“Talk Is Cheap”, “Feedback Loop”, “A Footnote In History”, and “With G-d”

We have several new poets submitting original pieces this week.  Ixel Madrigal and Nick Losorelli are both young poets from Los Angeles.  We are very grateful for allowing us to share their poetry and look forward to sharing more of their pieces in the future.

“Talk Is Cheap” by Ixel Madrigal – Poet from Los Angeles.

Talk is cheap, but people just keep talking
mouth moving, but they’re not walking…
it’s like they are addicted to the feeling of syllables leaving their lips
Concentrated on the beginning the end and on their trips
That they forgot what their point was in the first place
All true meaning and symbolism erased

“Feedback Loop” by Nick Losorelli – Nick Losorelli is an actor, singer, and part-time writer located in LA.  He believes in social justice, and honest dialoging through art.

Feedback loop,
not sure if I’ve fallen in love with the stream,
or if it’s fallen in love with me.
I hear they’re privatizing the water soon,
better cash in, better drink up,
we’re in a drought.
No one has found the fountain yet
though.
_
Sometimes you write a poem,
And you’re in your underwear, in the bathroom
Your beard wreaks of coffee,
And you haven’t shed a tear,
And it’s the best thing you’ve done all day,
Month
Maybe
Year.
_
How would you like that?
Speak up please
No, I’m Mexican, or American,
or Mexican-American,
My beard? Room for cream?
“Just smile, kid, it’s part of your job.”
Have a nice day.
_
Time is valuable,
Well mine is,
I’ve got to make a mountain out of this mole hill,
Can’t trust anyone in this town.
_
Oh you’re an actor?
Hah, what training do you have?
Have a girlfriend? Don’t worry, you’ll find one.
I must not be a very good actor.
_
Breathe it,
You taste that?
Tastes like iron.
I hear they’re making pennies out of iron now,
It’s raining pennies,
I think I caught a few.
_
The greater good,
sounds like a raw deal to me,
shit end of the deal.
Bottom line?
The great good is a
bottom line.
_
Like this!
No like that!
Like this?
How about that?
Semicolon
It’s ok, I don’t know either.

“A Footnote In History” by Trevor Witt

My biography,
A footnote in history,
Better than most.
Better to be a blip on the radar,
Than nothing at all.

It is better to be a fool who influenced a few,
Rather than one who attempts to appear intelligent by not asking questions.

The inquisitive mind is an active mind,
And so I ponder silly nothings, my ignorant assumptions,
I question my absurdist tendencies and my open attitude.
Is there no absolute truth? Is there no virtue to be defended?
Is there any formula which can explain to the curious eye the Earth and the Sky?

My existence is only a footnote,
The whisper of the wind,
The howl of a coyote.
My musings are only the sound of crows,
The hooting of owls,
And the purring of kittens.

I am no Confucius,
My love compares unfavorably with the devotion of Rumi.
But I am nonetheless a footnote in the greatest story ever told.

“With G-d” by Trevor Witt

With G-d, all is possible,
One and one can be three,
A butterfly can land on, transform into the tree.
A lion can consume the lamb, and the lamb lives on in it.

With G-d, all is.
The stars in the sky shine on us,
Wandering beings, floating on a sea of land,
Crashing into each other as we attempt to understand.

With G-d,
I
Love
You
All.

With G-d
I
am
All.

G-d
Beyond beyond,
Within within,
On the surface of
All.

“With My Words”, “Zombie Me”, “The Line Between Love And Hate”, “Modernity”, “Bullshitting and Begging”

“With My Words” by Trevor Witt

With my words, I paint a picture,
Not as a realist or a pessimist,
But as a dreamer of dreams.
For that is what I need,
To fill this hole in my heart,
To reach the Divine.

“Zombie Me” by Trevor Witt

Zombie me,
Permanently hungry,
Yet feeling little discomfort on an empty stomach.
Awake, but adrift,
I float through space,
Searching for brains and kindhearted souls,
To feed on, to make me more like them.
Stumbling forward each day and night,
I am too tired to think about what comes next,
Too tired to think about what comes after the next meal.
That is all there is –
The trek and hunger,
Feeding and another trek.

“The Line Between Love And Hate” by Trevor Witt

The line between hate and love is thin.
Love births dreams,
And broken dreams birth hate.
But sometimes, it is possible to rebuild dreams,
Or to build others in their place,
Letting go of empty space.
Often the situation is unclear,
Our imaginations too small,
And the thin line blurs,
Our hearts are hurt and filled with fear,
Until the day our imaginations breath life into our dreams again.

“Modernity” by Trevor Witt

Modernity,
Solitude together.
Alone, constantly surrounded by strangers.
Entertainment, gluttony, and consumerism
Have left us in a comatose state,
As if we had overdosed on soma,
The choice drug in the dystopian novel Brave New World.

Success is now defined
As leaving your friends behind
In order to make enough
To buy enough
Distractions
To prevent you from losing your mind.

Modernity.
Move away from your parents.
Chase the American dream,
Running away in order to find yourself.
Better choices could have made me rich –
Better only because they would have saved me from poverty.
Make the right choice,
And prestige and wealth can be yours.
The right choice – and skill and luck and…

It’s all a lie.
Searching for satiation,
For enough wealth,
For approval,
To feel fulfilled,
Will leave you empty.
Modern America,
Filling emptiness with emptiness.

“Bullshitting and Begging” by Trevor Witt

Bullshitting,
Today’s currency.
You must sell yourself,
Before you can sell anything else.
Before you can build a tower,
You must sell your vision of the view.
Before you can open a cafe,
You must convince the banker you are committed.
Before you can slave away for someone else’s two story house,
You must first convince them you are eager to be their slave.
Before you can be a creative strategist,
You must be a robotic and mindless servant.

Before you move up that corporate ladder,
Know that it leads to the Tower of Babel.

Before you can lead, you must serve.
This is the logic of the universe.
But it is a strange time indeed,
When you must beg to serve those in need.

“What Tales May Lie Ahead”, “My Piano-Forte”, “What Makes You Happy?”

“What Tales May Lie Ahead” by Trevor Witt

What tales may lie ahead
Waiting to be written,
Waiting to be read?
I know not what adventure
Follows this thought
But I know I ought not
Think too far ahead
For, though daydreams are fun,
The best dreams are left in bed,
And nothing can compare,
To the thrill of this cool evening air.

“My Piano-Forte” by Trevor Witt

You are my piano-forte,
Soft, yet strong.
Like a fermata,
I want to hold you for so long.
I want to know your white keys and your black keys.
I want to make you sing the blue notes.
I want to play you adagio and allegro.
I want to play arpeggios on you staccato and legato,
As we strike chords and keep time,
With my left hand on your bass,
And my right getting into treble.
Sing for me darling,
Sweet melody, sweet harmony.
I can’t stop,
Mesmerized by your tone,
Your timbre,
Your candor.
My piano-forte, you are honest without brutality,
Realistically imaginative,
Classically innovative,
Gentle and overpowering,
The end and the beginning,
Night and day.
My piano-forte, I hope you are here to stay.

“What Makes You Happy?” by Trevor Witt

What makes you happy?
Is it the sun or the moon?
Is it the smell of dew in the morning?
Or is it a cool breeze at noon?

Is it baseball during when it’s bright?
Or a leisurely stroll in the park?
Is it bird watching during the day?
Or star gazing after dark?

Is it catching up with friends?
Or chatting up strangers?
Is it eating familiar foods?
Or trying delectable dangers?

Do you enjoy the quiet of nature
And the sounds of squirrels and birds?
Or do you prefer yelling in the legislature
And city politics with fancy phrases and sophisticated words?

Are you a fan of coffee or tea?
Or would you like beer or wine?
Is there a reason you do not drink?
Or do you simply find juice is divine?

Are you the type of person who stays out until three in the morning?
Or are you the type of person who can be found in bed at eight, snoring?

What is your favorite escape?
Is it television, music, or poetry?
Is it an unhealthy addiction?
Or a habit less costly?

What do you do when you have nothing to do?
Do you read?  Do you write?
Do you talk about religion with strangers?
Or do you go outside and fly a kite?

What do you think of for joy?
When you are most annoyed?
What do you look forward to after work?
What are your hopes and your dreams and where do they lurk?

What makes you happy?
Is it a wish? Or a dream?
Or something as simple as ice cream?
Is it your children? Your spouse?
Your beautiful pets in your modest house?

What makes you happy?
Tell me.  I’d like to know.

Poetry and other musings from my Little Blue Book

By Trevor Witt.  Each entry from my Little Blue Book is separated by two spaces.  I will likely add titles to the rest of the entries later.

Worry not my dear friend,
For nothing matters in the end.
Success and failure are two sides of a single coin.

The outcome of the story usually depends on where you stop.

Your strength must come from within,
Leave your mistakes behind, but take the lessons.

Be kind to people – for they are fragile.

Remember to dance and sing while you are able to.  No song lasts forever.

Smile.

Laugh at yourself.

Rejoice in the success of others.  And be empathetic when they fall short.

Celebrate their joy and share their sorrow.

You are a light shining through the darkness.

If I should die tomorrow,
Do not be sad when I am gone.
Instead of being in one place,
I will have returned to all space.
Every breath I drew
Was a blessing and a gift,
And to spend my time with you
Took me higher than angels’ wings can lift.
A burden was removed from my heart,
Every time I saw your face,
And though I must now depart,
I finally understand G-d’s grace.

You are my stars and my moon,
You shine on me even in the dark,
Even if I should be sad on the nights you do not favor me,
How could I be angry? When you are my eyes, my ears, and the tongue with which I speak?
If I think I have seen you shine on the rest of the world, not just me,
Will I not also experience the glow of the moonlight and see its beauty?
If my eyes refuse to see that you are the source of my light,
Should I be angry with you or with them, since you are the source of my sight?
Is it not true that light is the source of perception?
And that the blessing yours bestows upon this world is no exception?
So how can I curse that which has blessed me?
Is your voice not the sweetest sound I have ever heard?
So how could I get angry if you told me an unfavorable word?
And if I were hurt by something you said,
The next sentence you speak would make me happy instead.
If you are the source of every sacred sound,
Then, are you not my ears and the music lifting my soul off the ground?
But, suppose I were foolish and forgot these truths.
Suppose I uttered an unspeakable oath in anger.
Or suppose I mumbled a mean and nasty slur.
The truth would not be in any danger.
For you are as beautiful as water is refreshing,
And other eyes would see and other voices would sing.
And even if my tongue momentarily betrayed me,
It would work to quickly change course.
For how can a tongue betray its motivation to speak?

Sadly, my message must come to an end.
I dedicate it to you, dear, dear friend.

 

With every breath,
I breathe love for you.
With every restless night,
I dream of sleeping next to you.
With every hour of shut eye,
I am renewed by the knowledge that the light of your smile comes with the dawn.
With every intoxication,
I lust after you.
And in every sober moment,
I am intoxicated by your charms.
The simplicity and grandiosity of my love for you seems to be hyperbole.
And yet true hyperbole would be insufficient to explain this truth.
You are the beginning and end of my prayers.
I only seek to understand and praise you,
Though I know you are beyond all praise and understanding.
Love,
the Faithful.

“Mama’s Bakery” by Trevor Witt, dedicated to Jesus Mastache
Enjoying a labne wrap at Mama’s Bakery,
As the cook speaks Spanish to her co-worker,
Cucumber, mint, tomato, and labne – yogurt-like,
Wrapped in Middle Eastern wheat bread
Greet my taste buds,
Brought together by fate
And truck drivers and farmers
Planting seeds, sowing them laboriously, and harvesting
Harvesting labors of love,
Fed by the sun, and the rain, the soil, and the almighty G-d.
Together, they feed me,
And all I can do is give thanks.

“I Write Lies” by Trevor Witt
I write lies,
As all poets do,
In order to tell the truth,
Of what I perceive and what I dream
and what I hope for
and what I fear.
I tell them for myself,
And for you,
So that we might learn something about ourselves.
I tell stories,
Lies hiding kernels of truth,
Illusions created by beautiful words,
So that you might see through my eyes.
And I don’t know what is more troubling –
That I tell lies
Or that I cherish them?
That I know I cannot know truth
Or that I am obsessed with approximating it?

 

 

“I Write Lies”

“I Write Lies” by Trevor Witt

I write lies,
As all poets do,
In order to tell the truth,
Of what I perceive and what I dream
and what I hope for
and what I fear.
I tell them for myself,
And for you,
So that we might learn something about ourselves.
I tell stories,
Lies hiding kernels of truth,
Illusions created by beautiful words,
So that you might see through my eyes.
And I don’t know what is more troubling –
That I tell lies
Or that I cherish them?
That I know I cannot know truth
Or that I am obsessed with approximating it?

“Caught In The Web”, “Don’t Wait”, “A Thread In The Quilt Of The Universe”

“Caught In The Web” by Trevor Witt

Caught in my web of insecurities,
I am reluctant to talk to her.
My doubts form sticky strings,
Tying my mouth shut.

Caught in my flypaper of shyness,
I am afraid to share tales of fear.
Memories, long faded, creep out of their coffins.
Labels and judgments fill my head with shame.

Caught in the pit of despair,
I cannot reach the fulfillment of freedom from shame,
If I am afraid to climb,
Afraid to face the possibility of failure.

Ghosts of rejection,
Scars from insults,
And memories of an impoverished spirit,
Fed by financial strains and parents yelling,
Have spun their web of insecurities,
And the spider of self-doubt threatens
To paralyze and consume my creativity.

Seeing through my web of insecurities,
I can finally reach through the mirage.

I am free.

“Don’t Wait” by Trevor Witt

Don’t wait.
Do not wait for the right moment.
Do not wait until you have concocted the most clever phrase to say.
Do not wait until you believe you have solved the riddle.
Do not wait until you have read all the books.
Do not wait until you have pondered every possible outcome.
Do not wait until you have reached the end of your …
Do not wait.
Good things come to those who wait.
Better things come to those who do.
Act.
Be inspired by all that is around you.
You are surrounded by miracles and your life is miraculous.
Do not wait.
A person may wake up from this wonderful dream at any moment.
Begin.

“A Thread In The Quilt Of The Universe” by Trevor Witt

My soul is dedicated to learning to love.
In the beginning, we are unaware of our separation from the rest of the world.
In the beginning, we are literally connected to our mother, and through our mother to hers.
We only learn to be separate beings after birth.
As we develop in the womb and progress into the world, we learn that we are not always connected.
We must cry and whine to get attention or food.
As we grow older, we learn that we must seek to get food on our own.
We must provide for our own shelter and our own happiness.
We must seek for ourselves.
But we forget that we are connected.
We forget how to understand that connection.
We forget how to express that connection.
We forget how to feel that connection.
Though we all seek it, the connection is not readily available, until a person opens his or her eyes and heart.
Some of what I say may seem like the thoughts of a wandering philosopher, only containing ideas which have meaning in an abstract sense, but I insist to you that these ideas are practical.
For a full life, we must see the connections.
For we are nothing but a thread in the quilt of the universe.

 

“Still, Awake”, “Dabrowski and Skoyles in New York”, “I am.”

“Still, Awake” by Trevor Witt

Still,
Awake,
I write,
Because she haunts me.
Unfinished business,
Unwritten revelations,
Neither good, nor bad,
But perhaps insightful,
Cannot, should not be given up
To that demon Sleep,
The one who says “Rest,
All is well, all is complete,
What is left can wait til morning.”
Wait til mourning?
Can it? Can I?
Can I can it until morning?
Or will I be mourning,
Some forgotten dream,
Given up because I decided to sleep,
Rather than stay awake and follow it
To its unknown end?

“Dabrowski and Skoyles in New York” by Trevor Witt.  Inspired by Tadeusz Dabrowski’s “People Exchange Words” and John Skoyles’s “Autobiography” published in The New Yorker Magazine.

Dabrowski restless, ideas
Running through his head,
Schizophrenic dialogue,
Dialogue with self,
Words bumping into ideas
Bumping into words,
To prevent stagnation,
To prevent being rendered mute,
Stuck, static in a dictionary.
Schizophrenic self dialogue
Exploring dialogue beyond self.
At least that is my diagnosis
Self diagnosis, of him myself,
My own interpretation of Dabrowski in New York,
As people exchange New Yorkers,
And I exchange his words.

Skoyles following,
Flowing with the Great River,
of Life, drinking from its waters,
Though not responsible for the rain.
He did not anticipate, or go before, or lead
A life,
But lived and was part of the parade,
Which he did not lead.
As he was not the head,
The parade would follow,
After his passing.
And a life would follow the one he did not lead,
Or so this is how I follow the flow of John Skoyles
As his life follows New Yorkers.

“I am.” by Trevor Witt

I am a Jew.
I am a Muslim.
I am a Christian.
I am a Buddhist.
I am a Jain.
I am a Hindu.
I am a Shinto believer.
I am an atheist.
I am an animist.
I am a devotee of Zeus.
I am a devotee of Saturn.
I am an agnostic.
I am a Druze.
I am an Alawite.
I am a Sunni.
I am a Catholic.
I am a Baptist.
I am a Methodist.
I am Haredi.
I am Masorti.
I am.
God.