Poetry
Recent musings. THE OLD MAN FROM THE VALLEY and GAIA
I want to apologize for my abscence of the last few months. I’ve been battling health problems and working on my visual art projects. I’ve been working on a rather large canvas painting and I’m working on a long form poem of damnation and redemption. I will be posting an audio of the first chapter soon. This post contains two poems that I recently wrote. Please feel free to message me . Psrt of the reason for establishing this Substack was my desire to enter into a conversation with other writers and anyone else interested in my work. Your comments and questions will be greatly apppreciated. My substack is free because I don’t publish on a regular basis but if anything I write moves you a tip would be appreciated. Click on buy me a cup of coffee and you will be Directed to STRIPE a secure site that processes payments for substack
Ed
The Old Man from the Valley
I met John Steinbeck late one night, in a fever dream on my mother’s living room sofa.
James Dean introduced me to him from the land of Nod,
the man who would become one of the heroes of my youth.
The anguish and confusion leapt off the screen and mesmerized my father less self.
I thought of him as John but could not bring myself to call him that.
Mister Steinbeck looked like every picture I had ever seen and I called him sir.
Mustachioed, but without the beard of his later years.
Black shirt, tan pants and jacket.
He shook my hand firmly in the manly fashion, like I knew he would,
Firmly like men were taught to shake hands
A limp handshake being the ultimate curse on manhood.
Cal was there to tell me of his need for fatherly approval that was never given.
How could I need approval from someone who wasn’t there?
Couldn’t be there, from beyond the grave, but locked in my memory.
The tragedy played out in glorious cinemascope as Cal wept
John told me stories of his love for the beautiful Salinas Valley he grew up in.
and all I could see was the land of the junk yards and oil refinery.
John comforted me as the fatherless child I was.
He embraced me and I could smell the stale tobacco smoke
that had seeped into every fiber of his clothing.
He held me as I cried and I felt none of the stiff cardboard phoniness
that usually accompanied two men hugging, it was soft, nurturing,
unlike any interaction that I had with men before.
He held me until I fell asleep there on Mom’s sofa,
And kept telling me it was going to be alright.
Gaia
We call her “mother earth” because she nourishes us
Like a mother would nourish her hungry child.
We used to revere her like a child idolizes their mother
We’ve been sucking on her teat for millennia and she has kindly allowed it.
Because we were small and her milk flowed easily.
Like a spoiled child we lost our gratitude.
Societies dedicated to our mother, in touch with her soul
Were crushed beneath the twin boulders of greed and selfishness
The industrial revolution caused the babe of our humanity to grow teeth
And it bit down hard on the teat of our mother.
She cried out in pain and struck
back at the ungrateful child she nourished for so long
In ways that are becoming increasingly more frightening.
Soon her revenge will be inescapable and humanity will suffer and die.
She will remain long after that child has ceased to be.