Where does inspiration lie? Everywhere!

This is my attempt to pounce on and then shape the words I breathe.

Please join me with your comments and make this a dialogue . . . and visit Susan's Poetry!

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Doves and. Machines

Let this blow your mind as it blew mine:

It is from the 1969 film Picasso Summer starring Albert Finney and Yvette Mimieux.  Adapted into a screenplay by Ray Bradbury from his short story “In a Season of Calm Weather,” it is set to music by Michel Legrand.  Despite a weak plot, the music and three animated sequences by Wess Herschensohn moved me no end!  Not only did they explore Picasso in a way that helped me to see his work more clearly, the one sequence above also widened my perception of war. After watching the above, I turned off the film to search it on the web, and found this:


and this:





Together, these three videos entered my life as Picasso's Guernica never had before!  In my search, I found that the creative reactions to Picasso's Guernica may rival commentary on any Shakespeare play.  

Here is my own:

Slate grey noon and rain in June
sat me down to pull war and people
from out my 2D cartoon-framed
vision in a sheltered life not Iraq,
Syria, Afghanistan, Pakistan,
Israel, Palestine and elsewhere. 
   Horses
are gone but not foot soldiers engaged to
dishearten from land mines and hidden bombs:
providers, mothers, priests, and young ones with
explosives strapped to their childhoods.
      Doves
are there too close to open-eyed blood we
pour in to food, zapping out strength and hope
drowning all openings to the villains’ millions,
         billions—not humans, but dollars—trillions.


Copyright © 2013 S.L.Chast


Posting for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night ~ Week 103.




Saturday, June 29, 2013

Birthday Carol

File:Chocolate babka.jpg
My chosen birthday cake:
Chocolate Babka with streusal topping


At age 62, I have major-sized messes
so beautiful that it doesn't take a mother’s
instinct to see me ... and this is my Birthday poem:

Today in South Africa Nelson Mandela
lives on, a prism spreading more Light
the longer he lingers on his death bed,
a man whose choices turned theories into practice
that transformed prisoners and masters into human
beings as restorative justice re-placed violence
with recognition—This is not magic, it is discipline.

Today, I woke privileged: expecting to find
coffee supplies and cat where I left them, to get
potable water from the kitchen tap, fill bowl
for cat, make coffee, and drink in peace at my own
computer—this too is not magic—it took
discipline to earn it within a country of
opportunity—and I want it for everyone.

At 62, I am no longer teaching
theatre,  literature and writing, but learning
to apply lessons to my own living.

I’m no Mandela, but neither am I na├»ve
about causes and effects of poverty here
and there, about the many rewards for letting
go, relaxing, and forgetting now that I have
achieved my quarter acre of heaven on earth, my
ticket to ignore my country’s complicity—
and I need discipline, since I have no magic.

What I have more than ever is time—time
as past experience, as reflections now, as
future words on paper—a regular Christmas
carol of possibility—that wants only
discipline to bloom.  Let me then turn this summer
Birthday into carol, an oral song of folk
festivals year round; let me stay inside the dance.




My 62nd birthday finds me a word spinner, trying to get behind my craft and add to the daily discipline of writing an effort to publish and let it fly out into the world. Within one year, let it be!



Copyright © 2013 S.L.Chast