Tag Archives: poetry

And the stars answered…

14 Feb

A reposting from February 14, 2012…still true my love!


a winter nights wish                        weez  february 14, 2002

tonight I stand and watch the crystal
brilliance of unshrouded stars
feet firmly planted on frozen earth
while a north breeze sounds wind chimes
and plays upon my face
with lips tasting cold winter air

my heart, my senses, and yes my soul
cries out to the universe
for the one to complement me
not complete me
for I am complete
and wish to find
another complete soul

I feel like I’ve always been a creature of the night, even as a child.   My senses become sharper the darker it gets.   And it’s amazing how much easier you can tell what season it is in the absence of light.  While I love the night and the moon it has been the stars that fascinate and speak to me the most.  When it is very still I can hear them… a faint whispering sound.  Almost the same sound a very soft and quiet snowfall makes.  Especially on moonless, frigid winter nights.  I will sometimes stand or lie down just to stare, listen and talk to them for hours at a time.  Ten years ago this very night was such a night.  Although I didn’t know it at the time, what happened that night was to change my life in six months.  I am still amazed and grateful for the gift those stars gave me.  I went out to listen to the stars and found that they were doing the listening instead.  And the stars answered…  They brought me my complete soul, My Elizabeth!  Sometimes Magic just happens.   Happy Valentine’s Day, Beloved!

 

Fridge Poetry: Weekend 38

22 Sep

Happy Birthday, to my my Lovely Wife,

As you end your 37th year and enter your 38th this is for you!

Fridge Poetry: Weekend 38.   9/21/2013….9/22/2013

Pray each Spirit still whispers
Delicate twilight wishes
Only to keep moon rain want
Kissed as water beautifuly fired
Over sun reason moved above blue grace

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Let thy heart dream on sight
Of how sublime art prances
Then happily reconcile beauty at age
For as always time is a bringer
Of enough hard needed truth

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But then there be too, another
lovelier kind thought
KNOW we none are alone

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Fridge Poetry

25 Jun

One Christmas I got a box of magnetized tiles with words on them as a gift. They were meant to go on the refrigerator to play with. I found them to be quite helpful in creating poetry. Below are a few of the ones I’ve written and saved over the years.

I happened to be reading them the other day and thought it would be fun to put them to pictures rather than music which is what I generally do with my poetry.

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After the storm
let a
sun shadowed lake
produce an eternity
of still forest beauty

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Chant wind and sky mist
at the garden
and sing delicate light
into true power

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Dream as love in Spring visions

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to soar over Summer heat

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and recall the Fall whisper of music

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beneath the beating of Winter’s heart

An Artist’s Fear

16 May

For 3 months now I’ve been trying to write something most every day… except for the week of my birthday when I was so ill all I could think about was maybe getting out of bed to visit the bathroom.

I think for most of us who write, whether for an audience or not, our biggest fear is… what if the words dry up. What if the muses or whatever or whoever inspires us decides to leave us hanging.

For a long time it seemed I could only write if my personal world was in shambles and I was deeply depressed. Something many artists in various arts have discovered. Just ask Vincent Van Gogh or Silvia Plath among the more famous ones.

I know better now since words have come bursting through or tiptoed in at different times and moods in my life. And sometimes you just have to make yourself focus and do it.

I started writing songs and poetry when I was 14 (many, many moons ago) so it’s something I’ve thought a lot about over the years. Below is something I wrote in the mid 80’s when I was still figuring out the craft of writing… not that I’m done figuring it out yet!

AN ARTIST’S FEAR WEEZ 1986

down, down I sink
deep depression ~ surrounded ~
I can feel her
darkly warm, nurturing healing earth

and then I write, I can
of this or that or maybe both
moment to movement
imaginary conversations
turned to song
angers, rejections, frustration
bring the words

but soon, too soon – I’m afraid
I am lifting
borne aloft on shaky wings
gathering courage, high I fly
communing with the faces, friends and the world

while struggling ideas all blocked
inside create an un EQUAL pressure
and a balloon flown too high
–bursts

so I plunge yet again
in an ocean of letters and notes
being all there is to keep
me afloat

an unfailing pattern –
never changing
afraid I am
without these swings,
these altered states
would I, could I
WRITE

Poetry in Pictures

23 Apr

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DREAMING

Standing in a dream I think I know you
your motions slow without direction
speak of things in contemplation
it lends an air of conformation
in this dream do you know me too

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Colors stream in bands of ten
handheld thoughts in contradiction
of the only flash of explanation
sudden events leave no sensation
of how or why or when

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Images form then retrace
star routes followed to completion
as sounds revolve into rotation
and hands resolve out of mutation
clutched holding in embrace

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Dawn breaks and slowly I awaken
invoked emotions clamor for attention
as memory struggles with realization
I reach for pen and paper in summation
of where my dream self has been taken

Weez April 2012

Saving Phrases

16 Mar

Saving Pictures

Years ago when I was living in Great Barrington, MA, I went to the library and borrowed 2 books.  One was about 800 pages on the history of the Ottoman Empire.  The Empire lasted over 6 centuries and was the most culturally, religiously and geographically diverse in world history.  It was a very interesting read and went a long way to explaining the present day instability of the Balkans and Middle Eastern nations.
The other book was about Linguistics.  As a kid we used to have spelling as well as vocabulary tests in school.  I devoured the study guides for vocabulary.  I just love knowing where words originate from.
And it was dangerous for me to look anything up in dictionaries or encyclopedias.  I was a goner… lost for hours as one word led to another again and again.  It’s like that for me even today on the computer as one link leads to another.  I re-read that linguistics book twice.
The National Geographic magazine has done several articles on the disappearance of certain languages as the native speakers age and die out.  It makes me sad to think about it… just as the extinction of some of the fauna and flora around the world does in our mad rush to be “modern.”  I’m absolutely fascinated by languages.

Finland has a non-Indo-European language.

As a musician, when I hear other languages, I hear music.  Most have a different rhythm and sound, just as different styles of music do.  Take some of the languages of Southern Africa for instance.  They have clicks and sounds that don’t appear in any other language group.  How did that happen?
One of my favorite audio books to re-listen to is “The Adventure of English” by Melvyn Bragg.  It follows English from an obscure dialect imported from the northwestern corner of Europe to become the global language it is today.  I’d recommend it be listened to rather than read since English has evolved in sound and pronunciation greatly over the centuries.  English has also picked up multiple loan words along the way from just about every country and culture it’s come across.

Montreal, Canada. Still a mostly French speaking city.

Over the past the past 2 years I’ve traveled to 3 different countries with 3 different languages, one of them a non-Indo-European language: Finland; Montreal, Canada; and Honduras. I kept a journal, saving words and phrases in each place.  Partly because I wanted to at least attempt to speak the native language and partly so as not to be perceived as an arrogant American.  I’ve been told I have a good ear for other languages.  I think that’s probably because I spent my first year or so in Italy and was beginning to speak before I came to America.

Trying to communicate beyond language in Guaimaca, Honduras. Guitar and music were the answer.

Keeping track of words and phrases has been a lifelong affair.  Not just something I started to do when I began traveling to other countries.  It used to be scraps of paper and then notebooks.  Now it’s files on the computer… Saving Phrases.  When I read, hear or think of an interesting word or phrase that’s where it gets recorded.  Eventually they become part of a poem or song.  So the poem below is part of that file.  Some of it written down while driving… not easy or probably safe but doable.

Just another dawn morning.

Driving Towards Dawn   Weez March 2012

dawn comes on quick feet
with great shouts of color
while the mist ahead
kisses blue on blue
of water and sky
announcing the lake
at daybreak
jet trails blaze orange arrows
across white clouds
to spark a rainbow
of possibilities along
with the new day
and out on the western sky path
a storm approaches
and in the marriage of sky and earth
the sky is the dark of a groom’s tux against
the bride white snow of the mountain

Westward Glances

Night thoughts

3 Mar

The Dawn of Night

I read somewhere once that the time of your birth dictates what time of day you feel most comfortable.  Some people jump up straight from bed ready to take on the world, for some the afternoon is when they feel most awake and then there are some who only truly feel alive when darkness fills the skies.  That last group of folks would be me.  At one point I had a document from the Navy my Dad had saved for me that stated I was born at 2:19 am or something like that.
Let me just say it can be as tough for a night person living in a day-centered world as it is for a lefty in a righty world.  For as long as I can remember the night has felt safer and more familiar.  I have almost cat like night vision and I’ve never feared roaming the dark inside or out of doors.  And sunglasses are pretty much an essential daytime accessory for me.

Roaming a snow filled night

I remember yelling at my loved ones one winter to stop turning on lights.  It was wrecking my night vision as I tracked the stars and constellations with the small telescope I pointed out the enormous south facing window in the converted barn we were living in.  I’ve worked night jobs on a number of occasions but found it difficult as I have little capacity for sleeping during the day.  The only time I can nap in daylight is if I’m ill or drugged up from surgeries or broken bones!
Most of my creativity in the arts happens at night.  Sometimes I can’t go to sleep until what the muses have to say has been painted, written or sung.  I keep a pad of paper and a pen by my bed for when I wake from dreams to scribble down words or images to be used later.  The first beginnings of sleep (alpha stage) is often the most productive because I’m not quite awake or asleep and my thoughts swirl in almost dreams.  The poem below was written after I’d been up all night and dawn was just breaking.  I woke from my alpha sleep and wrote down these words.

In anticipation of dawn

Night Thoughts    Weez  January 1986

Tonight I am high on my thoughts
fast and furious they arrive
I want to be, discover
think and to know

Yes, fly across worlds with words
and weather each pictured passion
realizing all leaps
could pay with a fall

Impulse is the rein, no caution
all things experienced
become in process a song
to be danced, to be felt, to be seen

No regulated view of life from here
basking in the opinions of others
fearful for what it could mean
to stretch imagination as far
as it would go

Those factoried lives churned out
like mass produced products
alike in their parts
alike in their dreams

I want to find excitement
in quiet evenings at home
and quiet within me
when all around me is bustling crowd

A rock, a wind, a mind
and a body
each piece music
to be played, savored and heard

Still high on my thoughts
I wait in anticipation of dawn
gentle in her coming
yet decisive in color and sound

Alone I tremble with choice
I can slumber and not feel
or I can seize these moments
and make them mine

By examining the very fabric of time
I fill up my senses, my mind
Yes, now I can sleep
for though my eyes stay closed
I know, I must stay open to be

Remembering Dad and replenishing the Well.

29 Feb

Marie Joseph Academy on the Mid Maine coast.

Well this was supposed to be just a short little post since I worked til late, enjoyed Date Night and… hold the presses, am working again tomorrow.  All of which requires a fair bit of creativity.  But as sometimes happens it got away from me a bit.  It’s the Eve of  March and it makes me think of my Dad.  His and my birthday’s are but 3 days apart and it got me thinking about the well where creativity comes from and how to make sure it doesn’t run dry.  I’m gonna have to figure out how to get more rest since I thinks that’s part of the replenishing.
 
One of my High Schools… MJA
This is the place where I started to learn to play the guitar, to write and to figure out the meaning of friendship beyond the bonds of family.  It holds a special meaning in my life.  It’s where I went when we were all still reeling from 9/11.  It’s where I met my wife, one town and one bay over on the Maine coast.  It still rings of destiny to me.  It is still part of the deep well that sustains me and why I return as often as possible.
More than once it was my Dad who drove me back to school, just a few hours up from the Massachusetts coast.  One of those times, he drove me and my new first step-mother up to watch the same beach I had walked countless times.  It was a new relationship for him and he wrote the poem below. He then deemed it not good enough, crumpled it up and tossed it into the back seat.  I immediately snagged it and kept it, astonished at the beauty, romance and poetry of the words.  He never knew I kept it and eventually put a tune to the words.

MJA from a distance

My career Navy dad and I never quite saw eye to eye after my younger sister was born and supplanted me as Daddy’s little girl.  I think I was a puzzle to him as he grew older, more conservative and religious and I more liberal and accepting of different as the years went by.  I know that he loved me and was proud of who I had become considering where I had come from.  One of my cousins let me know this shortly after Dad passed.  Thanks Frank, that meant more than you could ever know!

Me and Zelda hanging on the Maine coast.

I was always sorry that he only met Elizabeth once.  I remain convinced to this day if he could have gotten to know my Elizabeth, he would have understood me and my life choices much better.  He would have adored her.  He had the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever know, and it’s a big part of what I inherited from him.  The poem below reveals another part of what I got from my Dad.

THE WAVE         Words by Robert J McCarty Sr. July 1972   Music by Weez  1975

The grand old wave that hits the shore
To get all you people wet
That have come to adore
It splashes it’s spray to Heaven above
Just to let you know
You have all my love
Some day you will look across the shore
To watch as it comes for
It stayed in a land
From across the way
To leap and bound
till it breaks in spray
To stop and stay and last forever
This wonderful wave that comes to say
I want again to be with you
This wave of mine
dims all of time                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      This wave is you
Hey Dad, thanks for the gift of life, poetry and romance.  I miss you and can still hear your voice in my head talking all things Red Sox!  Especially now that Spring Training has arrived!  Ah, Baseball another of my replenishers.

Reaching for Art

15 Feb

My wife, friends and even some of my youth group kids have been urging me to start a blog for a while now.  When I first began to seriously contemplate the idea I wondered what the hell am I going to do with it.  Some people I’ve told about it want to know what I’m gonna write about?  Well, damned if know but I thought at least I have stories…lots of them!  After all my siblings and I grew up in my Grandparent’s house with the rest of the cousins (26 of us all together) coming and going in a big ole Irish family.  I attended 3 different grade schools, 3 high schools and 2 colleges with 5 of those years in Catholic boarding school with the Nuns!  So yeah, I got stories.  And pictures…lot’s of those too.

I’ve taught a few writing and poetry workshops and talked to people about art and being an artist who were convinced they didn’t have an artist bone in their bodies.  I’ve always reacted in astonishment because rhythm is the first place to start.  If we can breath and feel a heartbeat we all have what it takes to be an artist.  With desire, some direction, triggers if you will and a bit of clarity everything we do can be art.  The fact that we are all living out our lives is an art.  I can’t knit, round up cattle or sheep, write code for a computer or produce a sound business plan but honestly folks it’s all art to one degree or another.

A few years ago another youth advisor, my wife and myself took a group of teenagers to camp on the coast of Maine.  Now some adults thought we were brave or saints or just plain crazy but man what an amazing experience that was.  I had 3 of the kids and a ton of stuff jammed into my car.  We talked about a bunch of things there and back…it’s a 4 hour ride one way.  But what we mostly talked about was Art and it’s place in our individual lives and in the world.  I made them listen to some classical as well as classic rock and I listened to theirs, rap and all!  All as loud as the car stereo could make it!  One of the best songs I’ve ever heard regarding art and what it means is called appropriately enough, Art by Tanya Davis.  We listened to it at least 20 times during that week.  It’s on YouTube with an incredible video.  We also spoke about chronological age as opposed to what age we feel inside.  I’m actually 11 although my birthday says differently.  And anyone who really knows me knows that’s the truth, even my youth group kids!

So I guess what I’m trying to say is even though I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do here, I do know that I want it to be more than just stories and pictures.  I want to inspire folks to reach for their inner child and their inner artist!

Reaching for Thunder

I am the urge to run barefoot over grass
I am the laughter bubbling up from inside
I am the treasures in thrown away trash
I am the one with eyes opened wide

I am the gleam in an old woman’s gaze
I am the mischief in a toddler’s eye
I am the vision to seek out new ways
I am the questions that begin with why

I am the impulse to reach for thunder
I am the excitement at the fireflies light
I am your sense of awe and wonder
I am your joy and delight

I am the climb to the very top branch
I am the one who hears magic begin
I am the cowboy on the make believe ranch
I am your child within

Weez July 2006

And the stars answered…

14 Feb

A reposting from February 14, 2012…still true my love!



a winter nights wish                        weez  february 14, 2002

tonight I stand and watch the crystal
brilliance of unshrouded stars
feet firmly planted on frozen earth
while a north breeze sounds wind chimes
and plays upon my face
with lips tasting cold winter air

my heart, my senses, and yes my soul
cries out to the universe
for the one to complement me
not complete me
for I am complete
and wish to find
another complete soul

I feel like I’ve always been a creature of the night, even as a child.   My senses become sharper the darker it gets.   And it’s amazing how much easier you can tell what season it is in the absence of light.  While I love the night and the moon it has been the stars that fascinate and speak to me the most.  When it is very still I can hear them… a faint whispering sound.  Almost the same sound a very soft and quiet snowfall makes.  Especially on moonless, frigid winter nights.  I will sometimes stand or lie down just to stare, listen and talk to them for hours at a time.  Ten years ago this very night was such a night.  Although I didn’t know it at the time, what happened that night was to change my life in six months.  I am still amazed and grateful for the gift those stars gave me.  I went out to listen to the stars and found that they were doing the listening instead.  And the stars answered…  They brought me my complete soul, My Elizabeth!  Sometimes Magic just happens.   Happy Valentine’s Day, Beloved!