Long Look out on Poems
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The following is a tribute to Vincent Van Gogh, the amazing artist who died of his own hand in 1890. He died, tragically alone, and in obvious pain, unrecognized and unappreciated by the people of his day. But, in 1972, a talented young recording artist, Don Mclean, wrote and recorded a beautiful and stirring tribute to the artist, Vincent. The following are the lyrics to the song, featured on the American Pie album. I hope you will appreciate not only the sentiment so beautifully expressed, but the marvelous imagery and flawless poetry. It moves me; I hope it will likewise move you. And now, Vincent:
Starry, starry night,
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Now I understand, what you tried to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And how you tried to set them free--
They would not listen, they did not know how,
Perhaps they'll listen now.
Starry, starry night,
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue,
Morning fields of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.
Now I understand,
What you tired to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And how you tried to set them free--
They would not listen, they did not know how,
Perhaps they'll listen now.
For they could not love you,
Though your love was true,
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life as lovers often do,
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.
Starry, starry night,
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless heads on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken in the virgin snow.
Now I think I know,
What you tried to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And how you tried to set them free--
They would not listen,
They're not listening still...
Perhaps they never will.
~M
Grab your gun, check the amo. Lock it back. Take a look out on
the world and fade to black. Go berserk. Lie your
conscience in the dirt. Let the pain and the anger do some
team work. Put your tears up front. Grab your mess list and
do a man hunt. Mercy, no. Pity, no. Go real rude and blunt.
Violate anyone who said love but did not mean it. Annihilate
those who's respect was stated but you have not seen it. Inseminate trust
with rage, so fury can escape from it's cage. Incriminate
hope so that hate gain's control of the stage. Isolate your
wrath and let it marinate on some vengeance. Obliterate faith
and let envy commence. It's common sense, this has to
happen for your self defense. Need some evidence, the price
tag on your state of mind is at who's expense? Don't get tense,
I've been there, and wrote a book. To kill the suspense, I'll
let you take a look. It's a hymnbook, a road map on not getting
shook. Tell me, does life do a how to on how to avoid the fishhook. I'm
tripping, sorry, don't get scared. If I was serious, to say no, are you prepared?
You get one shot to mess me over, then it's done. I'm not
heartless, but I'm not stupid, after one there's none. Make use
of your opportunity, see me run. Come again you stand against
Chester Walker's grandson. Dare to touch a hair on a child
you can see my slug. I'm not a hustler, but for the seeds I
can be a thug. Claiming your a Christian, but really your a decoy.
Let me spark my Newport, then I'll smoke you like a vice
roy. If you pitstop in the path of the young, I'll pop you like I
do a merlot. If you fight for a cameo, I'll re-write the scenario.
You walkabout the future like our concern is in
doubt. Watch the turnout, like Chnese food we'll take
you out. I use the bible like it's an antibiotic. Think
I will let my kin fall, well, you are psychotic. bring
my people despair, give them unrest, show them ridicule.
I'll do you worse than Lara Croft on Princess Toadstool.
Coming against the children is two strikes, and my people is one.
I'm talking to satan, but if the shoe fit's, than our war has begun.
Form:
Look out on the music these days,
there ain’t a whole lot to say,
techno makes me feel dead inside,
dub-step, just get out of my way.
Hip-hop just rubs me all wrong,
that stuff is barely a song,
maybe there are some gems in there,
most of it’s just here and gone.
Can’t stop rocking,
the six-string talking,
the base-line walking,
the kick-drum knocking,
can’t stop rocking,
the pit is moshing,
the heads are bopping,
the tight shirts hopping;
giving them all that we got,
putting the fans all on lock;
cool licks dropping,
I can’t stop rocking,
I can’t stop rocking it hot.
Don’t get a thing from pop stars,
autotune gets them that far,
hot young thing on a casting couch,
that’s what makes them what they are.
Most of them really can’t sing,
their live shows a recording,
voices like karaoke bars,
I’d say it’s embarrassing.
Can’t stop rocking,
the six-string talking,
the base-line walking,
the kick-drum knocking,
can’t stop rocking,
the pit is moshing,
the heads are bopping,
the tight shirts hopping;
giving them all that we got,
Making all the panties drop;
cool licks dropping,
I can’t stop rocking,
I can’t stop rocking it hot.
Some might say I’m out of step,
don’t you known that rock is dead?
Won’t hear it on the radio,
but something needs to be said:
masterpieces never age,
they carve a place out to stay,
sounds just as fresh as when written,
Beethoven rocks to this day!
Can’t stop rocking,
the six-string talking,
the base-line walking,
the kick-drum knocking,
can’t stop rocking,
the pit is moshing,
the heads are bopping,
the tight shirts hopping;
giving them all that we got,
pushing it over the top;
cool licks dropping,
I can’t stop rocking,
I can’t stop rocking it hot.
Can’t stop rocking,
the six-string talking,
the base-line walking,
the kick-drum knocking,
can’t stop rocking,
the pit is moshing,
the heads are bopping,
the tight shirts hopping;
giving them all that we got,
I’ll die before I dare stop;
cool licks dropping,
I can’t stop rocking,
I can’t stop rocking it hot.
The paddlewheel unloads people,
tourists who were out on a cruise,
above the docks and the gift shops
the brown palisades come in view.
(The canoes draw up on the beach,
Iroquois out looking to trade,
in the fort the merchants gaze on,
guns and metal they’ll send their way.)
The families walk to the gate,
the young boys humming joyously,
his place is out of story-books,
with so many cool things to see.
(The Mohawks bring their wares inside,
redcoats guards above, quite alert,
they’re supposed to be allies but
keeping an eye out doesn’t hurt.)
They run around the great courtyard,
to the stocks, the well, the wagon,
local youths, dressed up are their guides,
explaining how things were once done.
(The bargaining goes back and forth,
local guides translate what is said,
both sides want the best of the deal,
squabble for all that they can get.)
One the wall kids climb the cannons,
pretend that they’re soldiers of old,
parents ready to pull them back
if, like all kids, they get too bold.
(The big guns look out on the lake,
they know that the French are out there,
these Mohawks came out of the north
so it pays for folks to beware).
The young ones scamper down the walls,
duck into buildings now and then,
the parents tried to read the signs,
but they can’t, since they’re minding them.
(The young man walks a lonely path,
takes the steps, makes sure to go back,
if officers see him slacking
then he knows he will get the lash.)
They get through the gift shop intact,
a battle for parents, it’s true,
pile into the mini-van,
kids asleep in an hour or two.
(The Mohawks head back with their haul,
still hours until they make camp
while merchants stretch out beaver skin,
they never can sate the demand.)
The family goes back to its life,
vacation over for the year,
miles away safe in their homes,
they have little reason to fear.
(The fort remains every watchful,
in a wilderness dark and stern,
not knowing that within a year
all of those tall timbers will burn.)
Does the utopian human not salute,
The ideal person, right and sensible?
Which psychologists can easily foster and describe,
In certain personality models which are not dispensable?
The utopian human stands to beg,
The question posed by psychologists,
“What is your character and personality?”
Their good models encourage an interactive dexterity.
When a business or organisation invests in people,
They’re hoping to entertain a certain personality;
One that's open, giving and receptive,
Not one that deceives by theology or has religious animosity.
Your space - your problems and your pleasures,
Must be respected in a mandatory fashion,
Not differentiated away from to illuminate,
Someone else’s spirituality and god passion.
That morality exists necessitates the virtues,
Which today can be separated away from beliefs,
But religious demands should not go unquestioned,
As a platform without judgement relief.
Christian fundamentalists are either,
Right or wrong in the head,
And it is very much apparent to me,
That today they should be being lead.
Their kids can be not loved at all,
For their intellect, past-times and emotions,
By parents who will only talk to them,
If they do their daily devotions.
When you look out on life from its precipice,
If god is there, you will lack,
The speech, the confidence and the creativity to mark,
The land upon which you will embark.
Enculture yourself in human principles -
The church’s toleration of them is slight;
I don't believe agnosticism is an option,
If you want to be in the light.
Atheism and humanism let you become a better person,
And give you moral fibre every day if you would like;
But Christianity’s focus is on godliness and evangelism,
So atheism’s a better cognition, ‘cos agnosticism’s just not right.
It’s something that I have noticed
through pretty much most of my life,
a strange malaise of spirit
that somehow just doesn’t feel right.
As if we’re just spinning our wheels,
as if we have beaten the game,
no great mission, no great challenge,
every day just more of the same.
Some people even cheerlead this,
say we should all get used to less,
that all this is how things must be,
but I say this is all a test.
A test to see if we’re worthy
of inheriting all the stars,
if we see through self-hating crap
to rise above and travel far.
Because if one thing should be clear
to others as it is to me,
settling space is not some dream,
it is mankind’s moral duty!
Because, as I look out on space,
a disturbing truth is laid bare,
most of it is void, gas, or rock,
there isn’t much living out there.
All we’ve seen if devoid of life,
which can leave a person depressed,
but this does not mean it’s empty,
it means it isn’t living yet.
Since if there is no life out there,
nothing to claim all of these worlds,
then spreading life is up to us,
to make these planets into pearls.
We can take a Mars or Venus,
terraform it until alive,
or dome a crater on dead worlds,
terraform the space that’s inside.
Since life is better than no life,
and existence better than naught,
to bring these things to all those worlds
I think is our God-given lot.
Since beyond God, all known sentience
is bound in one species, one place,
it means all those dead worlds out there
have no meaning, spirit, or ways.
And if you’re not a believer,
evolution made us like this,
to spread out for our survival,
ensure what we have will persist.
In either case it’s safe to say
the moral thing is to spread out,
to bring new life, or just save lives,
both are for the good, without doubt...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
To the gallant ‘remain’ I direct this refrain; to the hearts and great souls I see there; and maintain.
That we are not so much different that not all is estranged;
We both yearn betterment in so much we are same!
I hate not my neighbour; I hate neither you
In my heart I am sure it is good you would do!
Our wants are quite similar throughout this Brit-ian.
To your hearts and great souls, I direct this refrain.
To the gallant; to the worthy; resolute, brave, ‘remain’ do we not both;
Want better? Do we both not contain respect; and value this country the same?
This land welcomed many; Huguenot through to Jew,
It stood out for freedom under wings of the few.
This all before the time of the present E. U.
Look out on your land, on the homeless that call, for better; for direction,
Do we not have compassion? I say yes one and all!
To the gallant ‘remain’ do we want the same? better for children; for our daughters And sons? Can we do, think and plan?
How to be at our best? For I believe that we can.
We have seen three depressions whilst still in the ‘club’
Seem lost in a virtual reality; that to many is the rub,
When we left the E.R.M. this country did well, it’s all part of your history,
That some never tell. Have we not been subject to rumour and spin?
Yet it's well known by science in debate; majority knowledge does win.
To the gallant to the worthy, resolute, brave ‘remain’. I don't think
You unworthy I just put it plain. I don't think that you caved in to fear,
Rather that the politics; was rather not clear.
You love your own country that’s what I see.
I share much of your values, maybe more than you believe
So then to you, I state; that for me, it’s so plain
Let the UK ‘remain’ undivided by rumour, anger, lies and pain.
© Joe Maverick 2-2-2019
In a window down on Main St.
Sits an old pawn shop guitar
Its strings are like a slinky
And its finish has been marred
But when a dreamer has a vision
They keep shooting for the stars
It's not about the glamour
It's more about the heart
If that old pawn shop guitar could talk
Oh the stories it could tell
Its raspy voice from the smoke
Would prove it knows the bar scene well
It's rough around the edges
Yet it strums every chord in tune
It could reflect upon the saddest song
It helped write in some bedroom
I walked in through the front door
And it's like the man could tell
He approached me with a smiling face
Said here's the story that I tell
I've seen you for the past few weeks
Sneaking by to take a look
That guitar right there could write a page
It could even write a book
Our late nights were never ending
She knew Johnny, Hank and Merle
Even sat in with the possum
On his tour around the world
She's played all kinds of music
From rock and roll to hillbilly
She even tried her hand in a bluegrass band
But heartache's still her specialty
If this old pawn shop guitar could talk
Oh the stories she could tell
Her raspy voice from the smoke
Would prove she knows the bar scene well
She's rough around the edges
Yet she strums every chord in tune
She can reflect upon the saddest song
She helped write in our bedroom
I know all this cause she was mine
From way back in the day
But I hung her up the day I got
The note that she went away
She helped me through my darkest hour
I'd rather see that she lives on
Than look out on these lonely streets
And think she missed her first hit song
Son promise me that you'll go far
With this old pawn shop guitar
In the mountains one of our favorite activities..because of all that it contains…
is to sit out on our porch and experience the rain.
Rain is free…it comes with no expectations…no restrictions…no expenses
It is a beauty to behold….a gift for all our senses.
We usually hear the rain announce itself…letting us know she’s on her way
when the distant thunder booms…and the sky turns a shade of grey.
Next we turn our attention to the wind as darker clouds assemble
as the leaves begin to quiver and the trees begin to tremble.
We smell rain in the air before we see it…alerting us as to what the clouds are making
It’s like detecting the aroma of cookies while they’re in the oven baking.
Now with smoky clouds covering all we see…so only a hint of the mountains remain
to our great pleasure from the safety of our porch…the sky begins to rain.
As we watch the raindrops bounce off the leaves and hear them on our rooftop pound…
we stretch or hands out to catch a few raindrops before they hit the ground.
Then remembering and wanting to relive a time when we were young.
we open or mouths and allow some raindrops to land upon our tongues.
The rain is a treat for all our senses…we find happiness there
where others may find gloom
because we understand the sky must weep…if flowers are to bloom.
Once the rain has ended…we look out on the glistening mountains
and we smile…
then we thank the rain for stopping by…and lingering a while.
And we think in that short time…how much there was to gain…
form the flowers, the trees the mountains…and us…
as we experienced the rain.
I stand by the water, a bottle in my hand.
The spirits help me face another day.
Think about my wife and kids and do not understand,
How I walked out and threw it all away.
Look out on still waters, tears fall from my eyes.
Drifting through the promises I made.
Promises that float away on dark and clouded skies.
When the wind whispers, the devil must be paid.
But now and then there's laughter in my memories.
Little voices shouting, daddy I love you.
Tears that fall for happy, prayers on bended knees.
Life flowed like a river, dreams did come true.
CHORUS
Lord, help me get back on the road to happiness.
Safe into adoring arms and loving sweet caress.
I need you Lord to guide me, You're my only friend.
Help me Lord, please help me, find my way back home again.
I can't remember when, it started to go wrong.
But, somehow I just lost the will to live.
The shadows and the darkness summoned me to come along.
And gave me life with nothing left to give.
I'm walking on a tightrope, my heart is on the brink.
My strength is gone, there's nowhere left to fall.
The bottle gives me nothing but the need for one more drink.
God I pray that you can hear me call.
Cause now and then there's laughter in my memories.
Little voices shouting, daddy I love you.
Tears that fall for happy, prayers on bended knees.
Life flowed like a river, dreams did come true.
CHORUS
Lord, help me get back on the road to happiness.
Safe into adoring arms and loving sweet caress.
I need you Lord to guide me, You're my only friend.
Help me Lord, please help me, find my way back home again.