amid pastries and coffee
at the novel cafe
the men were all summoned
for a thursday soiree’…
four heeded the call
to this meeting so named
gagaku poetry society
a gathering thus ordained…
meeting one did commence
the first one of just four
and to what in good purpose
led them all to this door…
did they meet and discuss
the fine works of a man
the meat or the memory
or the demons’ command
did they speak of old stories
from the threshold of earth
of mimeo, zines
a bookstore, a rose
or a candleshop’s mirth
did they talk story of those
no longer walking this plane
who have passed like the poet
ah, so much that was wasted
in this life’s torrid game…
did they share in old stories
with the host’s vivid eye
such a recall of details
each moment captured
flying by!
or did they ponder aloud
of his mark on this life
the fire and lightning
the toll and the strife..
did they wonder aloud
if a chapbook should follow
is there a market for gagaku
amid the posers, so shallow
could a new work prevail
were they there for that reason
or to sing a farewell
recalling his season
a self-imposed hell
did they find rhyme or reason?
traditional memorials
for those who have passed
aren’t trendy or cool
planning becomes such a pain in the ass…
but what unfolds for attendees
when given a chance
more notice or time
is the necessary opportunity
to frame a goodbye
for those in attendance
may have needed to say
what was shadowed in life
what his words meant in a day…
those like-minded humans
who may have showed up
might have longed for comraderie
or the chance to express
what his scribbles were worth
as they touched, burned or tickled
a part of their brain
or that spot
deep in each chest..
gagaku poetry society
oh he’s laughing, i know!
surrounded by beauty
five muses in tow
he chortles at our silliness
probably wanting us to know
how glorious it is now
we’re whose stuck in this hell
the beaches! the music! the art on this side
the women! the writing! an incredible ride
old friends! finally peace! better than th’ drugs! we’re alive
turns out after all
who needed to survive…
so this is for you
old poet and pal
no pesky old funeral or memorial
after all
no stroking of egos not yours, mine
nor theirs
nor arrogant scrawls, espousing
truth, lies or bewares
no falsehoods regarding who did know you best
no cutesy syncophants
rarely giving it a rest…
instead as we were with your life
and your game
we’re alone left scratching our heads
or some, still licking their wounds
from your relentless infliction of pain…
so see you around
either in this one or next
we were lucky to have shared in
the meat of your text
sucking bone and the marrow
shots straight to reflex
the man and his demons
dancing ’round in his shack
bleeding truth with such fury
we can’t get it back…
amid coffee and pastry
gagaku poetry society met
and shrouded in mystery
its secret intent
of masks and formalities
bent to the tantras, and
slow moving mantras, where
secret gods and forces are
bent on the doing
of poets….
but we’re all silly fools
yes nothing has changed!
walking endroads of life
each, a tad mad and deranged
recalling the lifetimes
the work and shared history
our art and our stories
the key and the mystery
of us all…
*thank you, mandt for adding the magic
