Stephen Sutherlin is a designer, poet and musician. He writes poetry about life in the southwest and enjoys metrical lyricism.
Lenses down
Sight bubbles
Faceless forms
Busy cutting
Head vibrates
Blur tremors
Walls reflect
What I cannot see
Busy people
“Looking good”
Cell stacks
Aged clippings
Fall slowly
Swept away
Cheerful chatter
Finishing with a new me
If a poem sits on the shelf and no one reads it, is it poetry?
Poems
Broken
Syntax
Exploring
Broken
Feelings
I suppose I should start with why I picked up my pen again. Or in this case a Pentel p207 and a keyboard. Jim Jarmusch recently did the film Paterson (2016) with Adam Driver. Unremembered by me before watching the film, I had studied William Carlos William’s “Paterson” in college. I didn’t recall that my last college course was Modern American Poetry, probably because I had fixated on the lyricist as the modern poet. (I had started my band LedgeWalker while starting Grad School. The band won at the time.) But, the learning remained, germinating a new poesy. “Must remember to write it down.” JMK
I love the idea that the poet is a poem; is a scribe of events. MindScribe.
“Paterson is a long poem in four parts–that a man in himself is a city, beginning, seeking, achieving and concluding his life in ways which the various aspects of a city may embody–if imaginatively conceived–any city, all the details of which may be to voice his most intimate convictions.”
The people around the writer. The city that triggers the thought that pays attention to its own surroundings and then reflects it back in a cascade of visual words. To paint the city with a man on a bench contemplating his beautiful place in this beautiful place and writing it all down.
For Granny
The sun is always
shining on The Road.
It’s the place I go
to be with them,
my ancestors,
my fellows, my friends.
It is where I walk
quietly, alone
Thinking of days past
and lives well lived.
There’s no time
Out on The Road
Out of the hustle and
Bustle of everyday lives,
Just the place
where I keep walking,
talking with the
Ones I Love.
Elizabeth Sutherlin, March 7, 1917 – October 1, 2013
Without Constraint there is only Chaos,
Without Chaos there can be no Creation.
In between Leaders are forged by the pressure.
Wisdom is knowing the Fire from the Anvil.
Leadership is wielding the Hammer without vanquishing the Flame.
I have peeled back this womb
I have crawled unto my tomb
The sun has burned to smoky cloud
I have lit the candle
I have burnt the candle upon this shroud
I have armed myself for
The blind sanctuary of my mind
Writing my obituary
To decry the solidarity of my life
As the candle flickers out of light
As the candle flickers we all die…
I have broken the stones
I’ve wrecked my home
I have not found where I belong
I’ve drunken myself and now I’m gone
At least I’m honest
I cannot behold, I cannot be held
By this cursed flesh or by the spells
I cannot be told, It cannot be said
That Right or Wrong will keep me fed
As I flicker through the pictures
As I stumble through my life
As the wick-ed end consumes me
The candle burns out
Mythic &
Strong
There are times that we are un-reconciled to ourselves
Shameful, blameful of ourselves.
Some shelter in the rain
On our path of self disdain
I aim to go. I aim to go.
Tall walls, confine around me
Seal the path, constrict around me
So I climb onto the slippery ledge.
I fear the path I tread, but
I aim to go.
I’ll take it slow
Watch it grow
I’ll take it slow
But I aim to go!
Because, Some of us choose to live
And some of us choose to die
And some of us choose to climb above it.
Wakka Chakka
by Singer on September 15, 1997 in 1997, Garage, Recordings, Songs
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I believe in prophesy.
I can show you all that there is to see.
Do you know anything,
or do you wait for me to bring the truth?
Let me tell you brother
let me tell you sister
let me tell you child
You Can Fly Away!
Let me tell you brother
let me tell you sister
let me tell you child
You Can Fly Away!
And even if the day goes by
with a pause or a STOP!
And even if the day goes by
might as well just drop down to the ground.
Let me tell you brother
let me tell you sister
let me tell you child
You Can Fly Away!
It’s all there for you
Just remember where you have been today
Take a Smile for the truth
You can fly, I’ll show you the way.
Let me tell you brother
let me tell you sister
let me tell you child
You Can Fly Away!
Boredom abashes, fragile minds
Turns them to ashes; soiled blind
You’ve turn to run away from this disease,
But with your hollow self, you’re left to plead.
So you cry out loudly in the vacant night,
No one else can bring the light.
Where do you turn to, when you can’t decide?
So, where do you turn to when you’ve run to hide?
(Not inside)
Little shelter girl, I know you
Fragment of yourself, soul residue
You were so innocent, sweetest little child,
Then you found the world, your refuge exiled
So, you wrap yourself in night-from blankets
Found the truth was how you faked it.
Fake it. Faked it.
Where do you turn to, when you can’t decide?
So, where do you turn to when you’ve run to hide?
Behind the shattered truth of your desire
Lies solid shadow streams, an invisible fire.
In one grained moment, you’ve come to this goodnight.
You turn away from me, stealing the sight”
Of what has come to pass and who you are
With one arms breadth, you pull me apart.
You found yourself, didn’t you?
Come face to face with me and share the truth.
PEEL away this Mask, So I can see through you.
You could reveal to me in One Sharp Breath
But you, you turn from me…
SEEKING THE DEATH
Of your lost soul and your cracked feet
Pacing in this wasteland, burning in the heat.
Turn
to
me
TURN TO ME