This is Poetry

I am living a two key existence right now. One key for my vehicle and one key for my front door. I have no other keys. I cannot remember the last time my keychain was so barren. I find myself in a constant state of letting go. One day I will no longer have photos. One day I will no longer have a memory. One day I will disappear into essence. But today I have two keys. One key is for movement and the other for stillness. In motion I roam the universe with a profound hope for humanity. At rest I am the consequence of my faith.

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The Composition of Stasis

This is what I like about the bike. Those two horizontal sidewalk lines. So common in my work are the clean recumbents. The skewed vertical crease in the sidewalk guides my eye to the textured concrete wall where another unbent seam ends at a dominant perpendicular, the purple neon. This tableau was shot at night. The main light source is fluorescent and lively. In order to properly render the bluegreen in the bike tires I had to overexpose some of the key light which thankfully morphed into seductive bands of pure white hot. The frame of the bike is a more docile shade of perfectly exposed pale. Those exquisitely round rubber tires form a strong visual foundation that hug my face like a groovy pair of Ray-Bans. The kickstand and the lock assist the perfect dismount. The bike stuck the landing. A complimentary angle gives me a nice sense of the thick curvy pipes that form the bike rack. The public restrooms sign is a bit of text which feels hopeful and beachy to me. Plus the bike is a cruiser. Oh, and the fact we were slow strolling Virginia Beach at the time. I'm a sucker for a good boardwalk. Playful is the curve of red neon reflected off the window, just enough courage to compliment the bold mercury-vapor and the whimsy lavender. The band of solid black at the top of the frame keeps my eye from wandering off the page. And the shrubs, how their welcome shade of green embraces the light and subtly echoes the palette of the rear tire slowly ascending upwards like a plume of dust whence the bike is untethered. My eyes take refuge in the symmetry of the spokes. There is a feeling of movement in all the stillness.

This is what I like about the bike.

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The Power of the Soul

I was digging through the archives yesterday trying to see if my friend Kent sent me an Aretha Franklin postcard from San Diego back in the 80s. He didn't. It was Billie Holiday. But in the same ziplock was this picture of me and all my friends from Mr. Warner's class of 1973 at Hamlin Street School in Canoga Park. I forgot about Kent, about Billie, Aretha, everything but that photo. I held it in my hands and took a long look into each beautiful face. Then I'd let my eyes wander about the image admiring the drapes, the tiled floor, the felt letter board, the wooden bleachers, the flag, the bell-bottoms, the overall composition. Then I'd return to another face. I knew everyone. I remember the tenderest details about each personality. These faces have been living inside of me all this time. I never imagined that 5th Grade would have such an influence over my being. A fun expression from the 70s was, everything is everything. I guess it is.

Live in the moment, because it lingers—a long time.

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