Larry Bourland's poetry promises to continue with another outstanding week of innovative poetry and artistry.
This is the second week showcasing artist Carrie Anne Baade’s incredible work. I’ll be contacting her this week for her permission to present more of her work in the future.
This is also the second week showcasing our Featured Poet, L.K., who recently crushed her spoken word poetry at a standing-room-only public event before an enthusiastic crowd that fell in love with their deep, inspiring, thoughtful, and mind-expanding poetry. This poet is a true rising star ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.
On Monday, February 26th, from 6 pm to 7 pm, Poet Laureate Esther Belin & Rising Poet Laureate Zoe Golden will be presenting their work at Durango Public Library.
On Friday, March 1st, from 6 pm to 8 pm, local author and renowned poet Lisa C. Taylor will be reading at the Transcendent Immersion, featuring musician Brian Wagner, presented by Bomdiggity at Gifts for the Soul, 106 Grand Ave., Mancos, Colorado!
The Annual Poetry Open Mic Night at Durango Public Library is scheduled for March 20th. Always well attended by poets and the community. Come support the Library, Word Honey, Poetry, and the Arts Community of your hometown! It is an evening not to be missed!!!
Listen to the poet - Be the poet!
April is Poetry Month. Check with your local libraries for open mic poetry readings in your community and be a part of the art of poetry!
Try it once; you’ll get addicted!
For our website this week, we are transferring last week's blog previews to the site with voiceovers and presenting four new pieces. Hope you enjoy them, the voiceovers by the author, and the original artwork provided by Anthony Beadle.
Have a great week, write, create, read, love one another, dammit!
Listen to the poet - Be the poet.
Larry from Durango
❤️
Week 8
Brain Fog -A. Beadle, Poet Cortez Colorado
Soldiers Road -A. Beadle
A LIFE WELL LIVED
When I was a little boy
me and my grandfather would
often just hangout,
watch movies,
go fishing,
play chess,
hike,
go to lunch
just guy stuff.
He regaled me with stories
and what to expect in life;
how to treat people,
how important family is,
how important God and country are,
made sure I brushed my teeth and
to never be embarrassed or ashamed
to hug or show affection
toward the family – lessons of life.
Lessons of life I’ve carried with me
that have sculpted into the man
I have become and who I want my kids
to know and emulate.
But the stories, good God,
the stories Pop would tell me
were tales of adventure and
excitement beyond belief.
As I grew older, I grew more
skeptical and began to silently
question the veracity of his sagas.
After Pops passed and my father
was in his golden years
dad agreed that Pops truly was
long winded and imaginative
but dad confirmed to me that
everything Pops had told me was
absolutely fucking true.
Pops, I should never have doubted
a single word.
A life well lived…
SWEET GIRL
Her voice was as thin as a razor,
giving out paper cuts
with her tongue lashings.
Not unlike the strip club barker.
Remnants of relationships
sadly broken at her feet.
Nary a moment’s thought
to repair the damage inflicted
whole or incomplete
she couldn’t save a relationship
if she wanted to.
Destined to swill
acidic commentary
made her a personality that
left scars upon the unsuspecting
that would never fade.
The beautiful people hovered
on the vitriol that poured forth
when she decided to opine
on the shortcomings of
less fortunate souls
who couldn’t keep up.
She died alone in a bed with
notched headboard and vomit.
Grace was wasted on her,
she needed to die sooner.
SONG OF THE CICADAS
If I only had voices in my head
at least I would have someone to talk to.
I have no silence
in my life
for the creatures
ringing in my head
wail the Cicadas seven-year itch,
every day,
every minute,
every excruciating second
of my life.
Calling out to one another
from different branches
from trees
far and wide
within my skull.
an unjoyful symphony
bellowing like the slow
death of a dying rabbit.
There is no reprieve.
No one else
can hear the battle
inside my head,
it could only be worse
if I were deaf,
for the songs
of the Cicada are
a never-ending scream fest.
Others suffer this malady
and I finally understand
how suicide is a viable option…
IN CELEBRATION OF A LIFE
I lost a friend today.
One of the good ones.
One who didn’t seek change in the world,
except for the better.
My friend loved and lived within
the arms of Mother Earth.
A Flower Child defined.
My friend, since childhood
grew up to circle the globe,
taking in everything
from the peaks of the Andes to
gaze upon a comets starlit path,
from atop the globe to the bottom,
reaching toward heaven just to see
how close she could get.
All the world between held beauty I
would see only through her eyes.
I lost a friend today,
one of the few I have had.
You that I do call friend know that
you each are special, you are the
rhythm of my heart.
I lost a friend today.
One who now brightly shines in
heaven lighting the path ahead. I accept
your fate as my own and pray
we meet again.
Yet time has no meaning
when you only by chance are
given the gift of someone like this.
You defined kindness, moving
hearts and souls.
Now you embrace the universe
before you.
I lost a friend today.
Sweet, sweet Judy
you were not supposed to leave
before me.
I lost a friend today.
Brain Fog:
By A. Beadle
Void of sustenance sanity teeters on a tightrope
Each moment a precarious dance with the unseen scope
As the mind starved of its vital essence falters
Cognitive threads unravel reality a distant dream of waters
Time once a steady stream now a fragmented mosaic
Moments blur into eternity seconds stretch into infinity and you will forget it
Caught in a surreal limbo a mere observer
Drifting through the haze of a world slipping away ever further
Advocacy futile cognition lost in distorted perception
Each injustice a dagger to the fragile psyche's interpretation
Triggering reflexes instead of reasoned thought fragmenting its settings sought
In hibernation minds narrative arise suggestibility intertwines
Leaving the soul vulnerable to puppetry
Paranoia grips like icy tendrils coiling ever tighter physically
Walls silent sentinels of fractured reality mess
Bear witness to descent into madness
Past wars replay in fevered delirium
Illusions dance with shadows cast on walls of the mind interim
Silence becomes a cloak shielding secrets one must hold
Every word potential landmine secrets explode
Have to find the world where truth and deception blur
In flicker of screens false realities occur
Come be in my reality
That would be the dream...
Soldiers Road:
By A. Beadle
A soldier stands in the middle of main street
His intent clear his feet concrete
Emotionless Expression
This soldier stands alone
Ronin he answers to no one
Fear expounds this soldiers demeanor as people looked on
Why is this soldier standing in the street
His feet concrete
Rage fuels his desires abound
This soldier was known all around town
The community regarded him a clown
Ten years passed his voice echoed in the halls of heroes
A fall caused it all…
Soldiers soldier left foot right
It was time he showed them all his might
This soldier taught to fight
Opened his mouth caused a fright
the world heard
Subject words
Mind in tact
He unleashed the attack
Day Turned Black