Playing Fair and Being Kind

Sometimes it’s necessary to just post a piece of writing from my collection. This time it will be from my poems that I like to think of as finished. Of course nothing from an artist is ever really finished. I remember a story of someone observing an older gentleman in an art museum. The old man was standing in front of a large painting. The museum was not busy and there were very few people strolling through the galleries. The someone saw the man approach the large painting and remove a loaded brush from an inside pocket of his coat. He stepped up to the painting and made a few strokes and then stood back. Satisfied, he left. The observer correctly assumed this was the artist making an adjustment to his painting. We are never fully satisfied. We return and then return again.

Here is a poem of insight and regret.

 

“CRAZY”

Like a stick or a stone thrown,

The name is spat through lips curled,

It is uncomfortable to be wrong,

And to know it,

So I’ll call her

“Crazy”.

The name fits…like a fish hook,

It pierces and holds

Then restricts any hopes

Or life,

The name suffocates

And strangles.

I know…I know,

My name has been “Crazy”,

When I was so angry and so frustrated

With the walking dead,

Friends lost to false

senses,

Secure in lies.

I find myself

Crazy for trying,

Crazy for crying,

Crazy for loving you,

Frustrated from all of this

Effort and

From feeling isolation and

Self-doubt.

So I know how

To dismiss with this name,

To quietly admit defeat inward and

To publicly defeat another outward,

To sling the fishhook,

To sting with poison.

She’s crazy.

Not me.

G.M. Goodwin

5 July 2015