Why I write poetry, or why poetry writes itself?

This below was posted at an online group I found in early 2023.

Poetic Outlaws

Why I Write Poetry

By: Julia Vinograd

Because I can't trust God

to look after the world and my friends.

Worship sure, wandering forests of legend

braiding flowers from the Tree of Life in my hair

while God's beard storms overhead.

But not trust. People die. Everyone dies.

It may be God's will but it's my won't.

Sea turtles live a thousand years.

My words can't become flesh.

My words can't heal an open wound.

But I am a poet and I know we need more time

to make our own huge splendid mistakes,

mistakes we deserve, not just the small clinical mistakes

built into out bodies.

We could have many-colored rings spinning around our minds

like the rings of Saturn.

We could map constellations around a lover's face

and every child could be the Messiah

because the world always needs saving.

God, it is a very beautiful world,

but no thank you, it is not enough.

No thank you for the sunrise when our eyes go blind.

A blank page is a place to list the creation

we weren't given. A shopping list of eternity

where we're never too sick to swallow fresh blueberries

and where the dance never ends.

A blank page is a paper bird to fold up and fly.

I can't change anything but I am a poet

and if I can't trust God I must speak

for the world and my friends.

Want more. Want so much more.

Test each day and night for ripeness

like a melon at the market.

You're crucified on the hands of a clock,

pull out those nails.

I'm throwing you a rope of words.

Hold on.

Julia Vinograd was a revolutionary street poet who threw bubbles instead of bricks. Her poetry was profound and she had a keen eye on what was happening in the world. She felt the suffering of the human race deeply and beautifully captured it in her poetry.

A feature documentary is being made right now about this important street poet titled: ‘Julia Vinograd: Between Spirit and Stone'. Check out her incredible story and sign up for the newsletter. Any support to help complete the first cut of the film would be greatly appreciated.

To read a few interviews with the great filmmaker, Ken Paul Rosenthal, check these out— Reaching The Head Through The Heart in Between Spirit and Stone and A Closer Look: On Making Julia Vinograd: Between Spirit and Stone

Appreciate you all keeping OUTLAW POETRY alive and thriving!

Sloan Bashinsky

Beautiful. 

I lived off and on the street maybe 6 years. Poetry started erupting out of me in the early l990s, before I was homeless. A 4-year dark night of the soul came, and a great deal of luminous and other poetry with it. I knew God existed, whereas before, I had only believed. A black night came, and there was nothing brewing in me but plotting every day how to kill myself, for 16 months. I was resurrected from that dead zone by something clearly not of this world. The first stint at being homeless came and lasted a few years, as more poetry came, some of which I could not assign to my own creation. I was not homeless and more poetry came. I was homeless again, and very little poetry came. Very little poetry came since then. Since late 2017, I'm not homeless. I'm 80. When I wrote poetry, it was because it just came out of me. I did not sit down to try to make a poem. The poem sat me down to show me something about me, about life, and about much more. I came to view all of life as poetry.  

 

Sheila
OMG! Your reply, which in fact is itself a poem, literally made me gasp ..an adjective for which I'm struggling to find... it was positively powerful.

Sloan Bashinsky
There's nothing like seemingly endless grindings into dust and oblivion to season a soul and however it expresses on this small backwater planet in an unfathomable universe, which I seriously doubt just up and came into being without a little nudge from ... something ... 

 

This poem leaped out of me shortly before I was diagnosed with life-threatening MRSA flesh-eating bacteria, when I was homeless in Key West, 2003.

I AM A MAN  

 

I am a man. 

 

I said,

I am a man! 

 

What means it,

being a man? 

 

A man is a warrior:

he lives by a code of honor,

his word is reliable,

his actions confirm his words,

his commitment is holiness,

his enemies are welcome at his hearth,

he fears but moves forward,

he cries and gets up again,

he hates but forgives,

he loves and let’s go,

he doubts but trusts God,

he’s a good friend,

he seeks resolutions,

he demands nothing,

he risks everything,

he regrets his mistakes,

he seeks to make amends,

he puts others’ welfare first,

he accepts apologies truly made,

he expects nothing back,

he lives ready to die,

he laughs when he “should” scream,

he screams when he “should” laugh,

he sings just because,

he shrugs off insults,

he learns from misfortune,

he cusses God for making him,

he wishes he was done,

he loves children and animals,

he relishes a woman’s scent,

he smiles when he’s content,

he knows God’s his master,

he walks in rainbows,

his garden is the world,

his way is nature,

he loves fishing,

his wife is his soul,

his food is life,

his pay is whatever he receives.

Yep, he’s crazy.

sloanbashinsky@yahoo.com