"immortalising" poems
From Alan Lomax to the commercial art and now the money machine.
At the turn of the century; when sound recording 1st became available to the masses, recording a song was an opportunity for folk to reach out; and tell the world something up front and personal.
It meant that people were able to put themselves on “The record” A way of leaving a permanent audio statement, an epitaph, an audio sound bite immortalising ~ life, mood, emotion captured and bottled for all eternity.
(A medium that conveyed messages from artists and storytellers of all kinds)
A recording was also a great addition to "The family album" something more tangible, a window to a real person, with a real life, a message and a point of view; a legacy, a blast from the past.
Few people expected sound prints to be re-designed, homogenised, formulated, copied, repackaged and that art and the message would be played over and over again by new artists in the form of "cover music" or that the style of the messages would become secularized, seperated into distinctive groups, or constrained by an elite clique or commercial genre.
Labelling and streamlining art & music mostly benefits the commercial art & music industry; and no longer the artists and creators.
I've no problem with good business, or the multi-billion pound industrys that have gained commercial success.
However the process of mass homogenisation, product synthesis, marketing, streamlining and then packaging fashion, sound and synthetic culture to sell a product, leaves very little room for creative people to just be creative.
A medium originally open to many for self expression, a historical record, an archive, a voice, a personal message;
Is now just a vehicle for advertising and perpetuating a genre of nonsense, so much so that there is now more white noise immortalised than messages.
To re-cap ~ I Think that creativity and expressionism; like story telling conveys moods and messages from the present and past!
Artists and musicians should have the opportunity to create and produce more information than they copy; thus creating a richer more colourful tapestry, whilst not devaluing the message of their predecessors!
Purcy Flaherty.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 10:38 AM UTC
Pictures in gilded frames
Hang immortalising people of
Old in evanescent faces.
Timelessly captured and
Owned forever poised.
Ghostly images fading
Reminders timeworn in
Antiquity. Long dead
Plates forgotten names
Haunting souls captured in
Sepia smiles.
©Jacqui Slade
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 3:14 AM UTC
To all the ungrateful ******
that felt me up on the back seat
in some unknown parking lot
because you wouldn't spring
for a real date
Perhaps your waiting for me
to bled my angst onto this page
Pffft
Don't wait!
If you've decimated me
into tiny parts
where slot A no longer fits
for your tiny part B
you don't deserve to be carried,
vaunted upon a poetic chaise
it's a pathetic waste
of my Joie de vivre
I can't read another word
of *You were my one and only
until you left me
so I'm just going to keep
writing about
how good I was for him
and how he doesn't deserve me*
Because He doesn't care!
He's down and *****
on the back seat
in another unknown parking lot
with another faceless name
for him, it's freaking hot
So stop spilling your life's blood
upon an empty page
Pick up, move on
Discover life after ungrateful ******
Write something that will live longer
than just your age
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
while others dream of
getting an education
finding a job
getting a husband
buying a house
choosing curtains
washing sheets
doing chores
and shopping groceries for the week at the local supermarket
going out with the girls for a night out at some nice pub
having a baby
changing diapers
teaching your kid to talk and read
living the dream
cooking pies for pastry contests
growing old and becoming
a nanny
playing bingo in the local club
and driving a nice car
and not having troublesome teenagers
and dying peacefully
and having a fairly nice funeral
and a nice piece of land in the local cemetery,
I dream of
staying up until 4 a.m.
the only light coming from my
laptop screen
killing characters while pressing
keyboard buttons
drinking wine
and smoking rolled
cigarettes
in a cramped apartment
in some unknown city
a room
stuffed with art
and scattered manuscripts
all over the floor
caffeine nights
and starving my body
but feeding my mind
and freeing my soul
I don't dream of getting married
but of getting my characters together and
then drifting them apart
I don't dream of having children
but of writing children who
grab the opportunity and live
a fascinating life
I don't dream of living
I dream of creating lives
and deaths
and dreams
and love
I don't dream of dying an old lady
I dream of immortalising myself
in creating fictional lives
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
Precise incision
Secretion of vena sera
Immortalising the hideous actions
Of my adolescence.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Raindrops have long returned to their nests of ethereal clouds.
Few stayed here,
diamond drops scattered on
the white pearly glow of my bougainvillaeas,
immortalising the beauty of a mystic's smiles.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC
*Pen to paper,
words on a page -
ink smudges
with wisdom I wish I could say.
Life is short
when days are numbered
but my thoughts
when scripted to paper
can immortalise my thoughts -
immortalising my soul
An immortal soul,
means immortal life!
Is it only my body then
that is faced with ending this form of life* -
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
If this wasn't love
Why am I immortalising your name
I just wanted you to leave your initials on my heart
And not release your poison in my veins
Your scent on everything is driving me insane
I couldn't stay in bed for months
With you still stained on my sheets
I found myself asleep on someone else's floor
And when I kissed another's lips
I always searched for something more
In oceans of eyes I never found yours
I thought I was just blinded by acid rain
But every time I went to wipe you away
All I had left of you was phantom pain
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 1:51 AM UTC
The truth is... I really do want you all to like me
To judge me and hold me to your own standard
To be ridiculed in a loving sort of way
And more over just connect to the real human inside
And...
I want you to take me for granted too, so I can be needed again
I want you to feel me
To share my inner most thoughts
...But when the time comes that I must face you
I want you to reject my humble soul!
To cast me out for all I have done
I need you to hate me.
To chase me running through the streets
Damning my name to the sky!
Immortalising and dehumanising me
I will live forever!
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
Gliding on the Isis, Dad at the castle
Not hindered by the usual watern bustle
Summer is come, my sister’s a flower
Unfurling to sweet sixteen’s tune in this hour
Dog roses and nettles, poplar and willow
Leaning over the bow’s bitter pillow
The world’s upside down – Didn’t need the self-posed illusion
To prove it. Elderflower, wine, and face masks are an odd infusion
But I lie, steampunk Docs in first position, stilled in time
Immortalising it in few photos and poor rhyme
Poor as my experiences are rich, but capturing to perfection
The aimlessness of mine, of our, wonderings’, wanderings’, their recollection.
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 4:49 PM UTC
Who will listen to me verse at tedious length?
Upon the ways that you ignite,
A poet's heart, fill it with mettle and strength,
Pity, peace and delight.
If I could write the ebullience of your Heart,
In to sublime, divinest verse,
Who would care to hear that truth ringing out?
Across the flowering universe.
Who would commit their dwindling time,
To hearing all that I hath writ,
In letters and in rhyme,
The way in which I dost immortalise thy spirit.
So long as I can write and see,
I will commit to immortalising thee.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 8:42 PM UTC