It's becoming more and more evident that we are losing touch with the simple things that make us human.
Life is not a Pepsi commercial. It isn't the ridiculousness of money-driven organizations telling people how they should live their lives while promising paradise and freedom. Paradise is in the escape from these so-called "norms." Freedom is in constant pursuit of meaning. Something that can only be heightened by an insatiable appetite for asking questions.
The thirst of knowledge is never quenched once you take the first sip.
I wanted to mention that the Newtown Library Company is having a feature reading tomorrow (Friday) at 8 p.m. There will be an open mic afterwards. Stop out if you can. I plan on being there to listen and read.
I went to a farm where my friend works yesterday to see the lay of the land and to swap some literature. I left there with a copy of "The First Lady Chatterley" by D.H. Lawrence (a man who could write like his soul was on fire). The poem below is what came to me. (Remember what I said about introductions?)
___________________________________________________
Lawrence Among the Spring Harvest
I came in search
of Lady Chatterley
among a field
of fresh dill
and tomato plants
ripe with purpose.
And there was talk of poetry
between the cinnamon
and liquorice taste
of Japanese Mint
in it's velvet cocoon.
You mentioned how you were inspired
by the lemon basil,
a spirit herb,
that pulled the prose out of you
every time you added it to your tea.
I felt like I could breathe
for the first time
in an eternity of
every-day-life.
I too brought D.H. Lawrence.
Your 1950's hardcover--
a perfect handheld--
in exchange for
my copy--
A token from my college days--
full of notes
in red ink.
We called it a fair trade
as the sun began to set
and the hunting dog
found shade under an old
pickup truck.
Poetry,
like produce,
if left to die on the vine,
is a shameful waste.
____________________________________________
Many thanks. Hope to see you out tomorrow.
Yours,
~Torres
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