Kevin Slick: Journal

Hope spring eternal, it's October in the Colorado and here on the front range I'm loving the Rockies. There's nothing like the sound of a baseball game on the radio, and oh yeah, we just keep winning...we may never loose again!

Many people have asked about the whole "Re-Birthday"thing so I thought a posting to that effect might be in order. I think it was a success, but what was it?
For me, it was about being myself and celebrating that. The best expression of that happened on the week of my birthday at the Boulder Theatre. I was standing in the front row for Patti Smith Group. During the song "Gloria" Patti was singing on her knees in front of the monitors about six inches away from me, when it came time for the final line she looked up at me and offered the mic for me to sing along with her on "Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine" Besides the fact that Patti Smith has been a mentor since I first heard that line as a teenager more than thirty years ago, it was the perfect line for stating who I am.
Coming from a fundamentalist background, it was and still is a statement of identity. It was also a perfect way to affirm that I am my own person, "My sins belong to me" as the song says. My goal has been to learn to read my own feelings and express them clearly. Singing that line at the concert was a perfect way to celebrate. Like another great poet said " I celebrate myself"

Five year old Jamie in the backseat of the car while listening to Pavarotti on the CD player: "I don't know what he's saying but he sure sings loud and good!"

yes, indeed
The voice lives forever

I first heard that Jerru Garcia had died on this day eleven years ago on the radio. Joan Baez was on the World Cafe program and she said she was going to sing "Amazing Grace" for our dear departed friend. I've heard that Jerry had a smile on his face when he was found and that's a wonderful way to think of an old friend. Just the other day I watched the excellent DVD "Downhill from Here" which features some of the most smiling joyous playing and singing ever captured on film. Do yourself a favor, get a copy and smile your face off with Jerry.

My birthday is coming up...August 13th to be exact. I've been working through a lot of stuff, going through a lot of changes, trying to get clear about my life and where I want it to go. I've decided to claim my birthday as my "re-birthday" The chance to create a new direction with clarity and passion. And so I invite you to join me - go ahead and have your own re-birth on August 13, 2007. Spread the word! it's "Re-birthday"

I'm writing this from Pittsburgh PA. At the Monster Bash Film Convention. My luggage and instruments have been delayed and I may not be able to perform my new film scores. The good news is that so many people have offered to help in anyway they can and so I'm reminded that friends are good, indeed friendship is the lifeblood of living.
Maybe not profound, but I'm grateful.

Well, the month of April is over, National Poetry Month. I didn't actually post a new piece of writing every day as I hoped to, but I did get quite a few pieces onto the web and overall I think it was worth it. I find I work better with an assignment, how about you?
As a way to finish out that project - one last piece (another one about baseball and families)

There were at least a thousand different moments that day
August 13th 1971, my thirteenth birthday.
It’s not the long line of baseball fans
on a hot afternoon
winding their way up the ramps
circling Three Rivers Stadium like a python preparing for dinner.
It’s not the grey concrete walkway
speckled and spattered with
chewing gum
cigarette butts
beer stains
and something that might have been food.
Not even the sudden rush of fans pushing together
as the clubhouse door swung open
and like baseball cards come to life,
two Pirates emerged to sign autographs.
It might have been the face
of Roberto Clemente
granite features
with blazing eyes that met my own for an eternal moment
but then
maybe not even that.
It was, however,
the feeling of my feet leaving the floor
and my father’s hands
as he lifted me above the crowd
and his voice
younger than I had ever heard
saying
“There he is!, the great one!”
That was the moment.
That is the moment.

In the shadow of a pine
I rest my eyes,
rest my soul
inside you
where you may save my soul
like a treasure.

In the sparkle of light
in winter
like lace
draped upon pines
I wander
and follow the pattern
to the brilliant grey, white overhead
where the black ink branches fade
and disappear.

Stand for a moment
stand for a dreaming moment to feel the earth
to make the earth solid
beneath me
around me
to surround me.

In this moment
a quiet word falls
from the edge of the sky
like
love
or
dreams
or
awaken
and what is beneath that sound
and what is inside the word
is something like
a picture of a flying bird
one moment
in eternity
one wave on the sea

This bright wind,
that’s how it is.
This quick, cold air
yes, that’s how it is.
As if that small patch of trees
might grow out of my memories
and fill the world around me,
that’s how it is.
Pennsylvania brown, grey-green
thin winter branches
twisting
wrapping
a universe in their arms
that’s the way
just like that.
And I would be forever
walking quietly through those woods
lightfoot
mysterious walker through the trees
where no one can hear me
as I am invisible
that’s how it is
yes, it’s just that way
as the bright wind weaves itself into
grey cloudy forests deep in the afternoon
as that bright grey wind follows me in the forever afternoon
and I find myself searching for this forever afternoon
in that stillness between day and night
In between time
when I practiced walking
quiet and invisible
listening
forever

The ink is fading
after years in the light
but it’s
still there
still visible
still “Mateo Alou”
ball point pen on baseball
and I am
still there
hanging onto the side of the team bus,
looking through the window
still there
my father holding me up for a better view
of my hero signing my birthday baseball
still there
in the brilliant August sunlight
never fading

I looked outside my window
November sunrise
sharply painting the air
clear and bright.
The wind walks,
doesn’t run through the yard.
It opens and folds itself into the growing forest.
There are more leaves on the ground
than on the trees
and so that fluttering dance is rare
each one is spotlighted in the autumn air
a dried soul dance
riding the faint touch of wind
into eternity
joining the song of the earth
the slow dreaming song of decay
and merging
to melt into the ground
to spin inside the earth
speaking the language of ground
the dreaming of oceans
wrapping around the earth
and one leaf merging into the earth
one leaf
one earth
the same.
It was eighty five years ago today
that Joe Hill died
killed by his brothers
murdered by his country.
His ashes floated
on a slight autumn breeze
through most
every country
in the world
and every state in the union
save one
(Where no man should be found dead, said he)
One man
merging with the good earth
air
and sky of a thousand countries
of a million dreams
one earth
one man
the same
his words moving beyond the ashes of his used up form
growing, now planted
solid and slow
in the endless circle of life
born and reborn
growing
one leaf, endless
one dream, slowly growing always
Joe Hill
planted on the wind
that covers the earth
His eyes looking back from a million fellow travelers.

Patti at the Troc 12/16

Winter warm air, rain that should be snow wanders along Arch Street gathering light and laying it across the pavement/ Slow breathing, vibrating air filling the cavern space. Gathering moving swirling, the air wraps a slow dance around a heartbeat.
Many hearts
one heartbeat.
Gathering darkness, look inside. Stillness erupts into life. Spirits called, spirits answer and gather themselves inside us, dancing to the heartbeat, slow enough to wander lonesome.
Lonesome cry, the blessed dust rising from ancient radios. One foot forward, balanced on the bridge, this bridge we cross tonight. Strong enough? Invisible bridge, crossing spirits, gathering passion, sonic harvest, the fields are heavy as wind brings release.
Running
walking
calling
spirits, we shall live again!
Holy ghost sweating, breathing hard
call on those holy fighting ghosts
revolutionary dreamers
dancing barefoot to the slow rising wave
one wave
a million waves
rise and fall
night and day
and lovers gripped by slow burning, consuming lust, hot fire, sonic lust, the sound of life
the hot pulse of night passion
quick torrent
split second passion burn
Catch me now!
Take me now!
Look fast! A million brilliant stars calling home the storm
holding the hurricane in your arms
air surrounding
air inside us
breathing
hard
pulsing
moving us together
fountains rising
lightning storms from the desert flash the city
walking in the footsteps of revolution
Hallelujah!
The gospel ship sets sail
and we whirl and dance in our power
amazed at the visions
amazed at the power we create and share
and then,
breathe again
into the night
the warm December air, a million streetlights like stars

There is a slow thick sky today
a slow
soft
dark grey light
on Thanksgiving morning
I came home to watch the silken sky
open around trees kept company by a few stubborn leaves, now rich brown like old leather. I came home for this slow moving daylight that will wait outside my window
quietly lighting the room with a grey light, a slow light, a dream light. And in that soft light I’ll take down books from the shelves and read words I’ve read a million times and want to read a million more. And in the evening the sharp black lines of trees will begin to sink into the sky as it looses it’s day color and fades away. The woods will be swallowed in steps too small to measure and the trees in the front yard will disappear and someone will say “Another day gone” and that’s why I came home, for another day.
For time passing
for slow thick skies
that move through branches on trees
I’ve seen a million times
and want to see a million more.

There was this sound
and I don’t know if you heard it
but it came from somewhere close by
and it sounded like the voice of a friend
and yet there was something new
and different
and strange
yes,
strange enough to make you stop
strange enough to make me stop
and listen
and the sound was awake
or perhaps the sound of awakening
and I don’t know if you heard it,
but I’m telling you this
because I want to remember
that sound
and I want breathe that sound
because my heartbeat has found a partner
in that sound.

too many
and so many
thoughts
carry me away
too many
and so many
words hold my heart captive
and yet
so many
dreams blossom
quietly
like the trees
just beyond this window and
if only I would
stop
for a moment
to look at them
and breathe

The morning mountains
lifting soft shadows
to the sky
as sunrise
pulls back the cover of darkness
and what is
ever changing
and what is
eternal
and what is
newly born
and what seems to be
hidden
is waiting
is changing
is forever
and I
watching
remember and
discover
what is
ever changing
and what is
eternal
and what is
newly born
and what is
earth
and what is
sky
and what is
now and forever
and what I am

Desert song
The notes are so slow
they enter in dreams only
and I listen through my fingers
The rhythm of the ground
sifting between my hands
I am listening with my skin
to the cool touch of shadow in a deep canyon
Desert song
like waves of sound
riding the stone ridge of the San Rafael Swell
Desert song
an echo
a counter rhythm for my heartbeat
in that place where my footprints disappear
I listen for the harmony
I taste the melody in the air
In this place I hear my sound join the slow, ancient sound
I am one string on a violin
In that moment I am one note in a symphony
In that moment I am the most important sound in the universe
In that moment I am one sound in a thousand others
merging, invisible, in a slowly changing chord
a wave like any other
so beautiful on the sea
perfect
fleeting
eternal
Desert song

For the Flying of Kites on October Days

The air is tight
clear
brittle
like glass wrapping the earth
sunlight sparkles
separating
shattering on impact
crystal leaves reflect a million colors
startling
clear and brilliant
limbs release their handful of jewels
rubies
amethyst
flaming diamonds
scattered and throwing a million strands of light across the land
The sky begins to open
as trees spread bare branches
This is the season of the sky
the rich earth dissolves into air
we circle the earth with bare branches
open the sky and follow the wind for a moment
like a brief dream before sleep
for a quiet afternoon
where we ride the wind into the day sky
balancing between seasons
before the sky swallows the last days of autumn
for now,
stillness
balance
and the flying of kites on October days

In this moment I
expand-
open
As
Some part of me
dreams
some part of you touches
my heart
becomes sky,
vast horizon
As
Some part of you flows
Some part of me
wakes
As
Stones in the river
Over ages grow smooth
I am softened
in a moment

holding you

Your body is so new
Where did you find it?
Like pilgrims before the crossing
Like settlers on the edge of freedom
Dreamers on the edge of night
On the morning of discovery
On the crest of a wave
The moment before changing
Falling
Flying
Becoming something new
And
It’s morning in the new world
A
Precious jewel given to me
Held in my hands
You

I was in a bookstore when…

Godfly yo blingo
bo teddy fry not slabber
ah wet-lee go dingo
and bil-bee in tatters.
Cron tingle the soft spoon
elastic in spatters
see-bart doe fingers
ripen the singers
tee-blex that lingers
and harbor the goat
Tay-beeps!
Tay-beeps!
The shore is not swingle
apoot-vents go flavel
a donkey plays bingo
Ooh border gap nan-tooth
your wingle unhitching
my wandering snip nose
unfloundered while pitching
Yet gingles do platter
and rake the small tweed
not won-ton on butter
or the foot of Sam Snead
So stand fully bothered
and pink the green pine
For I have found a book finally
about the artist Franz Kline

Moment of Change

I’m always looking for the moment of change, the moment when change begins. The crest of a wave, the edge of winter, the break of day. There is a powerful stillness on the edge, a powerful silence too. The moment of flight, hanging in the balance. There’s a moment before falling when you fly, when gravity forgets you. A powerful still moment, the moment of change.
This is when we slip inside time.
When we open time like a curtain and crawl inside, in between seconds, in between time. There are words underneath your skin, breathing underneath your skin, waiting for the moment and changing. Constantly changing. With each breath, the air changes around us. The sky becomes fuller, the air around us ripples and changes. This is the time for faith, when the balance tilts and change begins. Pure energy released and moving the world. But in that moment there is only silence and stillness.
Pure stillness,.
Pure silence, the power of the universe
waiting in the falling of a leaf.

Autumn 1

Slow and suddenly autumn
eternal and quick as lightning
slow aging wood releases color
sparkling light of aspens
flickering
descending
earth accepting the final warm caresses of it’s lover
sunlight
yellow warm soft light
soon that turns
cold with brittle grey fingers
as winter will hold the ground

i remember a few years ago when I was meeting with a group of creative folks we gave ourselves the assignment to create something new each day. This year I'm going to try to post a new piece of writing per day from now until the end of April. For those of you who don't teach writing you may not know that April is national poetry month...but it is.
So here's my first entry. Now a disclaimer -I'm either editing something from a journal, or creating something new. So I'm not attempting to write a new piece every day. I'm using this as a prompt to get more of my writing out into the world.
So here goes-

Southern Utah Journal

This is my cathedral
Wide
Beautiful
Wild
This is my dream land
visited by spirit gods long gone
and yet to be
There is no time
No passing of time
There is only a sound
and no sound
in this land, silence is a sound
in this land there is stillness and power
in this land the patterns of sky and rock are joined
forever
My eyes walk high ridges
cutting through ageless stone
my eyes walk with the older spirits
and we follow the same patterns
of rising stars
of rock edges against sky
My cathedral
god mountains rising
saints and angles towering
watching
My cathedral
beyond dreams
only in dreams
There is no time
time has been laid aside
forgotten by these solid living gods
who spread dreams across the ages
one slow life dream
one slow word spoken
forever