Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I AM THE HEAL

okay, this morning i'm the heal
the healer, the brahman, the medicine man,
the witch doctor, dr zhivago, svengali, jonas salk,
marie curie, old sigmund, all here making my feeble
attempt to heal all the wounds i've got inside and
all the ones i've inflicted on people around me

ah, it's a mess, i tell you, the emergency ward
at harlem hospital or bellevue at 4 o'clock
sunday morning after a helluva saturday night

achilles
2/13/10

I've been plugging my ears the sirens are so loud!

Love unconstrained by form is a bellowing, whimpering howl.
Often regretted.
Sadly ignored.
Once in awhile redeemed.
Of course you as the healer know this....

enjoy readin you!
H

Yes.
These days only poetry can heal me.

"A poem is an emergency"
William Stafford

reminds me of Saint James Infirmary
in any case the poem holds up.

I'd wanted only poetry to write
and called for help, not knowing what to write
and unaware if it were fair to write
the help received – or even copy – write
it word for word, a written bill of write
of way, a straying bullet shooting write
upon my life— my liberty— my write
pursuing happiness, my speech’s write
to freedom, my religion’s weary write
of faith (a faith I hope is worded write
in mercy)— is it futile, is it write
to pray for wings to flutter left or write,
to fly the skies in cursive pathways write
before I sign my signature and say goodnight?

as my favorite reggae singer with the terrible voice (keith hudson) once said, "healin' up the land..." sing it..

we sure can make a mess of things, can't we ?......life is a big fat mess, but
if you're really lucky you love a little, have a little fun along the way...enjoyed