PSYCHO

I can see Hitchcock's bloated face on my aching knee:
I know it's just a bunch of wrinkles in the
frayed fabric of my jeans.

But what am I to make of the black
shoe I see when I shift my gaze an inch or
two toward the east? I don't wear black

shoes. Is Norman Bates' mother paying me a friendly
call? Will this be a Happy Halloween?
Is this meant to be my final scene?

And whatever happened to Janet Leigh?

Poem Copyright 2018 by Dylan Mitchell

WHY SUICIDE IS A MISTAKE

1967 -1994

I can still remember when I first heard that Kurt Cobain had taken his own life. I went into a deep state of  mourning that lasted for a solid month. Why? He had great talent, a young child, and a wife that wanted to see him more alive than dead (many people argue this point - I don't agree with any of the conspiracy theories about Courtney Love). To each his own.

What I will always miss most about Kurt is the music: He still had plenty of new songs he could have written in the future, but there is no future once you have offed yourself.

I know he was in a lot of pain (his music made that clear). But I wonder what might have happened if he could only have given life another month or two?

The best tribute to Kurt on the internet is by the author of THE BASKETBALL DIARIES - Jim Carroll. He fought his own demons during his youth, but managed to hang in there as best he could. He wrote more songs and books. He wrote some great poetry. He did not become a member of the 27 club. I just wish Kurt could have known how much he was appreciated and loved by many: This is true for all people that leave the world much too soon.

Poem Copyright by Jim Carroll

Essay Copyright 2018 by Dylan Mitchell

POETRY: THE MAGIC OF FINDING YOUR OWN VOICE...

I know poetry. I suffered through too many creative writing classes during my youth, and quickly figured out academic poetry is too false and easy: Where are the powerful voices: Keats, Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Dylan Thomas, William Carlos Williams,  Charles Bukowski, etc.

You can scan and rhyme until the sun hides its face in shame, and darkness surrounds you forever, but without an authentic voice you might as well throw away your pen (or computer). This little rant is the result of discovering how the academic world continues to reward those poets with too many degrees (and very little talent) - and ignores the powerful voices that are out there both in book form and online:

Walt Curtis, Don Kloss, David Elsey, Jon Varga, Sherry Asbury, Virginia Davis, Douglas Spangle, Guy Kettelhack, James H. Duncan, E. D. Ridgell, Dylan Mitchell (yes, I dare to include myself because I know I ONCE had an authentic voice. However, it was gradually silenced by the academic world which only allows deluded members of quite expensive "workshops" to be called a poet).

Oh, and my best poems are hidden in newspapers, zines, and my private journals which will most likely be chucked down the garbage chute when I finally escape from this crazy money hungry world. Sadly, This is the fate of some of our most gifted poets.

Appreciate the great ones while you can! Don't let the academic world (and its many bitter critics) tell you what to read: Let your heart and mind lead you in the right direction. Trust me, you won't regret it:

Jon Varga, Don Kloss, David Elsey, Walt Curtis, Sherry Asbury, Virginia Davis, Douglas Spangle, James H. Duncan, Guy Kettelhack,  E. D. Ridgell, Dylan Mitchell (saved myself for last). If you like real poetry, these are the poets to seek out and discover what the meaning of life (and death's) really all about. Just do a quick Google search. It's as simple (and profound) as that.

Oh, and stay away from the pretentious University presses: That's where the worst poetry is found. And they charge an arm and a leg big time - just adding more insult to injury. Don't let them play you for a fool.

Poem Copyright 1934 by William Carlos Williams

Rant Copyright 2018 by Dylan Mitchell

ONLY MUSIC AND POETRY WILL SAVE THE WORLD...

Tom Petty - Rock Poet

GWENDOLYN BROOKS: WE REAL COOL

Poem Copyright Gwendolyn Brooks

A SIMPLE PRAYER...

We all are suffering:
Rich, poor

Beautiful, ugly,
Old, young,

Democrat, Republican,
Intelligent, impaired,

Male, female,
Straight, gay

American, Russian,
Black, white,

Literate, illiterate,
Poet, cop,

Me, you
Sick, healthy

Free, in jail
Mother Teresa, Buddha

We the people:
Do those words echo -

That old familiar bell?
The music is still there:

Listen, listen...

Poem Copyright 2018 by Dylan Mitchell

GETTING RID OF THE WALL (GO PINK FLOYD!!)

Too close for comfort?

WHAT I'M LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW: JIM CARROLL'S POEM FOR KURT COBAIN

DUMP TRUMP: THE MASK (MAYA ANGELOU)

April 4, 1928 - May 28, 2014

DUMP TRUMP: STILL I RISE (VOTE!)

Poem Copyright by Maya Angelou

DUMP TRUMP: MAYA ANGELOU : KEEPING IT REAL

UNWANTED

I found an old book in the
gutter today: A battered blue
hardcover unwanted by the
world. It had been kicked
about by a brutal foot - more
than a few pages were wrinkled
and torn. So I plucked it up
and carried it home. After I
wiped off some of the dirt
I saw a cover as blue as
the sea. I wiped some more
until a familiar face appeared -
the Belle Of Amherst - my breath
stood still - Emily Dickinson in
the gutter? Imagine that! Her
good poems once fed my hungry
heart, when the busy world
wouldn't throw me a bone. Now
I'd plucked her from the gutter,
and given her a better home -
so who really saved whom?

Poem © 2018 by Dylan Mitchell

A QUIET PASSION (THE REAL EMILY DICKINSON STORY)

ONE OF THE BEST SONGS EVER WRITTEN...

IT MUST BE NICE TO BE A YOUNG POET

It must be nice to be a young poet:
Everyone cooing you are a genius
When all they want is to get into your pants.

It must be nice to be a young poet:
Your words are praised as heavenly and haunted
While the critics and public are more in love

With your beautiful face and body and voice.
But after your youth has abandoned you
All you are left with is poetry. The critics

Shift their praise to condemnation. You are avoided
by everyone that once bought your books in
large numbers. You have become

flabby and have too many wrinkles in your face.
Your hair is no longer long and blonde.
You are old and forgotten.

It must be nice to be a young poet:
Make the most of it while you can.
We are all dying in the land of the young.

Copyright 2018 by Dylan Mitchell

REMEMBERING THE GREAT SYLVIA PLATH (1932 - 1963)

VOW OF SILENCE ENDED: WHAT'S UP WITH FACEBOOK?

I don't get the popularity of Facebook or Twitter. It's all links (no original poetry or writing), and the same thing is going on with the aftermath of the 2016 election. Ten words or less, and we're supposed to believe the intelligence and sincerity of people that don't want (or care) to invest the time in composing a meaningful post?

How much easier to click on a link that makes little or no sense? This is sad. Does anybody do any actual research anymore? Oh, and the whole "Friends" issue: I seem to recall reading a Facebook post about a a fortysomething depressed woman that stated she was going to kill herself.

Guess what, people. Even though she had hundreds of  Facebook "Friends" - she was encouraged to take her own life. Which she ultimately did.

Jesus Christ on a cracker:  I think I'll stay at Blogger. At least I'll be able to stay alive. At least I hope so.

BLUE DAYS

I am alone now
And the sky is without clouds:
We are very blue

Haiku Copyright 2009 by Dylan Mitchell

TO KILL A COCKROACH (TAKE 2)

Cockroach, cockroach
dashing across my
kitchen floor:

You were shameless
and ugly, but you
are no more.

Where did you come
from? Did I carry
you home from the

store? Or how about that
messy neighbor with
his beer cans and

garbage galore? Did you stagger
to my place, after he booted
you out the door? Now I'll

never learn the truth
because I came up with the
perfect cure: A little bit of

Lysol spray - made you
gasp your last, I'm sure.
You're not as daring and

quick on your feet as
you used to be before.
Just a disgusting creature

on its back, never to nibble
on my crackers anymore:
or shamelessly sip from my

unguarded cup. Show a
little respect for the poor!
Good riddance to your

filthy habits and hunger:
You will not disturb
me anymore. With

one swift flush
I bid you farewell:
Is that not what a toilet is for?


Copyright © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell 

THE MOON AND THE YEW TREE