Feb
11
2010
The Road Home
Author: BoompoetI usually have something to say, be it opinion or factual information correcting a misconception. I usually feel the need to share this information with those who don’t have it, need it, want it, and so on. If the person with whom I am sharing wishes to remain blind to the facts, that’s fine too… I say whatever it is I came to say regardless never really getting my point across. This is a failing on the part of communication in general. As an idea, something can be expressed in a myriad of ways but language is lacking as I am reminded constantly. I am, however, a few things in order… If nothing else I am a son, a friend, an artist, a poet, and psychotherapist (unlicensed of course), a political analyst and about fifty other things… listing those gave me another idea for a blog post, but I’ll get to that later. Oh, yeah… and tangential, but that’s a character trait and not subject to doing without.
The point I’m trying to make is that I have come to know… no, that’s not it. I have always known but never realized that words are a medium in which one can loose the original thought that spawned them. The driving goal of the words is it illustrate the thought, but rarely does anyone see what is actually being illustrated. You could say, “I know somone who is a horrible person.” and I guarantee, at least three if not all of your friends would think you’re talking about them. People see what they want.
This leads me to the reason for this post. I have been trying to work up the inspiration to paint using a new medium (well, new-ish to me anyway) called Gouche (pronounced Gwash) which is a kind of watercolor. I have not been inspired in the least. I was looking around at some sites for ideas as to what I should paint and the works of a couple of these artists spawned a poem… not the inspiration I was looking for, but my muse is a whore and she’ll take it where she can get it. What was birthed from the need to create something, anything, is what follows:
The Road Home
The world does not cover me as well
as it once did
when I was a child looking outwards
never with internal vision.
The myopic nature of media madness
and typhoid flip-flopping
brings about the bastard generation of
ADHD and you tube attention spans.
The world does not blind me as well
as it once did
when I was a kid with dreams and
sleep was my only desire.
What are we creating when our
teens and twenty somethings can’t sign
their names in cursive letters and
our cultural goals include
still laughing at one another.
The world does not shine on me as well
as it once did.
When I was deep in the miasma
of my adolescence, reading eastern
philosophy and Kerouac.
I dreamed of the road.
I traveled it.
I am home.
