Gasping For Air

Breathing is something

I once took for granted

Now

The sweet smell of spring

Is dulled by a plastic mask

I must wear some days

Just to move about outside!

The thick humid air

Of

The South

With its Rough Barked Oaks

And

Lime Yellow Pines

Towering into the sky

Is a place

I’ve only known as home!

I once walked freely on this land

And enjoyed

All that surrounded me

With no care

With no worry

Of

What I was breathing in!

Now

Each Spring

I wonder what’s drifting

In the sweet southern breeze?

What could collapses my airway?

Like a flower wilting

In the hot Summer Sun

One speck of pollen

One speck of dust

Is all it would take

To take my breath away!

My mask

Is now my protector!

My mask

Is now my best friend!

Each morning

I look out

On the soft rays of light

Field flowers

Glow in an amber haze

In the distance

The air is buzzing

With the hum

Of

Honey bees

The spring buds

Are blooming

Bursting out

From their wintry shells

Stunning to my eyes

Although

I know better

Than to smell them

I’m glad to still see

All of this beauty

Even if it’s

While wearing a mask

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

My Bird’s Shadow

There’s a mockingbird

That sings so loudly

At times

It’s hard

To get

Anything done

Like a shadow

It’s always beside me

Fluttering just out of reach

With a keen eye

She watches

All that’s around her

Mimicking

All that she hears

But some days

I know she struggles

Like me

So sensitive

So caring

The slightest things

Can affect her songs

Her chirp

Becomes barely a whisper

Like a flower

Closing its petals

Not thriving

From

Too much

Or

Too little

Good times

Or

Dark days of sorrow

The scales

Are sometimes

Hard to balance

Heavily swayed

By

The weight of the world

But the mocking bird

Keeps singing

And

So shall I

With words

On this paper

I will write

Memories of people

And

Places

That have come and gone

In my life!

For

Some friendships

Are

As short as a season

Dropping from me

Like a leaf

From a tree

In autumn

Falling

After its last burst

Of

Bright color!

Yet

The written word

Lives on

Long after memories are gone

And I think

As the bird

Flies away

Into

The dark distance of dusk

Who will drop away from me now

And

What words will I write

To remember them?

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

Bathing

Bathing in the silence

Of

Morning

Washing in

The cool air of spring

The birds

Will awake soon

But for now

All is quite!

Sometimes

I wonder

How the birds

Are still singing

At all?

For

The world

Is covered in hatred

Wars drag on

With no end in sight!

It seems

People have become

Numb to

The death and destruction

Of it all!

Sometimes

I wonder if the birds still sing

In these

War torn lands

Or

Do they sit silent

Waiting for it all to end?

Not much has changed

In my lifetime

Two days after my birth

Firehouses were turned on

Crowds fighting for equality

Down the street

From the hospital

I laid in!

Not long after

The Gainesville Eight

Would go on trial

And

Become the anti-war

Talk of the town!

Vietnam and race relations

At that time

Had reached

The boiling point

In the melting pot country  

I was just dropped into!

Yes

Not much has changed

In the last 45 years

In this crumbling world of ours

A place where

Mass shootings

Bombings

And

Killings in general

Happen so frequent

It seems like

Only a few days pass

Or

Maybe even week

Before the next tragedy

Comes!

When will it ever end?

Amazingly

For now

The birds are still singing

Or

At least they will be

As soon as the morning sun

Climbs high

In the eastern sky

 

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

The Written Word

Writing for me

At times

Is like

My heart falling out

Of

My chest

And

Onto the page before me

Then my pen

Rearranging it into words

Into sentences

Into understanding

Why it fell out to begin with!

All

So I can move forward

Scoop it up

Place it back in my soul

And

Love once again

Yes

My written words

Become the sutures

That hold me

Together!

Wrapping around

My very existence

So even I

Will take a chance

And

Love once again

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

Fentanyl

I saw a women

Yesterday

Running naked

Across a hotel balcony

High as a kite

She was

Or

Seemed to be

I don’t think Fentanyl

Was to blame

But

She was on something!

Drugs are everywhere

These days

And

Fentanyl

Or

As it’s known on the street

China White

Is

Fast becoming

An epidemic!  

Like Tetanus

Hidden within

The

Poison dart

Rust covered nail

That scratches you

Fentanyl is hidden

Within street smack!

Brown Dope

Now has

This unseen punch

Of

Pure poisoned pleasure!

It’s killing the ones

That choose

To spike their arms

With a needle

And

Push down the plunger

Moms

Dads

Boys and girls 

Age

Wealth

Sex

Race

Poverty or providence

It kills indiscriminately!  

And

When an addict drops dead

All the others

Are draw to that batch

Like night bugs swarming

A streetlight

Believing if they survive

It will be the best high yet 

So

If you kiss China’s lips

It might be your

Last kiss

Kissing this life

Goodbye!  

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

New Book : Your Words Will Sharpen

To start out with the dream of becoming a writer or poet in 1989 was to start out in a land of obscurity and rejection. You stood very little chance of being read by anyone, much less read by many. Now, twenty-six years later, Jason E. Hodges has been published by sixteen different publications, and had over one hundred and ten thousand page views on his blog, The Dirt Worker’s Journal. His fourth book, Your Words Will Sharpen, is an in-depth look into Hodges’ world through the eyes of poetry and prose. You see the people he encounters on the streets of his hometown, Gainesville, Florida, and on walks along Matanzas Bay in the old sandy city of St. Augustine. He takes you through life in the factories, the carwashes, and the jobs that bring on old age with speed. All of his daily encounters, along with icons of pop culture, blend together beautifully in this book to reflect the thoughts and memories of this modern poet. Your Words Will Sharpen is a fearless gaze into one’s self teetering on the line between sanity and truth.

Book Link http://www.amazon.com/Your-Words-Sharpen-Jason-Hodges/dp/1518879616/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Truth In Quotes by Jason E. Hodges

Despair is a night without lights. Dreams are the sunrise that leads you out of the darkness.

 

They say, poetry is dead. I say, was there ever a time they had a clue of what the state of poetry is?

 

I was a poet. I had no expectations other than creating a world of art with words that would live on long after I was gone. 

 

There is no value in your promises. They are as hollow as fangs and poisonous as the venom within them once I allowed them into my heart.   

 

For the writer, madness should seep slowly out of them from the world they endure each day.

 

As a writer, a poet, you’re not alone in wanting to be alone. Your work is a friendship that never leaves you.

 

I asked my father if we were rich or poor when I was a small child. He said, “We were rich with God’s love.” I knew from that moment forward, we were broke.

 

Destroying the planet is like stepping from a moving train and thinking it will all work out.

 

Your dreams don’t stop being dreams because of circumstances.

 

Poets, with no sponsors, no agenda, are the truest form of freedom today, bleeding out every drop of themselves for the world to either hate or devour.

 

Each morning the winds of the city moan and weep with lost souls clinging to hope of reliving the memories of yesterday.

 

History is the roadmap to a better tomorrow. Destroying it is getting rid of any chance of what not to do for future generations.  

 

A poet’s words are like mortar to the bricks of society.

 

Becoming a writer does not mean words will suddenly flow with perfection from your pen. It takes hard work, rejection, and the willingness to lay everything inside you out for the world to see. 

3 Poets 5 Stars

“We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.” Charles Bukowski   

I recently ordered books off Amazon from three poets I greatly admire. Each have their own unique view of the world that surrounds them. At the same time, I felt these poets were a good fit for this review. A review I hope will shed a little light on their work and provide a glimpse into three of today’s modern poets.

I’ve always been fascinated with the counter cultures that thrive in the world of writing, art, and music. It seems each movement over the years has had common threads within them. Things like friendships, introductions to other artists, and the support of each other’s work to name a few.

Over the years these artistic movements have had their scenes and places provide platforms from which to grow. Now the modern poet’s platform is the internet. Poets can send their work out to the world and instantly get feedback. But, this also means the web can become flooded with work from thousands of writers daily. So it helps tremendously to have spotlights cast in the direction of good poets who might slip past readers in the river of writers flowing by today.        

Mallory Smart’s “Fear Like A Habit” was the first of these three books to arrive in my mailbox. It is a wonderfully written book of poems. You can feel the fire and energy in Mallory’s words as you read each line of her work. Her love for the craft seems to radiate from each page of this book. She is a breath of fresh air in today’s world of writing. A voice that will be heard for many years to come. Mallory Smart, a poet of the people, born from their echo. Read her today. 

Kateri Lanthier’s “Reporting From Night” was the next book to arrive. The best way I can describe Kateri’s work is simply beautiful. The love for her family, for life, and Toronto shines so bright in this book. As I read, I was taken back to similar situation and fond memories of raising my son.

As I flipped each page, a poem I once wrote called “Daniel Jones, Toronto’s Son” along with Jones’s work kept popping into my mind. He was another poet from that city whose work was remarkable. After reading “Reporting From Night” I realized Toronto also has a daughter named Kateri Lanthier. She, along with her sisters of poetry, make that city alive and breathing with words. Toronto, the city of poets. “Reporting From Night” is a must read for lovers of life and poetry. 

Robin Richardson’s “Knife Throwing Through Self-hypnosis” was the final book to arrive. This book is explosive in thought. Her mind is truly one of an artist. Each line I read was so creative and perfectly placed within the poem. Robin’s words displayed the same meticulous thought in their arrangement as a chess player would use carefully moving knights and bishops. I was not surprised having read some of her work online and seeing her YouTube clips. She is someone I will read for many years to come. A true artist, fearless with her words of poetry. Check out her work today.     

 

Virginia Woolf’s Pockets Full Of Stones

Wading into the River Ouse

The rushing water consumed you

As much as your words

Consume readers today

Your pockets full of stones

And your walk into the river

Were shocking

To a world

That doesn’t understand madness

Your shattered glass thinking

Your broken wheel rolling

Into a downhill tumble of tumbles

Was much

Too much

For anyone to bear

Delicate eggshell stepping

Never stopped the voices from waking

Each day

Voices speaking constantly

Rambling at only a mutter

Never becoming quiet

Never ceasing to silent!

Trying to survive with these echoes

These whispers in your mind

Slowly took everything

Slowly took it all!

So, sleep sweet Virginia

Rest in the heavens

Up there

Out there

Wherever eternal rest might be?

More than likely it’s somewhere over there

Where the butterflies disappear

Into the shadows of the trees

At any rate

Rest!

Your words are still read

Your work lives on

Alive on the screens of computers

On phones

Inside dust covered hardbacks

On a shelf

In someone’s collection 

So, sleep sweet Virginia

Sleep!

Petals Falling : A Book Of Poems By Jason E. Hodges

How can one describe a book of poetry? It’s art! It may be one of the most subjective forms of writing someone can do. I could say something like, “See what Hodges sees when he writes while looking out into a skyline bleeding pink and red from the last rays of a crimson winter sunset,” but would this convince you that this book would be worth reading? I could say, “He’s influenced by, Poe, Plath, Sexton, Nin, and Bukowski,” but would this convince you he is a poet worth reading? So the best way to describe this book, if you’re not familiar with Hodges’s work, is to simply say to you, read it! Take a chance for 99 cents and read a poet that pours his heart out onto every page. Feel the vulnerability in his words as he questions his struggles, his friendships, love, loss, and at times, it seems, even his on sanity. Along with haunting memories that will pull you into his nightmares, Hodges’ imagination will bring you into a whirlwind world of poetry you soon will not forget.

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http://www.amazon.com/Petals-Falling-Jason-E-Hodges-ebook/dp/B00M32MUXI/ref=sr_1_1/176-6373827-2553731?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1406271257&sr=1-1