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    Getting Back to My Desk or After a Brief Hiatus
    Getting Back to My Desk or After a Brief Hiatus
    Getting Back to My Desk or After a Brief Hiatus
    Ebook125 pages44 minutes

    Getting Back to My Desk or After a Brief Hiatus

    By Scott Vanya

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    About this ebook

    In these my middle years, and after having given up so much, wife, full custody of my children, jobs, etc. etc, I have come to fully understand that Life really is about giving up. Not in the sense of failure nor despair but in the sense of letting go and giving away and trusting Chance or whatever you would call it that things REALLY ARE "OK" and are working out for the best.
    These poems were written after I had had about all I could of poetry and setting up the website-"Open Mics Austin" and needed a real break. So I turned my back on the Poetic Life for about 3 months, and then began to Really miss it.
    These poems are what came out of me when i got back to work on my writing full of love and renewed faith for the fact: The more we give, The more we have to give away.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherScott Vanya
    Release dateApr 17, 2014
    ISBN9781310705366
    Getting Back to My Desk or After a Brief Hiatus
    Author

    Scott Vanya

    I've been writing for a very long time, what seems like my whole life, taking it seriously from the time I was about 11. Now, at 46, I think I may be starting to get the hang of it: Say what you feel, as passionately as you can, but always with an ear turned to those who are listening.Most of my more serious work is done at live performances, which i do totally extemporaneously, channeling the mood of the room as my fingers play on the guitar. You can see some of that if you go to "my" website. (Open Mics Austin is a platform I created to showcase the Spoken Word scene here in Austin, TX. Only a small role in which i play.)As far as I can tell what makes good writing is LOVE. Love ,plainly simply, and with no strings attached.I put these words/books before you, not so much because I want something back from it, because I think and feel like I feel my bones and my soul, if you were to see the world, experience it like it do, for even a brief moment, you would walk away from that happier, more alive, compassionate and in tune with all those around you.Peace, good will, and harmony. Let those be your guiding light.Agape forever,Scott VanyaPublication Credits:Stepping Stones Magazine, The Main Street Rag, www.carcinogenicpoetry.com, Texas Art Initiative, Phoenix New Life Poetry, Walt’s Corner, Manna, Perigee, Chicago Literary Review, Mobius, Cosmic Trend, Pitchfork, Romantics Quarterly, Artisan, Pegasus, The Neovictorian, Red Owl, The Story Teller, The Blind Man's Rainbow, Atlantic Pacific Press

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      Book preview

      Getting Back to My Desk or After a Brief Hiatus - Scott Vanya

      Getting Back to My Desk or After a Brief Hiatus

       

      Scott Vanya

       

      Copyright Scott Vanya 2016

       

      Published at Smashwords

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      When there's nothing left of meWatch as He, Sweet Bee, Sails OutWhen the Last Recourse is CompassionHere now letting goAwakeningBecause one dayDid IWhen I left this world behindFear of 'Going insane'How is Today different than Yesterday or TomorrowGreetings from Another PlanetIn the Dark WoodsOh, what would I doWhat if it weren'tBecause I knowA few things I picked upThe Immortal IWhat would it be likeI came into The WorldOn SelflessnessOn the Attentive LoverI've come to slay The DragonI value nothing so much as peaceWhat ifFinallyWhen I cry 'Mercy!'

      When there's nothing left of me

       

       

      When there's nothing left of me

          will there still be you?

       

      All of my paintings, poems,

          stories given away;

      All of my inclinations, desires,

          wants, and dreams

          gone;

      All of my hopes and fantasies

          wishes and needs:

          faces, friends, hugs, food,

              drink, smoke;

      All of my visions, seeings/believings,

          thoughts (in untold numbers

              of books,

              (on what seems at times

              like an endless number of pages)).

       

      When all the walls,

          I have ever scribbled upon

          (my name, your name,

          and the names of all the words

              and worlds I have ever known)

          come tumbling down

          into a pile of dust

      And by The Winds of Change

          blown out again

          to feed the rain,

      Will You still remain?

       

      If all of that life (mine, in this speech I mean)

          all of that life

          goes away

          into a Forest where the only thing

              to hear the sweet, winter rain

          are the creatures therein,

              bug, deer, raccoon,

              opossum, squirrel,

              and spider;

      will You still hover over all of it,

      like the sun or moon or stars?

       

      With all of my love, and all of my heart,

          all of my blood,

          all of the breaths I have ever took,

          all of the beings that ever-took

              or even forsook me,

      I pray

          YES!

       

      Yes, that in the end of all my things

          (how ridiculous a concept is that?

              when only being,

                  sharing,

                  communion

              is The Only Thing To Exist)

      become your playthings,

          your drink,

          your morsel,

          your flesh,

          your bone,

      your hugs and kisses

          tho the face of what hugs and kisses

          is and never can be known.

       

      The You truly is a fiction.

       

      Yet, if you are like I

          and the only reason I write this poem

          is because my gut, very chord,

              that attaches me to this

          tells me that it is The Truth,

      then you, too,

          have wished All-The-Best

          to The Fictitious Character

      in everything you have ever read.

       

      To me,

          milk maid churning butter

          in the open doorway of a barn

          humming a song to herself.

       

      Who is Real?

       

      But for the wont of that

          We compress

          The Compassion Out of Us

       

          That Says:

       

          "You will exist

          after what was me is gone,

          no more being

          but only a poem

          in The Mind somewhere

          humming along."

       

      -Connecting your tongue to mine

          is The Desire to sing.

       

          listen

          listen

          listen

       

      Were I to be you,

          The tune would have no place to exist

      only a very old man

      whose forgotten on what page

      he put the note

      telling him how to turn

      all the rest.

       

      ---

       

      Peace, Love, and thank you, for listening.

      In my own heart I feel yours beating.

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