No Title #1

Strange how the more technology we acquire the more civilized we perceive ourselves to be, but are we? What does civilized really mean? Free from war? Free to pursue our passions? More effective in our government and judicial systems? Greater technology? yes, maybe, no! We are bound to evolve and progress and create greater machines to ease our burdens, but does this denigrate us as humans as artists? I have found that art is now a disposable commodity, how long does the background stay on your computer? a week, a month, a year? How long do the songs stay on your IPod? What is the oldest song on there? When was the last time you went to a brick and mortar museum instead of a virtual one on the Internet. when was the last time you looked at a real painting? As humans are we not defined by our art? by our wars? are these not the things that show the true span and compassion of humanity? Is it not possible to be civilized and still be involved in a war, a war for the right reasons and the right causes, were we not right to fight against Hitler? So how does war define us a humans? Is it different than our art? Up until the fifties or so (when we came into the enlightened morally and politically correct self righteous, overtly and covertly religious America) we taught poetry and art in school, now we do not teach so much as give a brief and highly prostate overview of the arts. We should look and judge humanity not by what we achieve in technology and how we work so much as what we do in our free time, in our leisure. I wonder if as humans we need to reconnect with our art, it has become intangible and we need to feel and touch it. Maybe that is why I have such an affinity for vinyl records, you have this large piece of visual art in your hands to start, you can see the passion that went into most cover art, then you slide that record out of it's sleeve and wipe the surface clean of anything that static electricity or hands might have left, and place it on the turntable, turn the turntable on letting it come to speed, then gently setting the needle on the vinyl. and when those first songs are done you have to turn it over and start again, is it easy, convenient, no it isn't but it makes you appreciate the music and the artistry, you can't ever touch an MP3 in any way. So let art return to you, or if you are a child of the digital age discover the beauty of art from the past, the past decade, the past century and savor it for longer than a week. Just as all wars since WWII have become intangible to us, we see it on TV and hear about it, but as a country as a whole we see nothing of the pain and suffering, we feel nothing, we only delight and strive to get more technology, so we can get our art faster. When was the last time you walked up to a soldier, a policeman, a fireman, a musician, a painter, a sculpture, and said thank you? When was the last time you looked at these people and admired them? If we as Americans do not get a grip on the reality of our surroundings, on what it use to mean to be an American, we are going to end up a fracture country just like the remnants of the Soviet Union. (OH Blasphemy comparing America to the Soviet Union) We were once the ones in the world who were the peace makers, the ones who accepted the poor, the hungry, the meek, the tired, the downtrodden, and the persecuted. Now we are the bullies in the global community. We no longer have hero's (I bet you are saying yes I do, well think about it, who do you admire? are they from this century? Are they a fictitious character?) So you ask where does all of this fit in with art? Well isn't that an expression of who we are, where we have been, and what we see and fear in our own hearts? Conflict is part of human nature, artistic expression is part of human nature, when we deny the free expression of these we end up at extremes. As we become more civilized and repress those basic animal instincts inside of us, we become what we are. We grasp at anything and we end up doing the extreme to make our point of view everyone else's. Look at Intelligent Design, such a cowardly thing, Just say I am a christian and I believe "God" created us, don't try to sneak and scam to teach your children this. If you believe in freedom of speech and the bill of rights quit trying to take away those rights because you don't like guns. As a whole those rights protect us, when we start changing those and revamping what we think they mean we are going to lose those freedoms that make us uniquely American. So I guess just once in a while let that artist and that animal inside you roar or you will never be civilized, just an angry bitter person behind a facade of civility.

Chameleon

I was a sapling once, a small tree for those of you not using big words yet.
I grew from a seed that flew from the tree that was my mother.
I am not sure how far I landed from her, or even which one of this forest she is.
I look like most of those around me.
I grew and I grew until I was the tallest tree in the forest, I could see over the crown of all the others.
Well at least I did until those men came and cut me down, with saws and axes.
Some of those closest to me felled also.
That means we hit the ground with a crash and broke our limbs and crushed our leaves.

I was striped of all my limbs and all my leaves, and lashed, that means tied down for those not using fancy words yet, to a wagon with those who fell near me.
I was hauled across the edge of the forest and into the barren lands they call prairies.
I was not sure where I was headed and I wished for my limbs and my leaves back so I could shed this rain off my bark.

They laid me on a set of rolls and started slicing me apart, I was made into thin layers.
I felt strange not being whole anymore, but they kept my pieces together, except for my bark and the little curved pieces that they just let fall.
They stacked me in a shed, and closed the doors on me, and it was dark like the night, when the moon does not come out to play.
And it was dark long past a day I know. I am no longer sure how much time I sat in there
with my sap drying up. Then the doors flew wide once day, and the sky was bright and blue.

Alas I was weary again, I was pulled and stacked and lashed yet again to a wagon. If you are still not using those words it means they tied me down again.
The wagon rumbled away with me. I was fraught with anxiety, which means I was scared.
I wasn’t sure where they were taking me again, but I knew it couldn’t be better than the last time. The blue sky started to fade and clouds rolled over my head, and just as I began wishing for my limbs, and my leaves, and my bark, the man stopped the wagon and covered me with a tarpaulin of canvass, that’s a giant leaf you see. I thought then I might like this man better than the last.

It was several days and several nights when we finally stopped and he took the horses away. He called to another man, but one that looked like he might be a sapling to me, that means he was but a boy. Together they pulled me out of the wagon piece by piece, and laid me in neat little stacks on shelves along the wall.

When the man opened the door the next morning, he just walked around running his hands over me. He made me feel safe, better than when I was taken from the forest, and better than when I was sliced into these little pieces. He and the sapling pulled me down one at a time and took little tools and made my sides smooth.

He made little pieces and big pieces of me, but I was not afraid, he was kind and gentle and made sure to rub me and whisper to me of my beauty. He formed me, and put me back together with little holes and notches. I was a wonder to behold and he promised where I was going I would feel safe and beautiful.

Here I have stood now in this same place not moved an inch, just like the sapling I once was. I stand here as thousands walk by, and they all look up and admire me. They speak in whispers and I hear them say the man’s name often. I wish he was still here, but all I have is the saplings sapling, that his grandson for those of you keeping track.

Attie’s heartbreak

A tear was staining her cheek
As she looked on at Keith
Sitting by the door, waiting for his father
He packed his own suitcase
And sat there since noon
Well Jack was supposed to be here at one
And the tear was staining her lips
She knew from the past he would never show
It was ten past seven
And Keith hadn’t moved
She brought him dinner
There in the doorway
And he sat it on the floor
How did you tell a five year old
Daddy isn’t coming
And the tear stained her neck
She carried him to bed when he fell asleep
And the tears flowed
And covered his little suitcase
That she sat beside the bed
She sat there in the rocker all night long
And cried all night long
But it broke her heart at dawn
When Keith wouldn’t let her unpack
His little suitcase

Recall notice

Yesterday I received a recall notice in the mail
Wal-Mart said my soul could cause injury
Said that it could cause someone to choke on their
Own heart
And that they might drown in my personality
It said I should send it to their service center
Right away
And they would only charge me shipping and handling
But I knew better
And I shed these feathers from these old wings
And grew them anew
And took flight to shake the dust from my soul
And flipped a finger at the great American misery
In the blue and grey buildings
And I hid until the class action lawsuit was over
And Wal-Mart had recovered all of the individuality
In the world
And store it in the slightly over budget commercials

Scars and skin

Scars and skin




as we lay there in her momma's bed
her fingers traced that scar between my ribs
and asked again how did it happen
so I told her again
about the knife and the coward
and then she asked the strangest thing
how did it feel when the blade entered my skin
my thoughts lingered and wandered
trying to evaluate and quantify the pain
or did it really deserve to be called pain
so I said I wasn't sure
so her fingers moved to my face
and traced that torn skin on my right cheek
and asked again about how it happened
and again I told her of the beer bottle and the asshole
and she asked that strangest of things again
how did it feel when the glass sliced your cheek
and all I could think to say was
how did your first period feel

Tina Marie

sometimes, late at night when I am all alone and the sounds of the city are around me, I lie there and long for the return of that night, on your bed
and it makes me lonely to think
that was such a wonderful moment
that we both still remember it so well
but sometimes I just long to find out what your skin smells like
after that hot shower you have just climbed out of
sometimes in the dark I remember your breasts pressed against me
soft and warm
and I remember those moments but not the movie that played
and sometimes when it seems that I might have missed something
that green dress comes to mind
and reminds me of your beauty
your skin soft and pale against that cloth
your red hair falling in curls
but still I end up at that night
alone together


© Rik Woods 2008

Little lost girl in the foundry

She lost her soul
In the pasteurized humanity
Scrunched down on a bed of dirt
With rotting leaves and coal dust for a pillow
She was born under the starry night
To a mother with a silver spoon in her mouth
That she used
For the heroine in her arms
She lost her mind
In the sanitized humanity
Punched in the face
When she tried to run from the squatters
Looking for an easy night
Of rape
She lost her body
To the glamorized depravity
That we let lurk and linger in our streets
As long as it doesn’t come down
Our nice suburban sidewalk
And we can watch the latest
Based on a real story
Down at the superplex 50 screen theater
With extra butter and a large soda please

© Rik Woods 2008

Sacrosanct

She kept sayin’ that she adored me
That lipstick layered on her lips
She’s been kissin’ my…pick me up at eleven
And it was then that I saw it
Then that I realized that
I would have been better off
If I had been that damn singer from Aerosmith
If I had been Johnny Depp
But I was just a lost poet
Looking for love in the arms of a Jezebelle

That lipstick layered on her lips
After she had been kissin’ my …pick me up at seven
And it was then that I heard
About all of her lipstick left on Levi’s zipper’s
And I realized that I was better off
If I had been lost in the woods that first night
Instead of at that damn one act comedy

© Rik Woods 2008

A new jean jacket

A new jean jacket




Her Blue Gray eyes spoke to me
Or am I just imagining that from the past
She called to me
And I did not return
Not out of spite, well maybe out of fright
Afraid of winding up with more than I had
Ever thought of maybe
Or maybe I was just a stupid boy
And not sure of what I really had
Her blue-gray eyes spoke to me
In quite tones
And her voice called to me in thunderous whispers
Or am I just remembering the past
In my own light
We were both fifteen,
And we sat together in that holy building
And we laughed together In the dead of night
And she prepared me for life
And I was sure she was going to be my wife
But the night closed in and
The demons of life closed in
And I was filled with anger
And filled with pain
And I was so sure I couldn’t hurt her
That I hurt her in the end
Her blue-gray eyes spoke to me
Like no religious creed could

© Rik Woods 2004