SUEDEHEAD (MORRISSEY MADNESS!)

James Dean: 1931 - 1955

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

ONLY MUSIC AND POETRY WILL SAVE THE WORLD...

Tom Petty - Rock Poet

THANK GOD IT'S FRIDAY! (MY TRIBUTE TO DONNA SUMMER)

1978? Damn - I really am getting old big time! I first experienced THANK GOD IT'S FRIDAY waaaaay back in the day with my younger brother at a movie house in Chicago. A ticket was only a dollar on Tuesdays, so we decided to give it a shot. I was not disappointed.

However, my brother hated both the movie and the music big time (he wanted to be Superman when he grew up - I wanted to be a poet). I agree that disco was an appalling mistake (thank God most of us have figured this out in the end). But what about Donna Summer? Listen to THAT voice! Even disco could not diminish her great gift. And that's really saying something...

I just wish more people would focus on her exceptional voice, and stop calling her the quintessential Disco Queen: She was so much more than that, but the music industry marketed her as such. And it's a pity. A lot of money was made as a result, and Donna Summer got less than she deserved (in more ways than one).

You can tell she's not comfortable on the stage belting out this Academy Award winning tune. It all really was beneath her big time. But she made a very lonely boy want to smile and dance a wickedly wild dance in the dangerous streets of Chicago fortysomething years ago: I'll always love her for that alone. May her great voice live on. May the beautiful singer rest in peace.

1948 - 2012

Essay Copyright 2018 by Dylan Mitchell

PATHS THAT CROSS (FOR MY SISTER)

SMARTPHONES ARE NOT FOR SMART PEOPLE: I NEED HOT STUFF!

Dear God!

Hot stuff!

Toys for the lazy
I still have my red landline:
The world has not stopped

Haiku Copyright 2018 by Dylan Mitchell

WHAT I'M LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW: DWIGHT YOAKAM - SUSPICIOUS MINDS

REMEMBERING THE GREAT SYLVIA PLATH (1932 - 1963)

WHAT THE MINISTER DID NOT SAY

(for Elizabeth)

she left home at thirteen she lived with a man old
enough to be her father she was a mother at four-
teen she washed clothes in a tub she liked Elvis
she smoked she worried about her thin hair she
ate a lot of macaroni and cheese she had trouble
sleeping she set traps for the mice she played
cards she was fond of people and animals she
owned a used typewriter she had few friends she
dreamed of a better life she died young

Poem © 2013 by Dylan Mitchell

SYLVIA PLATH READING "DADDY"

1932 - 1963

BRIGHT FLOWER

Give me not fame or fortune;
those I only wanted when I was young.

Now I humbly seek the scent of  a
rose in full bloom. I remember you

leaning over the steel hospital bed to
tell me you could not see the bright 

flower I brought to you each Saturday
night. And how sad it was that you could

no longer taste food or drink. Kevin,
I think of you each time I sit down to

Saturday supper alone. And wish you were
still here, to taste the warm goodness.

And see and smell the bright red rose in all its
glory on a splendid Saturday night.

I will never forget.

Poetry © 2016 by Dylan Mitchell

JOHN DENVER: SUNSHINE ON MY SHOULDERS

It's way too cold in Portland. Give us some of that heat and sunshine!

SYLVIA PLATH: 1932 - 1963

Woody Allen as literary critic...

WORDS

Axes After whose stroke the wood rings, And the echoes! Echoes traveling Off from the center like horses. The sap Wells like tears, like the Water striving To re-establish its mirror Over the rock That drops and turns, A white skull, Eaten by weedy greens. Years later I Encounter them on the road---- Words dry and riderless, The indefatigable hoof-taps. While From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars Govern a life. Poem © Sylvia Plath

Maya Angelou: 1928 - 2014

STILL I RISE

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

- Maya Angelou

VIRGINIA DAVIS (11/1/42 - 10/22/13)

So very sad to read about your passing. I will remember your great spirit every time I read one of your beautiful poems. May you rest in peace, Virginia.


UNTITLED

disease is by choice
my mother had jungle

rot
and my father

gangrene
I went mad

believing all
my red corpuscles

were explosive devices
commanded by Mao

and one false step
would blow my mind

so I moved
with crazy

grace
the way

the cripple
and the child

dance
every

movement
a prayer

there were cures
my mother washed

her hands every
two hours for a

year
and they cut

off
my father's toe

in mid-dance
I was locked

in a room
with no handle

on the door
you may ask

how I came
to be here

it wasn't easy

Poem © 1994 by Virginia Davis

Remembering John MacKenzie

What can you say about a brilliant artist, friend, and a great spirit -
after he has left this world forever?
I only know what I can say, and I tried to express my love and admiration for John in a poem I wrote. But it somehow doesn't seem enough.

John MacKenzie passed away on May 3, 2011. He was 89 years old. And he was my dear friend for 12 years.

John listened to me endlessly gripe (when I was in a deep depression). He designed the cover of my first chapbook of poems (for free). He fed me when I was broke and hungry. He encouraged me to make the most of life - even as his own health declined.

He believed art made life worth living. And he was still painting on May 3rd - his last day on this earth. So it's too difficult to say goodbye. I prefer, "I'll be seeing you." And I thank you much for all of your patience and love.

VAN GOGH'S CROWS

If I should die
as the sun sets
and the crows fly

will you forget me?
If I should die
as my blood drips

and the saints cry
will you remember me?
After the paint's dry

and the critics lie
and the crows die
will you forget me?

After I die
and a new sunrise
and the crows fly

will you remember me?

Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell

VAN GOGH’S CROWS

If I should die
as the sun sets
and the crows fly

will you forget me?
If I should die
as my blood drips

and the saints cry
will you remember me?
After the paint's dry

and the critics lie
and the crows die
will you forget me?

After I die
and a new sunrise
and the crows fly

will you remember me?

Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell