"spalding" poems
Pour one under the table for those who walk outside. In memory of Spalding Gray, for what he meant to me...
Thanks, “Spuddy”, for sharing your inner life. Thanks for having the courage to bring so many troubles into the light. You laughed at your troubles and allowed us a way to laugh at our own. You put a voice to carrying an unbearable shyness or an excess of fear along with us as we go through life. You strived to care when caring was out of fashion and in short supply. Thanks for reminding us that life is the journey, and not only the destination. You wrote a book. You played a minor role in a feature film. Those were some of your destinations. When you shared your journey, you did it with humor, humility, and with love. Thanks for reminding me that storytelling is all around us. Thanks for reminding me that it need not be complex. You were merely observant during your journey, and you shared it through the lens of your own perception.
I learned this January that life became unbearable for you. If only we, your audience, could have comforted you or somehow stemmed the river; the flood that carried you to leave so early. I would like to believe that, once you died, you might be able to hear our collective voice. I imagine that you are able to see the people affected by your work, some inspired thus to create works of their own; tell their own awkward stories, sharing them as you shared yours. I am far back in the line, and I eventually arrive at your table. You flip a page in your spiral-bound notebook and take a sip of water before glancing up inquiringly. I only have one thing to say, really. “Thanks, Spalding. Thanks for sharing”.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
Born in Beverley, to Holme on spalding Moor
Leven and Knaresborough opened up the door
Ripon was the first time to leave my home so true
Parents to New Zealand Boo hoo Boo hoo Boo hoo
Auckland to Tauranga and finally home to stay
Southport and York not quite montego bay
on to the edge of the world at kingston upon Hull
before the move to Bridlington to live a life so full
and then the move that made all moves Liverpool it was
I love the life of the mersey it really is the boss
I'm so made up to feel the love and life of the Mersey beat
Tuebrook Toxteth and wavertree are places I've moved my feet
I am really privilaged to see the windows of the world
from Singapore and Scotland and Australia's fields of gold
I've been to Canada, America and Luxemburg as well
The windows of the world in a small nut shell
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
I blow tiny
jazz kisses
onto your
sweet petunia
lips
flutter delicious
notes into
lazy daisy ears
soft breath
puffs bluesy
tunes onto the
nape of a
lovely
curvy neck
I smell
bold begonias
whisper pink
secrets through
gyrating eyes
I roam
the flowers
blooming from
every luscious
groove
I pluck
the bows of
deep swing
heart strings
I blow
rose pedal
jazz kisses
from my
tippy tip
to teeny toe
Music Selection:
Esperanza Spalding, Little Fly
Oakland
3/1/12
jbm
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 7:39 PM UTC
Two weeks in the sweltering heat of El Salvador
Sweating out the familiarities of home
A windswept airport parking lot
Speckled with miniature palm trees.
Open your eyes,
Dust off your ears,
And let those worries evaporate
Into the atmosphere.
Embarking down a little dirt path,
Where years of civil war
Unleashed their wrath.
Subtly, a foundation shifts
From the Miquon woods
Towards a smaller rural community
In the altitudes.
A laid-back game of soccer
In the oppressive 115-degree weather.
Against the firmness of dried brown dirt
Frantic feet are light like feathers
A history is present here
A common ground
We both hold dear
It’s clear,
The passion is sincere
Above all
A Spalding ball
Replacing Plymouth Meeting Mall
I, them, we, thaw
Once feeling cold
Now living raw.
A flash of colors
Mirrors a Macaw
The blend of people
A game will draw
With warm legs kicking
One draws upon
More natural law
A hand exchanged
For faster paw
Metamorphosis leaves
Humans in awe.
Who’s watching us?
The Eye of Ra
I feel awake
I think I’ve heard the bugle call.
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:53 AM UTC
prognosis
for gnosis
unfortunately
poor for us
enlightenment
eschewed
like a bad
case of
halitosis
veins of
understanding
constricted with
thrombosis
open minds
burst from
chronic
trikanosis
students and
teachers lack
a needed
symbiosis
antibiosis
trumps
scrabble
word
biocenosis
for the sake
of a bit
of silly
exegesis
oh my
gnosis
where for
art thou
angel
peda go
go sis
Music Selection:
Esperanza Spalding -
I know You know
Oakland
4/2/14
jbm
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
I peer out the broken glass and what do I see but a flock of little ***** running away from me, all but one, standing in defiance of fear louisville slugger in hand waiting for what comes. I walk out the door with spalding in hand I stand beside her and gaze at the destruction done by her hand. 160 feet if it were an inch , impressive drive for a 13 year old girl. all anger gone, there was not much to begin. A 30 dollar window a small price to see her grin, I handed her back her ball, and with my own grin, nice hit little one, a dollar for everyone I find in the backyard I say. 180 feet over the roof and we went our way. her to her friends with bragging rights and the moment in tact. me to the lumberyard for plywood shutters for the rest of the glass, grinning in anticipation of the days to come.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
*I’ve been living this life for to long
I’ve held a knife in my hand so many too many times before
I guess I was doing it with to dull of knife
So tonight I made sure to sharpen it twice
All the lies & ******** along with this life
It all ends tonight.
I’ve always wondered if god is real
I guess I’ll find out tonight
I hope everyone can forgive me for what I’ve done
Will someone please tell my mom I love her?
I don’t have a significant other
If I had a choice though it would be Oshen Spalding
So I beg anyone to tell her I love her & I’m sorry
Sorry I couldn’t work up the nerve to ask her out
Tell the world I’m sorry I couldn’t stay
I’m so sorry, but I’m moving on tonight.*
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
“Just pour some water on his head,”
I said to the waitress.
“I can’t do that. What if
he wakes up and freaks out
all covered in water?”
“Well, I don’t think he will.”
He hadn’t moved
Since we’d been there.
He was old, old.
Old people might go to Denny’s
drunk and fall asleep,
but old, old people?
They almost never do that.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“He might be dead.
What do you think,
Is the man dead?”
“I think so,” she said
The ambulance came,
and they took him away.
He was wearing this shirt,
and it had a dead duck
in a dog’s mouth.
My dad dresses like that, too,
in Spalding tennis shoes,
and jean shorts.
Was he someone’s dad?
How will they find out
that their dead dead dad
came to Denny’s to die?
Or will they just call around
looking for their dad
when they get worried about
why he won’t answer the phone?
How far will they have to drive,
all teary-eyed (or not)
to see their dead dad’s
old, old dead body?
Will they ever
go to a Denny’s again?
I think that they will.
Everyone goes to a Denny’s
again,
except for him.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
*Painted turtles sunbathe the muddy waters of Towaliga Creek , 'Flathead Cat' roll it's mysterious surface in the devilish heat
Summertime Carp confused in the stagnant , turbid abyss appear prior to sunset , Blue Heron and raptors of every lineage pay homage to 'Creek Hunter' kindred spirits
Bass explode in the Cattail brush , Pileated Woodpeckers tap adieu to the Katydid chorus
Brown Owls call downstream in the night music symphony
Instruments that sound with increasing intensity*
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
“Each forward step we take we leave some phantom of ourselves behind.”
― John Lancaster Spalding
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
I would cast a shadow
But you’re already there
I would leave this house
But I’m caught by the style of your hair
I can’t show up out of nowhere, no that wouldn’t be fair
The planet is my lair
Feeling only the swiftness of the air
You’re the reason why a shadow like me would care
I’m just a shadow, who wouldn’t dare
Dare to care
I’m as broken as broken could be as a shadow
The weeping willows are really weeping
Their life is slowly depleting
They can relate to me
We’re falling under
We don’t want be shadows any more
We don’t want a shell
Or something to hide in
We want to be like the rest
The alive
We feel like Spalding in Cast Away
We can’t respond back
We desperately want to
We hear your cries and pain
But were quieter than the uniqueness in the rain
We are screaming your name
But it won’t do any good
Our goose is overcooked
And now we have to sit back and face facts
Opposites attract
But why don’t Shadows?
Because we’re just nothing
Existing in something
The background dancers to this lifeless performance
We’re asking them to throw tomatoes at us
It’s just a given
Nobody wants to be us
Nobody has any recognition for us
That’s why we long for them to
A reason to be celebrated
If we’re not getting attention we want, than we deem ourselves as useless
But we shouldn’t, there isn’t a room for the hopeless
But everyone tells us we’re just shadows
And we won’t amount to anything
It’s so hard for some of us to not believe them
But now they’re no longer retreating from themselves
They’re deeming themselves as victorious
Because they dragged the weak down further
Because they feel like the dirtiest portion of dirt itself
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC