A Little Audacity

I am sleeping lightly upon a leather loveseat covered in blankets. In my dream, I am laying awake looking at my cellphone as it vibrates and rings in its little melody. Suddenly, I irk awake and look to my phone. Nothing. Seconds later, it rings. In the passage of one afternoon, this happens three times.

It is a few days earlier. As I cross the mighty Androscoggin river, I look to my left and wonder about the fate of the old Cowlan mill building. Contracts have fallen through and that historic landmark, now gutted, silent, and looming simply exists to uphold its own history — an icon of sorts for all the memories of the textile past. I know that it will not make it. Today, an inferno raged inside of the building and within the span of two hours destroyed all that was left. Floors caved in, walls collapsed into the river, the entire place came thundering down. Over 150 years of history was enveloped in fire, each year screaming as it died, sending fireballs and cinders from the building all over downtown Lewiston.

I pick up my pen, put it to the page, and then it falls over, leaving a sploch of black ink on the page. I am drugged with hopes of my condition improving, yet I have vomited almost everyday, and even water makes my stomach churn. I sit back, weakened by persistent fatigue, and imagine off into another place while my muscles lose their tone, while my body softens and my strength is undermined. I sit with a patch over one eye, too dizzy even to stand.

It is audacity that gets me through this. Boldness shielding an inner determination that strengthens my core, enlivens my willpower, envokes a sort of rage against all that is holding me back. My soul infuses with the whole of my body and I can conquer any obstacles that are presented. A little audacity is what keeps me alive through times when even reading is a challenge.

Each breath. Stronger.

Hrafn

http://tylernoyes.wordpress.com/

Desert Wakes Up

The expanse of lights fills up my vision;

I am awakened flying higher than Phoenix and

in the darkness of midnight I recognize no one

in the deserted city. We descend and drive through

the dark blurry streets that criss-cross the city’s wings

and soar on towards death in the Sonoran Desert.

The landforms that took a hundred thousand years

or more to form are recreated in sterile plastic for

a passing travellers palms to pass over, the palms’

leaves void and disperse the city lights in shapes

of sharp feathers out across the through-fares.

Beneath, the dark asphalt approaches the Colorado Plateau,

and begins the ascent out from

this endless circus of fiery lights.

The mimicry of a heart quakes beneath this city,

frightened, sustaining a thousand new refugees

each month — yet in a hundred years this place, fated

to become a wispy dune, will be a stronghold only

populated by dusty metal bones and mummified memories

of life, cracked and dried like those in Pompeii, trapped

in eternal gridlock for a drop of water, a drop of life.

There is oblivion outside my window as we drive the

steep mountain passes away from the immortal city.

Only phantoms of people and cars roam the street;

hope is  rumored to be forlorn, the grace of the modern city

is about to spontaneously combust –

and as the old desert sun rises and gives hot breath to a new day

I can see the ravens playing in the burning crimson light.

Posterior

Click for larger image

“A new world,
material without being real,
where poor ghosts,
breathing dreams like air,
drifted fortuitously about. . .
like that ashen, fantastic figure
gliding toward him
through the amorphous trees.”

-F. Scott Fitzgerald, p. 162, The Great Gatsby

“A colorless place lacking any scents, sights or sounds…

but within this lower silence where serenity is found.”

-from Deliverance, an old poem of mine.

Mixing up from my wave of poetry, the past week I worked at various times in a digital collage project. The possibilities with collage are completely endless, photo montage being only one of the many styles. This digital collage above is called “Posterior” and is an assemblage of many photos I have found through searching the internet. I would like to thank photographer Rune Molnes, whose watermark was covered up by pictures, for taking that incredible picture of the ocean. I take no credit for any of the images and photos here, only their assembly and editing. Enjoy and do not be afraid to gaze deeper than you ever have before.

Beyond Androscoggin

The ebb and flow shower over
grayish rocks of old Great Falls;
Cool and quick, white water rapids
shimmer clear and clean under the mist.
The memories of an indelible pollution,
smoky mills and a river’s bitter ruins
are submerged beneath her surging waves.

We take upon these rising rushing waters
in canoes with courage in our hearts –
then off we go into the river’s fluxing flow,
where we drift away from home and high school,
toward college and our noble futures.

Some of us paddle along to CMCC,
or swirl and cheer, riding an eddy to Andover.
Along and down the mighty Androscoggin,
we traverse her graceful course worn by the years,
over the ancient bedrock of mystic Maine.
Sailing on her timeless form, we wave and shout
to friends at USM, or sip and talk all about
the Arts and premieres at lovely Bates –
All now common places brimming with
brave students on uncommon, unique journeys.

As we go may we all recall our youths in Lewiston and Auburn,
the thriving towns that nurtured our opportunities.
We all grew up here, among rivers, bricks and evergreens;
And while we slowly row down the river towards the sea,
to where effort, love and wanderlust will lead us,
we can see many a destination, and begin to realize that the
intuition from our local college educations is the panacea
that can cleanse the dark mill dust from our skin and clothes
and deliver us into a place that the passage of time only knows.

Notes: This was a competition piece for a scholarship by the Androscoggin Chamber of Commerce. It’s quite college-oriented as a result, but I feel it is a powerful dedication to the ancient Androscoggin River. Ever since I was little, the Great Falls have always fascinated me with their might and importance to the area. Without the Androscoggin, L/A would have not been the largest shoe producer in the world (I believe) around the time of WW1. The irony here is that that the result of our powerful industry and endless, giant brick mills, is that Androscoggin became one of the most polluted rivers on Earth, colorful and smelly. It is still slowly recovering and you can “smell the past” on its waters.