faith,
the beginning of chaos.
Therefore the Master concerns himself
with the depths and not the surface,
with the fruit and not the flower.
He has no will of his own.
He dwells in reality
and lets all illusions go.
—-The Tao te Ching ch. 38.
The second to last stanza really speaks to me. I think this is where humanity is at. Caught in the throes of ritual because we’ve lost sight of God, or the Tao. You need only watch a few minutes of the news or scroll through the headlines to see that chaos has already begun. So for the love of God, focus on the fruit!
beyond the boundaries
of secret folklore.
Do you know of what I speak?
Whispers of soft velvet dreams
blanketing you with naked grace.
Three hundred and eleven eternities
inside the black liquid glass
that paves the road
into the heart of nightmares and waking visions.
Awake, you sleeping giants.
Jason DeGray 2012
A short piece, but a powerful one. Enjoy!
An Egypt that Doesn’t Exist
I want to say words that flame
as I say them, but I keep quiet and don’t try
to make both worlds fit in one mouthful.
I keep secret in myself an Egypt
that doesn’t exist.
Is that good or bad? I don’t know.
For years I gave away sexual love
with my eyes. Now I don’t.
I’m not in any one place. I don’t have a name
for what I gave away. Whatever Shams
gave, that you can have from me.
—-From The Essential Rumi translated by Coleman Barks and John Moyne.
I enjoy looking through my old writing notebooks. They’re like journals, only the stories are told in poems, scenes and stories. Enjoy this trip down my memory lane!
Love me, loathe me,
but please don’t
a torn curtain
my fantasy dances alone
inside a box
crying for mother’s milk
that dried up
dinosaurs dwelt in bars
drinking gin with God
of the diner is an old house
with many stories
to tell if one will
The Sound of Silence
within our hearts
has all the noisome answers
one can fathom.
Copyright 2003 Jason DeGray
like the Wind’s laughter
or waves lapping against
a gentle shore.
Bask in simple radiance,
to absorb that perfect Light.
Can I give…
just so I can breathe in your enchanting voice
cascading sweetly into…
Only for a moment I want to remember
I want to experience
I don’t think it was so long ago
when the only catalyst separating
fantasy from reality
was a hopeful step off the edge of perception.
Back then we could plummet into possibility
I know that somewhere wishes are granted and fairy dust is more
than just glitter adorning the shoulders of those the devil
an incarnation most tangible
flesh and blood
(if it is possible for emotions to manifest themselves into a righteous vessel).
Or WAS SHE
a synaptic misfire?
A ghost in the machine of my neurological nightmare
Like a Freudian slip only
my mother or my dysfunctional psychosexual development.
These can be cured with pills,
but those tiny offerings of escape made her vividly real
-a fallen angel-
burned into my holy memory
a vexing harbinger of shadows to come.