Blog Introduction 2:
Poems from the Crimson Darkside Book Chapter 2 Section 2
These poems are from a few years ago. Chapter 2 Section 2 of the Crimson Darkside book is older poems from 2011 and 2012 that I have recently re-edited. I was getting really weird dream like images, and keeping a dream journal by my bed. The dreams were super vivid, and had an almost three dimensional quality. Some of them I painted, but many I turned into poems.
In addition I often write short stories. Many of the characters sing songs or say poems to illustrate their point. Another book which does this is The Hobbit, where the Dwarf characters sing as they wash dishes. Instead of putting them into the stories for this issue, I just kept the poems and songs by themselves.
I was writing comics, but my scanner broke for a while. I was doing reviews, but that did not work. No matter how polite you try to be to people a review has a bit of criticism. It mentions both the ups and downs of artists.
You may think comedians can take a joke. However it turns out they often can’t. Oh, I will do more review books alright. They will all be of totally unknown artists with dead comics. The Internet has become a bit of a comedy graveyard. Artists make ten good comics or strip cartoons with vivid art and in depth dialogue, and give up. No ending what so ever is on the page. Nor do they publish it in book or comic format.
Then they never take the cartoons down. Why do they feel the need to do this? Is it some strong instinct, like birds flying south for the winter? Or are they people sick with a broken leg, or an exploding gall bladder? When they get better they have no free time for comics?
I am highly fascinated by this phenomenon. Not just the urge to create art, but the sucking void where art wants to be. When you walk down a beautiful ancient street from London, Madrid, Paris, or Berlin you cannot toss a rock without hitting a beautiful statue, mural, or work of art on the street. When you walk down the street in America you see corporate logos and grey concrete. Where is this void coming from?
I like to try new ideas with online books, and I have not fully posted more of my “poem ideas” so this latest posting will be the poems. I have still not found that “Golden Ticket” idea that people really love to see as writing. Yet the writing books say to keep at it. When you find your ideas they will come.
This is the middle section of the book. I stop pulling punches and let the really dark and poems in here. Some of my poems are jolly holiday poems where the thoughts I am thinking are: “Let’s go party!” However, it is a real truth of the soul that not all thoughts are happy. These thoughts are real. They are part of our emotional journey. We must all learn to balance the good with the bad.
Note “Darkside” was kept as one word to make the book distinctive on search engines. There are many book titles out there, and it is very difficult to create a title not over-used.
* The following are the pages from the book Poems from the Crimson Darkside starting at page 28 to 51.
Chapter 2 Poems Set 2
Darkest Hour Before the Shine of Dawn
In the cold and darkest night
Awakening seems far from sight.
With a new dawn ends a fight.
Ease the heart with full delight.
Darkest before dawn they say
A Bible phrase to pave the way.
When the now is filled with pain’s spite,
You must not give up and cease fight.
Such a bitter pain to almost see
The moment of the healed and free.
Yet know we can not feel healed now
Journey’s end we can see how.
Frozen is the heart of night*
Clawing for the freedom bright.
Authors Note: This poem is about feeling unhealed due to will full cruelty of others. It is about the longing for freedom from pain, which seems bright like a dawn. The phrase “Darkest Before Dawn” comes from the phrase “It is always darkest just before the Day dawneth.” From the English theologian and historian Thomas Fuller in the 1700s. It is often meaning that there is hope, even in the worst of circumstances.
Dogs of War
Rain flag we see you there
Scream that I should not care.
Apathy they train you for
Death day for the dogs of war.
Crash, bam, soul damn
Another war cry from Uncle Sam.
Seems like the war cry never ends
Be ready to die,
Bring all your friends.
Death a Dream should never be
So obvious they can not see.
Loved ones die with cruelty
Never leaders wish us free.
Seems the war cry never ends
Be ready to die,
Bring all your friends.
No money for the school or poor
You have to pay for Dogs of War.
Taxes pay for weaponry
Never will they let us free.
No taxes for a doctor fee
Survival’s worth Dogs can not see.
No one ever dares to say*
It never should be War Dogs way.
*Authors Note: My father Neil was career military, and died in the parking lot of a VA hospital while denied treatment. My brutal fall injury on a military base caused daily pain, and was denied all medical benefits. I was extremely bitter for a while. I did not hate part of my military experience. I hated all of it. It did not “break me down to build me back up again.” It started horrible and stayed horrible… THE…. ENTIRE… TIME… Many of my injuries were acts of God. Many of my health problems were blamed on smoking, yet no smoking is allowed in training and smoking does not cause broken bones which were part of my symptoms. The incredible lack of healthcare and social services to help with recovery after the fact made a bad situation incredibly worse. It was devastating to all concerned.
Many poets have endeavored to capture the anger that the military and war can cause in a person’s life. The only work of literature I have seen that even vaguely describes the anger I was feeling at the military was the T. S. Eliot poem “The Hollow Men” (1925) in the phrase: “Eyes I dare not meet in dreams (7 syllables ) In death’s dream kingdom.” And “Not with a bang but a whimper.” (8 syllables) Were all I could find that vaguely captured the rage. It was my hope to catch some shadow of the anger here clear in “The Hollow Men” Torn apart by the horrors of World War I Eliot was not a fan of the ravages of conflict. Few people accepted his anti-Jingoism patriotic viewpoint ( Jingoism being defined as maintaining a huge standing Army and aggressive foreign policy) in his own age. H is work is now considered classic literature.
Black Circle Plant
Black simple circle
Pan for green leaf growing now
Rocks trickle to base.
Author’s Note: After too much study of Western European poem technique, I needed to try another style as a break. This Haiku poem is for bamboo plants, in a circle pan base. The pan is black.
Fear of Wisdom
Fear of Wisdom a common theme
Some may often say.
For the wise that have a dream
Common people make them pay.
John the Baptist was wise of thought
Of genius he did speak.
And for this sin was killed for thought
By meager and of weak.
Galileo was star wise
Saw right sun and moon in skies.
They tried to kill him for their hate
A dungeon cold to be his fate.
A Mesmer had a dream
To hypnotize away pains scream.
They laid him low for his sight
They fought him with all their might.
Huey Long was smart for days
His vast memory gained praise.
They shot him for his fight
They killed with all their might.
Kennedy was killed some say
They found way to make him pay.
The lesson is clear to see
A genius never safe to be.
They will kill the ones quite quick
Who speak out for weak, poor, and sick.
As small child genius gains pets and praise
Older people must change their ways.
People fear what they can not understand
People fear what they can not command.
For bold ideas make you hard to fight
And rich men quickly fear your might.
Dead your fate is soon to be
So men of power should feel free.
Every story seems to say
Have a dream and you will pay.
*Author’s Note: The other day I was watching the movie “Idiocracy.” In the introduction, it hints
that evolution used to favor the best and most noble traits of humanity. Yet now the best and
brightest people are afraid to bring a child into the world, and the lowest IQ people feel no
hesitation at all. While it is true that it used to be only the most successful people who could
afford to breed, the sentiment is not completely true. Many people with big ideas have always
been witch hunted by society. Only the people who escaped social notice were really safe
creating an urge to mediocrity in most ages of society.
With Gleaming Eyes
They worship it with gleaming eyes
Like Inquisitions claim God love
Never empty out the flaming skies
The Flags of War they pet and praise.
They will torture fast and witch hunt you
If you worship not camouflage.
If Army green does sicken you
They will try to blame you for it.
Do back flips to praise War Gods fame
If you don’t they will just brand your name.
And will simply call YOU the one insane
Will never admit to their crime.
The bullies have a great gimmick true
In the worship of Red White and Blue.
They can’t wait to torture you
Like Inquisitions claim God Love.
When I see colors Army Green
My eyes blaze with Searing Hate Song.
The violence and death made machine *
With BLIND faith people run to praise.
*Authors Note: My feelings towards this poem are heavily mirrored in the earlier poem “Dogs of War” It seems to me that people have lost the urge to give even constructive criticism to their government in learned helplessness to authority.
Cyber Purple Sky
Cyber Purple Sky is in Haze
In the Electric Night Land Dream.
David Bowie’s robot still lives
He had been paid to judge.
It names the feelings that you feel
When you step out on the town.
And know the euphoria feels so real
When you wear your dancing gown.
The contest made here this night
When you stole a simple dress.
They will kill you soon unless
You can win the space-cart race.
Your pub against the neighbors
Rabid fans soon line the track.
The road is a vast rollercoaster
A track at fifty stories high.
You teleport to night life space
To get there with your team.
You knew the track was there
They never did until magic day.
They were shocked to find your power
Strength and secrete identity.
Of powerful hidden strengths
You gaze at track loops soaring.
High in the sky of purple
Seven moons sit in crescents.
Blots shoot from raised high hands
To door of your ship to win.
To open the charged door to save you
Race forward to save your life.
You fly to the maze to teleport*
And win another rat race.
Author’s Note: This dream image is about the feeling of euphoria before you go out for a night
on the town to hang out with friends. In this story, a woman steals a dancing gown dress from a
science fiction convention. She is caught, and the overlords give her one chance at freedom:
She must win the race with the cyber cars that run on roller coaster tracks. The race is on a
planet with a purple sky and seven moons. Bowie’s cyborg must judge it for the win.
I wrote too many dark poems in a row and needed to put down something more light hearted.
A problem whispered to a friend
In hushed voices and downcast eyes
A problem stammered as a secret end
Is the source of soul true demise.
To keep problems in dark secret
And hide from light of known way
Is to make a source of regret
And to make a dark sadist’s day.
Yet the problem that you say to all
And say in clear steady voice.
Then to all the people give your call
And expose your soul with clear choice
Is a victory to people all.
The problem you sing in songs
In proud moments that you chose.
Can ease the deepest hurt wrongs
It’s only called “Singing the Blues”
And earns you quick gold records many
Stadium gigs by the score.
Of friendships you can pick any
The fans rant to call for more.
So the trick is just to know you
And to keep pain out of the cold.
Own your problems so true*
And face dead on problems old.
Authors Note: This poem is about the irony of modern therapy. In modern day people treasure
and dwell upon things that annoy them, like picking at a scab wound. The old world method of
solving problems of the precise same type and nature was to sing songs about them like “singing
the blues” as you learned to laugh at them. Both methods do have their merits for problem
solving. However it is ironic that people more and more often have to be warned when to stop
dwelling, and when to let go.
Raven King of Night
Raven darkened king of night
Gleam of eye and then take flight.
Night sky sparkles in the air
Of the terrors you’ll not care.
Care not for you are the king
Autumn’s notes we hear you sing.
Razor feathers cut the night
Bloody talons mark your flight.
Villain or a hero now?
Of your deed we don’t know how.
Singing notes in darkest night
Bloody talons mark your flight.
Why and how I care not for,*
Land you on night’s open door.
*Authors Note: Ravens are like vultures, they tend to gather at execution grounds. They are therefore considered omens and messengers of dark execution from very ancient times. This raven is making it hard to tell if he or she kills for good causes or for evil.
Winged one who falls to earth
Taking choir classes in school.
She learns that songs can give you wings
Can grow wings when friends hear dreams.
Starts to fall of a mountain cliff
Of social pain they do not name.
She can only grow wings when they say
Classical music she sings.
Words they break the timeless spell
The wings turn to dust after use.
She saves two friends with her power great
A boy and then a girl child.
No one else seems to see this
A power with life to save now.
But hidden strengths are strengths too
Another day will sing a bragging song.
Her words she keeps in a prison
Till a coin flip calls them free.
And someday her song will crush worlds *
When words they are full let free.
*Author’s Note: This poem is about social forces that try to isolate people, and keep them from
saying their ideas. If someone is afraid to hear your voice, you should watch out for them and
keep them at bay.