#bowie
Que se explica si el se llama Bowie:
corazones de japon,
corazones de america,
gente importante,
solos los hombres,
solas las miujeres,
solito el camgbio el mundo,
solito el cambio,
su imagen
cambio su estilo de manejar su musica,
fue heraclito,
fue hombre,
fue alien,
las manos de exageradas visiones,
los dedos libros de Bolaño,
de Borges,
de Cortazar,
la imagen de su visage,
fue Paris,
fue Russia,
fue Japon…
fue Bowie,
la la la la lo
Nov 10, 2022
Nov 10, 2022 at 8:28 AM UTC
In sixth grade,
I wrote a letter to David Bowie
addressed to his New York home never knowing
a girl named Kamryn exists,
but I thought I was special enough
for a world-renowned rock star to reply
or care enough about some pre-teen angst
I shared with him how my grandma Pam
chose drugs over (I know now an addiction has many more complex layers)
getting to know her grandchildren or
to love her son, but then I remembered-
this is David ******* Bowie, he's lived life
with ******* in his bloodstream for thirty years prior
Maybe, I mentioned it all
because I wanted to feel special,
like the way, I think dying young
will create that for me. It's stupid
how I painfully so-identified as
"the girl with the mousy hair"
and the piano aiding an eloquent
discussion about the world's disarray
in which I selfishly identified as my own
"Life on Mars" always felt like a personal performance
just for me, but at twenty-one, it isn't just a song
and I still lay awake wondering if Mars and I
share a similarity, we want life to ebb
so distinctly within us both.
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 8:04 PM UTC
There is a girl inside my head
Running round and round
In a pretty black dress
If I write about her, maybe she could rest
Here goes nothing, let’s put it to the test
—————————————————-
Her name is Beth, she’s a fragile mess
But she’s beautiful in every sense
She plays guitar and sings with her heart
Dedicates her entire life to art
She’s one of a kind, the prettiest star
The serious moonlight in the dark
—————————————————
If this poem is ****** than excuse me
I never really wanted you stop running really
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 4:14 PM UTC
Fearless
Long hair waving in the new wind.
Time changes and it’s a **** beginning.
Bowie, I only worship one king.
All that is left are the songs we are still singing.
Heroes fall under the thunder sounds.
Waterfalls endlessly come crashing down.
Inside my own existence I continually drown.
I can never find the right way out.
Primal heart; bitten Devil man.
Longing for a new wave to send me to a better land,
Where people are free from eternal suffering.
I hold aloft the heart of endless dreaming.
(C)2020 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 10:17 AM UTC
Two and a half weeks into this quarantine
Rainy days and
no poems
No words forthcoming
All quiet
I decide that perhaps
if I just put one
Word
In front of another
And keep on for a time
Words upon words
something will come?
At 8:30 every morning
A man passes
walking a Pomeranian mix
A joyful little dog
(I’d steal him in a heartbeat)
They walk
He twirling the leash round and round
The dog leaping higher and higher still.
They dance together eyes meeting
and smile as I know a dog can
and I remember
how I would dance with my last greyhound.
We would tango and box-step.
I always led.
These days the little
Pomeranian can’t get his attention
anymore
The leash doesn’t twirl above its head
He’s pulled along impatiently
There are no more smiles
Their eyes won’t meet
He’s slow to realize that he’s become a drudgery
I want to yell out the window
I see you
EVERY MORNING AROUND 8:30!
Where’s your joy gone buddy?
Don’t you know that’s all you’ve got?
You’re bumming me out for real
and your dog loves you!
Wake up! You fool wake up!
I think that now I’ll walk to Ralph’s
I have various thoughts while doing so
Children race their bikes passed me
as if they’re in an entirely other reality
altogether
and
maybe they are.
The wind blows through their hair
effortlessly
As if it couldn’t mine.
Front lawns offer up fields of dandelions
as if their orbs the most prized bounty
Freshly mown grass smells new and clean instead of putrid, rotting in the sunshine
The fulsome wafts of springtime’s
jasmine and osmanthus heaving with citrus and pepper evade me as I pass their blossoms
Yet on the rare occasion a fragrant rose pierces through the weft and hits a nostril
but I can’t tell which bloom.
The smooth talking
homeless girl
has finally covered up that
diabetic open sore on her left ankle
the size of a flattened crimson football
which is something,
although I can see that
she’s being told to move along as
she just can’t sit anywhere she pleases.
I’m counting every time I see the word “dead” along my way.
In the store the ladies that buy
their bottles of white wine in the afternoon
are starting earlier now
with supplies and deliveries
unsure
It’s one thirty and I see
Two bottles of Clos du Bois
And four Domaine St. Michelles
in the cart to my right
and nothing else
as they do.
I’m not going to ask her
about her dinner party.
While I stare at packages of coffee
A man pulls off his mask to sneeze into the air before him
And I say to the older man approaching
I don’t think that you’ll be going any farther
in that direction.
It was under my breath.
He didn’t hear me.
I have a mask on.
He turned his cart around and walked back
the way he came.
I have this urge to talk to everyone.
I have this relentless desire for ice cream.
I miss everything.
Nothing here
will satisfy anything
to do with me.
Can one survive a global catastrophe
with candy and magical thinking?
Older people
And by that
I mean really old people
Eye me suspiciously
Almost fearful
As if I myself alone
embody
the menacing contagion
and I guess I could.
Perhaps I do.
It’s hard to read emotions with these masks
But their eyes seem terribly unkind and
brows, furrowed
One stares at me hard
with beady anger and a ready insult
another will jump me in the checkout line
and with great solicitude
unwrap her money from
the white notebook paper
pulled from the manila envelope
Now re-folded with
rubber bands and string
And placed back
into her chest
She is so sweet to the cashier
with her black acrylic wig askew
that he seems quite shocked to hear
she cut in front of
fifteen people
without so much as a word.
Who cares really?
My first mask made me sneeze for four hours straight and made my nose burn like a hit of **** *******
I’ve been handed a free mask by
a representative
from my local assemblyman
made of a softer material
I find that
it won’t stay up and fogs the base of my glasses.
I don’t think it’s working.
It reads
We’re All In This Together.
I still can’t breathe.
The doomed asthmatic
selling his single ciggies on the sidewalk
dies on Staten Island
from a policeman’s chokehold.
Eric Garner
In those desperate last moments
of
his
2014
despite his pleas and confusion
surely there before him appeared
although not quite the end that he’d envisioned or feared
what with steroid inhalers from the pharmacy
a crystalline moment
when he knew without a doubt that
he’d never take another gasp of air
like a bloated goldfish on its side
expressionless and saucer eyed
outside its bowl
What happened to his mind then?
What will happen to mine?
It has been said that
certain tribal kings
have brought before them
after battle
their most worthy enemy
in the process of imminent death
while they sit in numinous splendor
and wait for that perfect moment
to lean in close to the mouth
and inspire greedily
the purest
most sublime
expiration of their life force,
now a pristine delicacy of the infinite,
for themselves alone.
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 2:13 PM UTC
A reflection is shadow made of light.
I look at myself. “Who you trying to fight?“
You know he’s crooked cause his head is cocked.
It’s rebellion.
His past is in flames, he’s a hellion.
That’s why he don’t hear what they be tellin him.
He hears his own music.
He let’s it in, he grooves it.
It flows through his body when he moves it.
You can always be happy if you choose it.
Listen to the dope beats
and keep a couple close to your throne seat.
It’s emotion in wave form. There is no rawer art
or rarer reward. For if you truly listen
changes will start in the you-est you.
I was shocked too but I swear, it’s true.
All sorts of things will change you, if you let them.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 5:34 PM UTC
I am like those SETI-scientists,
clinging on radiowaves;
noise-melodies from outer space,
questing after truth with huge telescopes
and scanning the visible light with satellites,
seeking desperately the limits of worlds apart,
searching for signs of intelligent life
in the desired-to-know universe.
Just to communicate with the extra-terrestrial;
to achieve certainty: there is someone out there,
someone, who is different, yet alike,
who is able to speak my thoughts
without knowing my language,
who still can easily translate my feelings
into the secret programcode of the universe.
An astral-traveler,
who can tame the waves of gravity,
someone, who is faster than the speed of light
and could eat the distance between us.
To be my interstellar compass;
my one and true guidance,
to help me explore this unfathomed life.
Someone, as David Bowie sang at once,
who is able to believe the strangest things,
who is able to love the alien.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
Week after week,
life drops the weak,
All of this strife makes us reek-
of depression, The Great Depression?
More of a depression of the Greats...
It started with Bowie, all these phonies,
mourn for something- someone they weren't around,
to witness or experience...
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
This is ground control
I sneaked in to give you a call,
it’s been a while and I yet wonder
are you still floating ‘round your tin can?
Since you launched in sixty-nine
not much has changed on planet Earth,
though Voyager one has left the system
recording sounds of Interstellar Space.
Its batteries are running low
but then other probes are on their way
rest assure, they are not searching for you
you’ve been forgotten long ago.
Scientists still question whether
indeed there is life on Mars,
planning missions to get there
we’ll leave in fifteen years or so.
Some are drawing domes forsaking
tragedy, creatively painting our escape.
Mickey Mouse has packed his suitcase,
left Minnie waiting in a bar.
Modern telescopes point to discover
exoplanets not too far, just in case,
some residing habitable zones
orbiting nearby stars.
This is ground control
I hear footsteps in the corridor,
have to run will call you again
until then I’ll keep taking care,
of your Diamond Dogs.
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
"Rebel Rebel" rings in my ears as
we drive on a haunted road
at 10:00 at night.
"Hand of God - Outro" sticks to me,
a roach on tape,
as his hand meets mine
and passes me a cigarette.
"Sober Up" gets him humming along
gets him tearing up
when we look up off the concrete and
name the stars.
"Requiem" is on my mind today
for he told me about those from
his past
and present
and future
"80's Films" is on repeat this morning
and I look through my photos
to see one of him
smiling and
laughing and
in love with life.
The first time in years I saw him in love with life
even for the length of a song.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 2:37 AM UTC
here's to the glam rock messiah of outsiders and misfits,
the androgynous man of the stars with the music.
born in brixton,
he traveled the universe by spaceships and soundwaves
with wild hair and one eye dilated.
book-loving and queer,
in love with the thought of turning 50.
the world had never seen a man
living different lives at once,
but here the starman came reinventing himself:
ziggy stardust, thin white duke, aladdin sane, major tom—
all different selves tied together by his heart.
he lived his earthly mission, rightfully so
that even the gravity of the world could not keep him put.
so on and on he strummed his guitar and crawled on stage,
in spaceboots and dresses, in porcelain doll makeup,
reaching out to all the nobody and somebody people
but one day his cosmic vessel
was taken down by a secret sickness
and halted his mission here on earth,
and so the streets and little bars smelling of cigars
were flooded by the ones who mourned,
who looked up to the stars,
wondering where their starman went.
the world had never seen such an electric creature,
but here the star man came in music and dance,
saying it was alright to be weird—
to embrace strangeness
in a world where every earthling wanted to be the same.
and perhaps, he isn't really long gone:
his time here may have ended
but now he is out there, somewhere,
on some distant star,
watching over the Earth as he always has.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 11:31 AM UTC
Hard frost and treacherous footing.
Nobody wanting to admit
that the new year
tastes an awful lot
like the old year.
None of our heroes
have been supernaturally resurrected.
There's the same
rank toxicity to our fears.
The jaunty carnival of ****** and maiming
continues unabated.
Death remains as senseless.
The corridors of power
are still slippery with slug trails and viscera,
and all the janitors have been
indefinitely furloughed.
It's cold, and
the bus is late again.
Still we persist in believing that
today will be different to yesterday,
that all those wrongs will be righted,
that the proper order - as we each individually, as
thin-skinned gods of our own personal
nuclear universes, perceive it -
will be perennially restored,
the buses will all
run on time,
and no one good
will ever die again.
But the truth is, this year
tastes an awful lot like
the old year.
I could be wrong, I guess.
Maybe everything will
turn out
fine.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 4:25 AM UTC
i didn't mourn your death
i didn't cry, didn't scream
didn't **** the world or any god for taking you away
and then i remember
english class, we all had to memorize Atticus's speech
you know, the one in the courtroom where he defended Tom Robinson
and then i remember
that you sang about leaving us before any of us knew you were gone
ziggy stardust, i miss you
and then i remember
i'm 7, maybe 8 years old
you taught me what imagination meant, what i could do, what alternate universes i could create
and then i remember
you loved so much you died with a secret
as i grew, i learned how to understand you
and then i remember
the day purple rain meant a nation mourning in unity
and then i remember
your song was in shrek and i'm sorry but that association from my childhood never left me
and then i remember
the amount of pain you endured
and then i remember
i was 11, my brother was singing along to hotel california, introduced me to your band and pointed you out to me
"that's glenn frey he's the guitarist"
and then i remember
why this year has been such a dark one
so much of the light has vanished with you
and then i remember
i never gave myself a chance to mourn your death
-z.z
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
In an instant and without a word of warning,
A billion years’ worth of existential glue
Dissipated into the ether
As he took a final breath of our sickly air.
We’ve been struggling ever since.
The misery caused by humanity’s follies
Exhausted his everlasting grace
In just a few decades;
A blip on the radar of time.
We have unhinged the universe now;
That is what we do.
“You have brought this upon yourselves,” he laments.
Heterochromatic eyes glaze over with grief.
“Please,” we beg,
“Come back to us.”
Our fatal flaw:
Never knowing what we had
Until we killed it with our own hands.
A million civilisations in the cosmos
But we were the most desperate.
Even the savior of all
Cannot save us now.
We loved him as we love our Mother;
Still we turned a blind eye to his sickness,
Still we let her wither away
When she had nothing left to offer us.
We watch skyscrapers collapse,
Petrol fires blaze,
Holes being torn into skin
With the ease of a pencil through paper.
We plead for his forgiveness,
With a rotting feeling in our stomachs
Telling us he will never come.
The stars shine differently now,
Dimmed by the pollution of city lights,
Yet still we gather to watch for him.
Still we wait for him to fall to Earth again.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 8:50 AM UTC
Something happened on the day he died. Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside. Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried, on the edge of his mortality.
He arose into the mist
Of an ordinary morning
And there was a pause, a cease of existence
A spaceman on the moon tonight
An epitaph for the ages
A smile plastered on pages
Of aging kings and moon phases
We will fall into the Blackstar, a **** in our universe
Something happened on the day he died. Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside. Somebody else took his place and bravely cried, the ascension of immortality.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
We live our lives staring at screens on our phones
giving attention to strangers living behind the screens
who are living beyond their means, garnering fame through memes.
Invest in a pair of binoculars and from a distance,
zoom in on what's popular. Or, see what's trending on the newsfeed: another black male shot by an officer. If you feel bad about the loss like a FaceBook Status, from the comfort of your home for no cost. Another tragedy in the chapter, as you live on happily ever after.
Close the novel and step into the grass in your front yard. And then make sure to inhale the grass in your blunt hard. Hold your breath until your cheeks turn blue as the blue in the sky on a summer night in July. Exhale.
Check mail. Write a message and watch the text sail
Through the air, the space that we inhabit together.
They always say nothing lasts forever, must be why
we record video footage and take photographs
of the times when your friend passed out and that hobo laughed.
Or the time you drank five brews, got behind, the wheel and almost crashed. That was the day you spiraled down a hopeless path.
Sober up in the morning as the rain trickles down the rooftop
, bathe in the water, and rinse away the negative vibes.
You go jogging down the neighborhood trail to that sedative high
of life. Think about who we lost this year: David, Prince, and Phife.
And many more, names you've never had the opportunity to learn. You take a turn as the path grows steeper. Thoughts in your head appear as you hear the positive message that's clear.
What if you hadn't wasted those afternoons watching TV commericals
on the sofa? Could I have invested in a real estate property, if I spent my funds properly and not on soda? Chug another cola yea, polar bear, because in the end what matters is if you truly care.
Life isn't fair, so when your cards are dealt, have a card up your sleeve. Because the deck is rigged, but you knew that before you've ever lived
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
Listening to my CD's late at night
In my room
Classics
Songs that molded impressionable children
Full of life and passion
Running hand in hand
Through the pouring November rain
Shaped a generation...
The eternal art of legends
Will all be forgotten
Like you
It makes me cry
They are no longer with us
I never got to meet my heroes
People who influenced me so much
And so many others
I heard the news today, oh boy
Bowie died and I cried
I heard his final songs
And I didn't sing along
I did not interrupt
I cried more than when my grandmother died
David Jones is gone
"Ground control to Major Tom.... "
I heard the news today, oh boy
And what did I find
Eyedea is gone, his message left behind
A true soul moved on
To the void
Drugs again...
When will it all end
I played his songs for hours
Through the night
I cried
And I cried
I cried more then when my mother died
I felt nothing then
And I moved on
Forgotten...
"The snow won't melt...
The fog won't clear..."
Oh how I wish you were here
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
man, she used to hold me
like a hurt child,
and tell me that everything
would be so okay,
man, she loved me so far,
and when my darkest,
she took my heart away
with a single kiss of her mouth
man, she punched my pain
and make me feel flowers,
like I was in love
of her beautiful smile
man, she is still everything,
I don't want to let her go
or make her unhappy,
not anymore, not that
but, dude, she is flying,
and I was just some weight
she kept carrying
without making any sense
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
I live in tangerine dreams
Tripping on acid
with Lucy and her diamonds in the sky
Shh, listen as the vinyl is ripped backwards
Warped demonic voices echo through our tranced souls
We have all done it
Studio 54, New York City, 1971
Dancing half naked, sweat drenched men
Grinding upon every inch of their manhood
Lines of coke snorted off the mirror fueled by alcohol induced *** in the bathroom
We wanted to do it
But never had the *****
Never take this tangerine dream away from me
Let me eat the clouds, let it taste like cotton candy
Let it stick to my fingers , as I try to lick the sugar molecules off every one of my digits
I know everyone has done that
I hear Bowie in the background,
the spiders came from Mars
and ate my soul and it didn't hurt
Do you know The Man who sold the world?
I don't !!
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
Bowie
left town
blasting off
from a
Lafayette
rooftop
his ***
spewing
a rainbow arc
liberally
sprinkling
Gluten-free
golden glitter
onto chichi
Houston Street
bistros
liberating a
fawning glitterati
eager to prance
about a
shanghaied
High Line
for a
NY second
the best dressed
homeless dude
in NoHo
spotted a
Pale Duke
apparition
fluttering over
a posse of
faux
figurine
graffiti
splashed across a
Banksyless wall
tagging the
sunny side
of the finest
neighborhood
car wash
a ghostly
Lou Reed
dressed to the nines
in sleek
Transformer drag
watched
chuckling,
scratching his *****
humming
the final bars of
an Eno
inspired
Perfect Day,
marking odds
when a
long overdue
Iggy Pop
will crash the
Pearly Gate
mosh pits
Ubering
through
the choppy seas
of urban sludge,
lightning bolts
streak down
the sullen faces
of cash strapped
honey dippin
lust for life
hipsters,
luxuriating in
a well nursed
millennial
angst
stew
Fun City's
frenzied
bare footin
Little Monster
darlings
imprisoned
in soulless
high-rises,
still a
quarter shy
from annual
bonus time,
pace
white
stained
minimalist
spaces
indulging
notions
driven
by economic
compulsion
to dial up
flush with cash
fund managers
to seek
margin loans
on their
large positions
in alpha rich
distressed
asset funds
while their
diamond collared
Schnauzers
wait outside
the corner
State News
licking the
oozing sores
encrusting
Lazarus's
feet
Ziggy's
lapping tongue
marks time,
waiting for
the stretchy
panted painted
ladies scoring
Iman's
organic rouge
at a corner
bodega
listening to
a sidewalk
trash can
yelp today's
Daily News
headline
"Major Tom
Myna Hero!"
bekighting the next
15 minute legend
a talking
Myna bird
named
Major Tom
the vigilant
Major
alerted occupants
of a Brooklyn
townhouse of
a furnace leaking
carbon monoxide
when he stopped talking
and dropped dead
a veritable canary
in a coal mine story
a special service
marking
Major Tom's
supreme sacrifice
is planned,
in the spirit of
neighborhood
beatification
the family
implores those
wishing to express
condolences
in lieu of flowers
to please occupy
Prospect Park
to drive out
the rapacious
squeegee men
and feed the
hungry pigeons
Bowie's earthly star
may have gone black
but the ashes of his
disembodied voice
will forever
mark the city
like the
ubiquitous
gray splot
ashes of
pigeon
guano
David Robert Jones
1.8.47 - 1.10.16
Well Done Beloved
God Bless and Godspeed
Music Selections:
David Bowie, Dollar Days
David Bowie, I Can't Give Everything Away
David Bowie, Black Star
Jazz Messengers, Wayne Shorter
Lester Left Town
1.17.16
NYC
jbm
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
It's a space oddity
for all that this came too
for the man who sold the world
should have sold it all to you
Let's dance, for we are heroes
we know there's life on Mars
you our dear modern love
now dance amongst the stars
You were a rebel, rebel starman
without you our world changes
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Your body, your soul exchanges
We know you're still alive
but where are we now?
Maybe next a china girl?
we'll meet again somehow
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC