Writers on David Bowie, the Power of Music, and Finding the Courage to Be Themselves

Writers respond to the death of David Bowie and share personal stories about how his music empowered and encouraged them to be different, to take risks, and to come into their own.

Source: Writers on David Bowie, the Power of Music, and Finding the Courage to Be Themselves

Bowie Tribute

DON’T YOU WONDER, SOMETIMES?

January 11, 2016

1.

 

After dark, stars glisten like ice, and the distance they span

Hides something elemental. Not God, exactly. More like

Some thin-hipped glittering Bowie-being—a Starman

Or cosmic ace hovering, swaying, aching to make us see.

And what would we do, you and I, if we could know for sure

 

That someone was there squinting through the dust,

Saying nothing is lost, that everything lives on waiting only

To be wanted back badly enough? Would you go then,

Even for a few nights, into that other life where you

And that first she loved, blind to the future once, and happy?

 

Would I put on my coat and return to the kitchen where my

Mother and father sit waiting, dinner keeping warm on the stove?

Bowie will never die. Nothing will come for him in his sleep

Or charging through his veins. And he’ll never grow old,

Just like the woman you lost, who will always be dark-haired

 

And flush-faced, running toward an electronic screen

That clocks the minutes, the miles left to go. Just like the life

In which I’m forever a child looking out my window at the night sky

Thinking one day I’ll touch the world with bare hands

Even if it burns.

 

2.

 

He leaves no tracks. Slips past, quick as a cat. That’s Bowie

For you: the Pope of Pop, coy as Christ. Like a play

Within a play, he’s trademarked twice. The hours

 

Plink past like water from a window A/C. We sweat it out,

Teach ourselves to wait. Silently, lazily, collapse happens.

But not for Bowie. He cocks his head, grins that wicked grin.

 

Time never stops, but does it end? And how many lives

Before take-off, before we find ourselves

Beyond ourselves, all glam-glow, all twinkle and gold?

 

The future isn’t what it used to be. Even Bowie thirsts

For something good and cold. Jets blink across the sky

Like migratory souls.

 

3.

 

Bowie is among us. Right here

In New York City. In a baseball cap

And expensive jeans. Ducking into

A deli. Flashing all those teeth

At the doorman on his way back up.

Or he’s hailing a taxi on Lafayette

As the sky clouds over at dusk.

He’s in no rush. Doesn’t feel

The way you’d think he feels.

Doesn’t strut or gloat. Tells jokes.

 

I’ve lived here all these years

And never seen him. Like not knowing

A comet from a shooting star.

But I’ll bet he burns bright,

Dragging a tail of white-hot matter

The way some of us track tissue

Back from the toilet stall. He’s got

The whole world under his foot,

And we are small alongside,

Though there are occasions

 

When a man his size can meet

Your eyes for just a blip of time

And send a thought like SHINE

SHINE SHINE SHINE SHINE

Straight to your mind. Bowie,

I want to believe you. Want to feel

Your will like the wind before rain.

The kind everything simply obeys,

Swept up in that hypnotic dance

As if something with the power to do so

Had looked its way and said:

Go ahead.

In Space, Spaced Out

Bones lose density without gravity

This is a serious matter, not to be taken lightly

Blood fails to reach the brain

We must bear this in mind

Space cannot be navigated by the light headed

The semi conscious, on a journey with a faint map

Think on this seriously, it is not a joke

Spaceships lost in the heavens is a hellish consequence

Sentient beings drifting half conscious is senseless

Concentrate your thoughts so that we do not scatter

Debris in the galaxies, cleverly made

And stupidly lost.

Fall In Springtime

Falling through memories of my life as they pass my eyes
Gasping out my soul and loud my heart cries
Words that forecast my demise cannot not be taken back
Tell me friend, does Fall in Springtime frighten you?

The sun has come at last to play with shadows and light
That give texture to our days, no longer long the night
Darkness is beng chased away, see the darling buds of May
Tell me friend, does Fall in Springtime frighten you?

Look now around regard the blooms that herald life, not decay
Birds are nesting ready for life in the eggs they lay
Not no renewed life ahead for me this year
Tell me friend, does Fall in Springtime frighten you?

Embracing life won’t cease though strength is dimmed
Tending garden will be still my love, colours riot untrimmed
My soul weeps to know I might not see fruit born
Tell me friend, does Fall in Springtime frighten you?

Flowers that jostle for attention, blooms both bright and subtle
Will outlive my journey on this earth, travels I would glad redouble
Trees will grow and bear their fruit which may I live to taste
Tell me friend, does Fall in Springtime frighten you?

I will continue to shine as the sun, glow like the moon and stars
My smile will still embrace the world it will never stray afar
From my lips, though sadness may occasion my eyes to tears
Tell me friend, does Fall in Spintime frighten you?

Love will be my gift to those who walk my way wherever it leads
My heart will still hold close those I treasure and need
Still yearn for love’s secrets shared, the bond unsaid
Tell me friend, does Fall in Springtime frighten you

Book Review: Calamity Joe by Brendan Constantine

A compulsive read! Brendan Constantine’s wit and pain are evident in this, his latest book of poetry. His next, Dementia Darling, is out in the spring.
The book is written as a dream sequence, showing vivid imagination in describing his childhood memories. The book has ‘rooms’ in which poems address us, the readers or the past in metaphor. There are clever internal rhymes within lines and the world we live in is at times seemingly mocked yet remains true. The narrator is the fictitious Calamity Joe who works in a laboratory. Constantine has a  remarkable gift to surprise and captivate. Calamity Joe will not disappoint.
(less)

Chrissie Morris Brady

 

Falling Sky

Tattoo on your skin
Isn’t there enough pain the world
Already?
Children draw bombs
Falling from the sky
Sky has fallen down
Weapons we sell to psychopaths
Shake hands with the Queen
Human rights in lives
Of no consequence
Parents weep
I have cried
For the loss in my life
No anonymity
Visibly misunderstood
Inaudible screaming echo my rooms
So why tattoo
Unnecessary pain in life
Unless to distract
From emotional void
Children draw bombs
I have double piercings