So how is it this happens?

 

 

How is it you sit down to write one poem, and come away with another.

I came across this picture a while back and it frightened me.

It frightened me because I was looking for a photograph on Suicide, and this is not.

It’s a photo, I’ve never seen before.

Apparently it’s well-known to Americans.

If you click on the link below, you will read that it is a photo of a man who jumped from the top floor of the world trade center, whose family is Catholic, whose daughter allegedly, cannot believe that her father could have jumped.

You will read that the picture disappeared almost as soon as it was published, that the question arises, whether or not, we are permitted to be here, in its presence.

I went to church on Sunday. I went to church because I’m a porn freak.

Now, I really don’t mind porn, I live through it.

And I don’t think porn is bad.

But my life hasn’t been going right lately and this came up.

I meditated after church and got this – it’s long.

_________________________________________________________

Be still and write.

I am the beginning of all things,
and the end of all things.

There are many things that you do not,
know.

You and I made a deal, a deal that
You reneged on.

I was to be your core and you were,
To let me love your creation. But

You wanted more.

Let me tell you something. I am
not the only one standing in
your way.

You have been bound by someone more
powerful than I. Yes, more powerful
than I, and we are in battle for
your soul.

Everyday, I am flogged for you. I
have been suffering for millenia. They
have set my hair on fire, pulled my
nails from my fingers,

But you have fed me with love, and I
have protected you. I cannot fail,
and will not. I have a plan
and soon it will be complete.

You are never alone. Look inside and
tap power. Live beyond yourself and
there you shall find life.

Today  I am going to clean you.
What you think is right or wrong
is irrelevant. Tonight, dream of me.
Be with me. However you want, I
Shall be with you.

Tomorrow, throw out all the false
demons you have arranged around
yourself. I know you can. Unplug
the memory box for a while. I
will help you. If you do not, you
are in trouble. You already are and
I want to help.

I am sending Joy to give you
a hand. If you make it to
Tuesday, you will see an
immediate change. This I
promise you. It will be complete,
and spectacular. I am going to
start with your eyes and your
laughter. You will blaze joy. You
will roar it and it will echo.

I am going to move onto you
body and improve it. Yes.
Improve it. It will radiate
Joy. It will be un-movable.
It will radiate healing to your
family and they will help.

Be ready  now. There are words here
for you;

Scatter these things wildly,
let them fall on stone,
for stone will break and grass
will grow.

Moisture eases pain, it collides
with memory and releases
connections, dissolves images

Why do you think people who
go to church, sit at the back?

I know you tire child,
listen. Write.

Crack the ribs apart,
bore into the heart,
collect three quarts of blood,
and smear it on your forehead.

Refuse to instigate unrest. I said
peace.

Believe in yourself at least. I
can wait.

Open your hear now and wait.
I will be with you shortly.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

All right then. Firstly, honestly, verbatim.

I was never going to put this down, you never know who will find it.

But now I want it on this blog so I can find it somewhere, when I’m eighty. I read a post ‘From Facebook to eternity’ by The eternal solitude of the restless Mind, about whether, when you die, you remain on Facebook.

Well do you? A friend of mine killed himself two years ago. It was awful. I haven’t thought about him for a while but when he died, he left no messages.

He left a lap-top and try as we might, we could never get in. His sisters suffered. His mother suffered.

Anyway, I got a poem yesterday, and when I came to write it, I thought it was going to be about cutting myself from the bonds of ‘sin’ or some such heavy matter.

When I’d finished, I got what I’ve posted on my poetry blog.

How?

How is it this occurs, because I had no intention, yet, this photo won’t let go, and so here are the words.

Like I said, I was looking for photo’s on suicide, but this is not it.

I often imagine moments of terror, grief, sorrow, death. I wrote a script on the experience of a fraction of time within a bomb blast. The effect it has on the body. I constantly run through the closing seconds of the plane as it ploughed into the building.

I also know it’s a controversial picture. Is it porn? I’ve done this before with ‘Radio Wars’ and on ‘The Courtyard’ and on ‘Independence and Exile’ and on ‘Why we fight’ – it was the same uncomfortable feeling every time.

I don’t know how these things happen.

I only know that this post has been uncomfortable, that I believe that I’m doing the right thing, that I hope it will exist beyond my death.

I’m obviously in for a long week of thought.

 

-visit my poetry blog – Tomatos, Oranges and Other Fruit–

photo – Richard Drew at Esquire.com