Sark's Dialogue

Sarkovan is 56 and he looked out today.

Back-story:

The clouds weren't always this way, they use to be an undying mystery, now there just the byproduct of worker bees, they can stand up together and be industrious, but... Now I just stand perched on this peak, hopping. I'll stay up here until the sun strikes and this plague is wiped away. The air up here was distinctively different, the sulfur lined the trees. Their like barbaric animals, they mark their territory, as if that's their goal to deface and maim,the holiness that is.

By God, I'm a man, a living breathing entity. As I follow in a path parallel to Suelo, my daily goal is to lay low and slip under this radar, so I can remain hear, for I fear what will become of this earth, when the undertaker comes driving in on a hearse, singing for whom the bells toll, as the essence of earth gets stolen and life continues as worker bees aimlessly providing for a cause they're unsure of.

All the dreams that I had, now live only after my eyes drift, where I see the same place night after night, but it's far more comforting, than the disconcerting nightmare that remains, the taste of impure water, from the toxins and the so called "progress", if I only I the place my spirit drifted to at my slumber would be the place my body harbored and called home.

_________________________________________________________________________________

While Sarkovan was out searching for food, he ran into one of the endless worker bees of the “colony”.

He grabbed the worker from behind, one hand over his mouth and one arm tucked firmly around his neck

“Come with me, I have something to show you.”

“mmmummm.”

“Stop, silence yourself, before you alert the patrolmen.”

Sark removed his hand from his mouth.

“What, wh- what are you...”

“Lower your voice, your young, youthful.”

“I’..m.. going to report you to the warden”

“Look I’m trying to cause no harm.

“Then why is your arm fixated around my neck”

“I’m not apart of you, this.”

“Don’t you worry where your next meals coming from”

“I’ve long but given up on satisfaction”

“Hmmm yeah, wha, wh, whaddya mean?

“As seen what this world has to offer and it’s not for me.”

“How can you be sure”.

“I’ve learned listening to your gut will do you no harm.”

“You..yo..u are the problem holding us back.”

1st person voice

Sarkovian is 56 and he looked out today.

The clouds weren't always this way, they use to be an undying mystery, now there just the byproduct of worker bees, they can stand up together and be industrious, but... Now I just stand perched on this peak, hoping. I'll stay up here until the sun strikes and this plague is wiped away. The air up here was distinctively different, the sulfur lined the trees. Their like barbaric animals, they mark their territory, as if thats their goal to deface and maim,the holiness that is.

By God, I'm a man, a living breathing entity. As I follow in a path parallel to Suelo, my daily goal is to lay low and slip under this radar, so I can remain hear, for I fear what will become of this earth, when the undertaker comes driving in on a hearse, singing for whom the bells toll, as the essence of earth gets stolen and life continues as worker bees aimlessly providing for a cause they're unsure of.

All the dreams that I had, now live only after my eyes drift, where I see the same place night after night, but it's far more comforting, than the disconcerting nightmare that remains, the taste of impure water, from the toxins and the so called "progress", if I only I the place my spirit drifted to at my slumber would be the place my body harbored and called home.

Shadyac Draft

Victor Pierce

Period 1 CW

March 3rd, 2013

To Be or Not to be a Poet

Among being a famous and widely successful director, producer, as well as an actor, comedian and screenwriter, Tom Shadyac can also add being a poet to that list, rather he actually writes or not is beside the point; his knowledgeability and awakening to the impact his works have had on others and how he’s used his own works to enlighten and inspire himself is what gives him the title of a poet. The coined term “poet” is an incessantly broad and a immensely abstract term that can be  very difficult to grasp; being a poet isn’t just putting words on paper and pressing print, there is a undying sense of subjectivity that for me, truly defines what the tem “poet” entails. In my experience with poetry, I’ve come to distinguish certain characteristics about poetry, such as “using works to inspire one’s self”,  “how it’s a mind-set not just an action” or that “It’s a way to see the world under a different light”. So based upon  those specific instances of  criteria, I would say without a doubt, Tom Shadyac is a poet.  With all the movies he was and still is making, Tom Shadyac Is unnecessarily rich and instead of living in a mansion of some sort or having exotic cars, all the fixings for a wealthy celebrity; he chooses to live in a trailer park,Tom realized that his works weren’t helping anybody to do anything, he acknowledged the problem and took steps towards the solution thus creating the documentary “I Am” as well as altering his mental perception of life and people as a whole. His movies were widely famous in the demographic in which he was anticipating, but he realized that his movies weren’t part of the solution, and that they could very well in fact be this “pollution”; as of lately I’ve taken a more philosophical and performance based approach to my poetry and I’ve used this format and the various ideologies that I draw from the wide array of experience to be the life force of my writings.  Through my exposure to poetry I’ve tried to monitor where the generality of my ideas hit, so I usually try to find a broader common theme in each of them and run with it; I  realize that I’m not always going to be present in many aspects of life and I’m not always going to be around, so within my poetry, I write down my philosophies so should  ever forget them, I’ll have them right at hand to “reshape” my mind; also to be shared with others if I die today people can still hear my voice in my poetry. Tom Shadyac sold his mansion(s), he realized that we’ve been under this incantation that we need monterey possessions, the original idea was that if your cold and someone gives you clothes to warm up your going to be happy and the same idea with food when you're hungry and over time its been twisted and diluted, attempting to say “the more the merrier”. Hes used all his success in the film industry to open up his eyes to see this life in a new light. Tom meets all the criteria I have for classifying some as a true poet, he may not literally write poetry but beyond surface level Tom Shadyac is a true poet.

Man On a Mountain (Change Poem)

Man On a Mountain

This world has grayed me, to the point where I couldn’t shape me.

You say age is a blessing, but I haven’t smiled at the sunrise in sometime.

Under a streetlight absent without a breeze, knees quivered, absence of passion in need of a casket, mind in fragments, did this really, just happen?

A blink and I start to think, as the blood starts to sink in,

there's a chink in the metal links and, its finally apparent

that we all need to start caring, because with our current compassion

there’s a lack in reaction, and there's no telling what the universe has in store.

I’m a student of Christ attending the university of life,

born into man, a son of Sam.

We’re in ever dynamic  times and we constantly get stuck in, the confines of our inorganic little world.

A revolution is what's in store, because there's a delusion in our spiritual union, and somethings gotta give.

I try to open my eyes and realize the fact that I’m here for only a short time, remove the lies open my eyes to what's wise and move forward.

But this superficial world has spread on me like cancer, taking and suppressing all the answers,

but this world means no harm, simply trying to create an epiphany,

but indifferently we just get lost in the proving grounds.

I have the means to tackle this and have the resources at my disposal

I’ll take one more step backwards, and learn why that happens

use that to re correct my steps and move forward.

Glassed Feet and added DYT)

 

Knees Drawn 

 

I get chance after weary chance to make something greater than myself
But when I’m stomaching this greatness, there’s a part of me than can take this,
My father gave me this ability to pick and choose my own destiny,
but everything’s all good and well, until I go stumbling on my own  heavily
this understanding this reliance on myself, isn’t getting me anywhere
So why do I keep digressing back to square one;
I’ve seen and done, but keep getting lost in what I’ve overcome
the past hasn’t come to last,  I’m moving forward,
but this icy road labeled life, is the perfect flaw
to hold me under the law, to keep me held down by a matter of fact
to keep me from swimming across the ocean.
This isn’t just another commotion, something strung together
But to offer insight on how to deal with the inclement weather.
We so seldom fight our battles from on our knees,
instead we go off on what we’ve experienced, not using the exact set of  keys,
but we’re afraid to accept that we need this help,
I get chance after weary chance, and these opportunities are slipping like sand
and by now these are acting like commands
Not something self administered but
a passive momentary neglect, a paper cut,
shallow on the surface, but pain stakes all the way through.
As I lower my knee and take a bow,
my problems won’t be aired a grievance,
but as the line I draw that’s genuine

Glassed Feet

Glassed Feet

Your strong, you stand up, now the shards

digress from your knees, to your  feet, to your hands,

and again to your knees, your are eyes are a lantern,

 a flash-light and we're stepping, left, right and simply repeating the process.

You'd think it hard to sleep or live on a ground of glass 

and yet we still persist.  like climbing 

a ladder with no rungs, your feet keep stepping 

in anticipation of a rung to boost yourself, to 

make it the top of the ladder, you realize theres nothing there

but you still keep trying to step up.

Like an assembly line, the parts just keep being assembled

cchlunk, cclunk, cclunk.

Like cars on a highway, going east and west, 

all having somewhere to be, but simply stick to their schedule, nothing more.

Like turning on a broken light to brighten the room.

nchkt ,nchkt, nchkt.

You know it won't turn on but you keep thinking it'll magically replace itself.
like waking up in the morning, you wake up knowing 
you have to go back to sleep. 
You try to walk in the dark, glass covered  room,
unmercifully, you begin to wonder, and 
then you get side-tracked by the shards in your feet.        

Love Your Smile (Free Write Poem)

  Love Your Smile

             I dread the day that you lay your voice you down, when that person says silence and you duct tape your mouth. You say you’re doing just fine but your voice is in trajectory of an oncoming train;

             I dread the day, when you say I'm not good enough, when that persons talks down to you and you sow the seed, of what they didn't really commend and you fall short of the foot hole;
             I dread the day you lose that shimmer in your eye, when that sparkle  fades like that star you see in the sky implode, and is only glanced at through a spotty memory;                        I dread the day, you say this world has defeated me, when that spring in your step is succumbed like the flattening of a tire;

            I dread the day, the inflection in your voice fades like words off the surface of a bone-cold valley, when that emotion that benign quality drains, and your face, your eyes illustrate your past, present and future;

            I dread the day, that I wake up and acknowledge that the pillow I clung to for hope and peace is there lying on the floor squandered by time;

            I dread the day when that smile that lush, beautiful facial depiction dims like the fire on the but of the cigarette, smothered under the dark, stank sole of leather; that one moments neglect, that million dollar display shines and glimmers for its last standing ovation;
            I dread the day when time passes.