Ravenous Reflections - Poetry from the Heart

Ravenous Reflections Poetry From The Heart

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As discovering an entire kingdom full of plump wooden treasure chests filled with gold and rubies and pearls. Alive within the throbbing, luminous coordinates of my position inside this infinite, vital, gridded network, extending beyond heavens eternity. Even though this is just a moment which too shall pass I can see that for now so I smile as I rise. Now Winnipeg is perched like a vulture, bitter in an eternal autumn, under eternally overcast skies. The only people who want to make friends with you in Winnipeg are cheap little dirty drug dealers.

Having been reviled by the sight of desperate frothing men, with untamed desire my frothing lips convulsed. Disgusted and angered by the apishness of man, I beat my chest and yowled monstrously as I sought to ascend those apish ranks. I seek now to shatter the binds that bind the hearts of men to their greatest enemies and most cursed defeats,. In the body of the email he made the following notes about this series of poems:. While I breathe this common air with my own two nostrils and can only wonder what it smells like to that passing stranger.

I will lock myself inside the awful confines of the war torn skull, with the shades violently drawn, and pace back and forth for days before suddenly proclaiming AH HA! I will ride each morning at seven into bleak suburban strip mall heaven, and mega mall tax offices will scratch their fingernails across the chalkboard of my mind. I will desecrate ancient monuments to love and cower in fear before the murderous mongrel inside me.

I will sit sick in terrible illness, paranoid and frantic muttering something to myself about peace and beauty then vomit into a plastic garbage. I will laugh with raving blood thirsty idiots listening to bad music then go home solemn faced and listen to good music. I will gulp kerosene in defense of their eyes and exhale a graveyard, wondering how long I will live. I will dance and disappear into a carnival of poison and come back slowly, coughing and depressed, with all of my internal organs bruised. I will allow my thoughts like seven infants to break down the walls of their pen and each pursue their own delight — tearing the fiber of my brain.

What will they say spawning repugnant lies in the stagnant tepid breeding grounds of their polluted puddle brains. What will they say whose identities are nothing more than the various garbage that collects in a can,. What will they say viciously ensnared by the barbed wire rigging of infinitely complex hierarchies — well disguised jail cells.

What will they say laughing hideously inside warm walls with crowds of diseased friends, eating meat and profusely drinking red wine, choosing with sick minds not to look out the window at the sea of starving sorrowful faces outside. What will they say mentally depraved mothers, retarded, cockeyed, mouths gaping dumbly open as they push soft innocent strollers along the cracked pavements.

What will they say in wrinkled black leather hunched over empty shopping carts with violent and accusing eyes pushing along the crooked city streets. What will they say stretching the flesh of their fingers for that always so close Elysium — tomorrow who strangles today.

Miniscule green roots stretching from the soles of my shoes into the fertile ground each step I take. Let me seek, endlessly, with complete eyes, the miracle of my own glory, no matter how far removed or obscure,. Though I may be but a child splashing in a tub, those ripples are as delicate and precious to me as endless glass cities.

Jack talked about wanting a typewriter and I found one for him at a thrift store. He makes reference to it in the following poem. Lashes me into subterranean chambers of frenzy, dizzying the virulent thoughts trapped in my skull. D o not expect I will look back from the distance longingly towards you little lover. Jack must have written this poem in while drinking wine in his apartment while he was going to the University of Manitoba in Winnipeg, Canada. He appears to reflect on conversations and camaraderie we had in when we both lived near the Rocky Mountains in Boulder.

I am beginning only now to loose the barbed rigging which has cinched my heart and constrained her wild vitality,. That some sweet day I may understand my real energy, unbounded, and allow it to abound, boundlessly. They are the last ones he sent to me. B ecause your breath animates all with indiscriminate vividness. He expressed his intention to awaken through death so clearly and so many times.

I count each day a little life, With birth and death complete; I cloister it from care and strife And keep it sane and sweet. With eager eyes I greet the morn, Exultant as a boy, Knowing that I am newly born To wonder and to joy. O that all Life were but a Day Sunny and sweet and sane! And that at Even I might say: A nd so his careful thoughts,.

Detailed with a cold baroque elegance,. And the precious wineglasses. Entrapped within the sinews of twisted, deformed limbs. Hovering above the fever in his head. And the nightmare of today still lurks like. The landscape becomes impure passing through him. So he laughs alone in the solemn twilight. A miserable laugh, a poisonous smile. He commands the supreme alchemists of his sky.

Of overcast skies throughout all of time. And a church, with its holy cross, sank into the marshland nearby. The Leaves of Grass was a birthday gift from Jack, the glowing green tortoise represents gradual progress on the spiritual path. There is more about Jack, more photos and more of his written thoughts and reflections about him on his memorial page. Thank you for leaving us so many haunting and beautiful poems Jack.

When I read them, you are so present, so available. This one is seasonally appropriate and quite moving.

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A long, long, absence from the prison term, them being unwilling prisoners of education. Days to sleep, and the sleep on those winter days is the most luscious and beautiful. Waking to crystal frost clinging diligently to the window with refractions of sunlight bursting through being refracted into magnificent colors splayed across the room subtly. Hearing the wind hiss, taunting you, believing you will be sulking outside into as usual?

It is quite simply wonderful. And atop this celebration, feasts, gifts. The reunion of family around large candle-lit banquets, the cheering and anticipation of the new year awaiting. Friends and family of old. Everyone was a-coming home to celebrate together. So I thought about all the friends I had here, and wanted to see them, to have a great reunion….

Many poignant journal entries, poems, and occasional class notes in a thick spiral notebook that Jack brought with him to the University of Manitoba in Winnipeg both times he went there—-when he was 18 and then after dropping out for a while when he was No entries in this notebook or elsewhere are dated, and rather than filling the notebook page-by-page in a characteristic way he apparently picked blank pages at random. The consistent non order a precise reflection of Jack, someone who could not live comfortably bound to a schedule or long-term commitment but was relentlessly driven by the promptings of his restless soul.

It was probably written in Winnipeg when he was eighteen or nineteen. It looks like it was tossed off in one take and yet, for me at least, it as a deceptively simple, soulful masterpiece. A poetic journal entry on restless longing from the same spiral notebook:. And surely I can not know if I have found it. I suppose I was just thirsting for drink from a new well. All my life I have felt moved and dictated, at least to some degree, by outside forces. Most all my life I have more or less walked ground pounded down by many feet and known well by many people.

John “Jack” Spencer Savage 1989-2013

I have lived on a certain timeline which is the norm for most people but can so often be so unsatisfying. Tongues controlled by gossip, feet aimed at fruitless ends, shallow mindedness. I wanted to live more completely and hear more stories and see other lives. I wanted to see the vast land which is my country as she is. I wanted to touch the world and feel it as it is not with a glove or protection.

And I wanted freedom, obligations no more than what is necessary to sustain life, I wanted to breath this air that surrounds every body and object and let the wonder of this land sink into me, on some bustling Chicago street during a business day, or some warm and lazy Memphis afternoon or the crisp inhale of mountain air when only the immense collection of stars are your company. To sing with my voice regardless of the idle carelessness of them dining at that most expensive restaurant, I wanted absolute freedom, I wanted my brain to cease trembling.

Another page from the spiral, another one-take poem from a lonely night in Winnipeg. Another tossed off Winnipeg poem that describes smoking a cigarette while taking a bath. There are three stranded lines Jack left in the upper right hand corner of the page, with no lines to indicate if he wanted them inserted into the poem anywhere:. One notebook is filled with poetry, much of it drafts of what is already published on his poetry page. The contents appear to be written during He left some interesting comments here and there on his approach to poetry.

Poetry is precise dealing with raw content, employing metaphor and symbol and subconscious association to depict, illustrate and portray life. It is a manifestation of ones own personal world. My poetry comes from deep self-reflection, from journeying deeply inward and howling out what I find to examine it in clear light.

Poetry should have vitality, it should come alive and transfer, only by intuition, something powerful. There are a number of beautifully written travelogues in the archives that begin with Jack reflecting on his restlessness and why he had to leave situations that he found too confining. I had left school for inarticulate reasons in search of vague dreams. The kind which were like butterflies on a cool spring afternoon, the kind which are dazzling and enchanting but impossible to pin down or capture, regardless of the persistence of the enchanter.

A great deal of my life I felt a heavy guilt with my lack of bourgeois ambition or desire to fulfill the life style which a good well-rounded college education will provide. But time and time again the standards to which I was to live my life stifled all the life out of me and left me, lifeless. The plain and undeniable voice of practicality never was able to illuminate a clear and pleasant path to me despite all the reassurance of everything I was supposed to value in life.

And because of this I was deemed a fool, mentally unfit, and even mentally ill. And it took a great long while of conflict with my self to realize that in the face of an unforgiving and mechanical world I have no other choice than to follow my own feet. Regardless of what everyone else will deem it, it is the only law that I understand and the only law I can follow. Though this is easy to speak it is much more difficult to truly live out. Facing resistance at nearly every turn, in an infinite number of situations and finding wills?

It is a difficult in a world with infinite regulations, unwrit standards and precise formats for which each being is supposed to subscribe and retain as their fundamental grounding. To be your own man. The only true, pure, and meaningful life is the one which seeks its own roads and refines constantly its individual and unique doctrine.

So against all resistance I had chosen to leave university… omitting a few words—JZ So rather than live in a sate of eternal purgatory with absolutely no lust or zest for life I chose to leave. To find all the grandest adventures that had always lived in my mind. To search for far off exotic places to sink into my eyes, to dance on new grounds, to breathe new air, exhale new ideas and back in the warm wondrous story this world is always setting forth. But at some point in most of these travelogues, Jack seems to come to the realization that Emerson did in the 19th Century: Jack always framed his travel as a departure from a mundane, confining world.

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Sometimes that departure is depicted as an ecstatic call to adventure and other times as a self-imposed exile from what Jack saw as a shameful failure to adapt or thrive. If you give birth to the genius within you, it will free you. If you do not give birth to the genius within you, it will destroy you. Jung said something with eerie parallels to what Jack wrote above in a passage that I encountered through a stunning synchronicity twenty years ago when I made the decision to leave my teaching career and go on the road.

Although this might seem like I am indulging too much of my own thoughts and words I am trying to make a point that could help you to help the next struggling young visionary you might meet. I have been the mentor to young visionaries both before and after Jack and the most classic and difficult problem to navigate is the need to help them find a practical, viable adaptation to life and the simultaneous need not to clip their wings and to encourage them to pursue their visions no matter how unlikely that pursuit is to help them make a living. I have been on both sides of the equation myself—as the one giving advice and as the one needing it.

Despite all the messages from the muse, this was no easy decision, as I had a tenured teaching job in the highest-paying county for teachers in the United States, where I made close to 60K a year quite a lot for a relatively young school teacher in and was provided with health insurance, an excellent pension plan, etc. My parents, and every voice of middle-class common sense and practicality, were urging me to return to the economic security of a profession I once loved.

I had been on the road ten months when the school district called, pressing me for a decision. I was traveling with some young friends with whom I had done volunteer work at a Navajo reservation near Big Mountain, Arizona. The little bit of money I had from cashing out my retirement fund had long since been exhausted, and I had been living close to the edge.

It can lighten your mood and bring joy to a moment in time. On the other hand poems can also be dark and express your innermost feelings and fears, feelings you carry so deep within and want to explore. Your true courage will be to share such raw feelings with others. This book of poems will take you though a personal journey of love, beauty, parting, bullying, loss, grief, depression, pet love, inner beauty and everlasting peace within.

The Temptress Short Story. My Inspirational Book of Poems. Where the Stars Align. Getting Out of a Stress Mess! When Your Pet Dies. Felipe Ladron de Guevara. Stop Believing In Christ. Rhythms Of My Young Heart. Right and Wrong and Being Strong. The Magic in You. Cleveland, Chicago, New York, and Heaven. Feeling Bad, Getting Better. Poetry from My Soul.

Everything You Need to Know. Sheep's Vigil by a Fervent Person: If I look back at those emotions, I might see an entire life wasted in frustration and feeling too much pain. If I shift my gaze but just a little, I can also see triumph, recovery phases, moments of epiphany when the lessons dawned on my sleeping mind and an endless well of s. Journey to Acceptance, Self-Compassion and Love.

Sometimes I think we are just too smart for our own good. We look out at life and see the ripples and waves of complexity But, what if you knew that kind of quest would only ever be fruitless if searching outside yourselves? What would you do then? Do you think that in such times, the tiny little aches from within your own heart migh. Observation of the Breath - A Gift. It has been a rough week but beautiful too.

Strange happenings in the world this week have my mind and energy stretched out far and wide. To all who suffer, I pray for comfort and peace. To all who feel lost, I pray for the deepest feeling of home and love.

For all those worried and in mourning, I send great gentleness and even more love. For all those out there trying to ma. Written September 5, My heart is so heavy it feels as if it cannot bear even the tiniest increment more of this pain. Grief is a process and mine has only just begun. I lost a very dear friend today.

He was not going to get better and so I had to compassionately release him. It happened so quick and he was gone. For almost 14 years of my life he was there for me every single day. Breathe - Become Aware - That's It. I woke up to a cloudy sky this morning. That might not seem like much but after 90 degree temps for a few days, you begin to truly appreciate clouds. The clouds mean cooler temperatures, at least for the moment. The energy of late has been so very powerful. When you are sensitive to energy, there are just things that you notice.

My youngest middle child graduated high school last week. It was the most perfect day. Work slowed down the weeks leading up to the event allowing me to take time off, the day was a bright beautiful and warm sunny day. The stadium was huge and the vibe was a very, very light, excited and happy one. We picked her out easily among the almost children graduating. I watched her sitting there, looking so grown up. Sitting like a lady ready to receive her reward.

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I think about this often, especially as I see social media verbal attacks wreaking havoc in the lives of those I am acquainted. I think before we can get to the point of being able to separate ourselves from a moment of uncomfortable reaction, we have to understand our typical psychological behavior. Triggers - Flashes of Emotion or Opportunities for Insight? Human interactions can sometimes be so difficult.

Environmental psychology and, well, the stuff we just come in here with leaves us with trigger points. These are those little internal flash points we people do or say that one thing or many things in just that special way that pushes our. A Day in an Ordinary Life. Social media is teaming with fear, fear and well, some more fear.

As if the change were not enough to send people over the edge, then there is what comes next, more change. I finally got myself up at 4: A Split Decision and Peace. I had occasion to visit a local theme park a few days ago. Aside from letting my inner child out with much excitement, I made an unexpected discovery. There is a feeling in it that I just never cared for. To describe it might sound strange or to some of you, not but its that tightenin.

Gentle Rain from My Ceiling. The leak in my ceiling is like a gentle waterfall and as the hours go by, the paint bubbles to release some more. Holding Space - Empathy in Times of Conflict.

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