gathering for gagaku

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

 

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About lindalou5150

as exercise or exorcism, i write...for the eyes of others, for my eyes and heart only, for the love and the rage, i write...to release the gamut of emotion...to tell the truth and say what's often thought but not written...
This entry was posted in beat poetry, venice meat poets, poetry/poesy. Bookmark the permalink.

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