G. Michael Vasey's Blog: The Wacky World of Dr. Vasey, page 87
May 11, 2014
Reality Defining
Winding, twisting, turning
Deeply rebellious instincts
Having fun fondling eternity
And loving in the falling rain
Indigenous erogenous foolery
Unwinding, deeply chicane
Saratoga thoughts abound
The definitive Musical opus
With absolutely no sound
A secretive spoken secret
A seared ripple in time
A wise golden pomegranate
A Sonic primal scream
An observer just watching
Shhh, He will never tell
Silence speaks silently
The world still turns
Periodically violently
Waiting on the arrow
Whose narrow flight begins
Waiting on the sharpness
When the axe will fall
It’s catastrophic nature
Finally revealed to all
The world is unwinding
Unrolling, unfolding
Reality defining
Am I Insane?
More or less anything I have ever done I have found a way to be successful with. Ok, successful doesn’t mean in my lexicon gaining notoriety or fame. It just means successful. I am adaptable and I can learn new things. But this selling books lark seems to be the biggest challenge I have ever met. I’m a poor seller it seems.
I had hoped for The Last Observer. It is fast-paced, exciting, magical and if you know what to look for, its full of real magic. It has quantum physics, parallel universes, an evil magician, a demon by the name of the Lord of the Elements. It has some love interest, a tad of violence. It’s a pretty good little story and many of the reviewers seem to to agree. And yet….it has failed to sell with disappointing take up and in recent weeks, it seems to have finally died. Its not expensive, available in many formats from many different outlets. I have wrote about it probably even pestered people about it. But nothing has really worked. I got reviews from friends but more importantly from reviewers I do not know who wrote honest reviews. One or two readers wrote reviews. I even got the reviewer from hell who trashed it, trashed me, trashed the publisher and trashed all of us wanna be writers which at least shows the reviews are genuine. It has a great foreword by Anthony Peake and had three great reviews to push it on its way.
Frankly, I’m stumped. I think you need some kind of lucky break to sell books.
None of my non-professional books has really sold. Inner Journeys – my first book – has racked up the biggest number. My poetry books sell a handful each if that.
Do I then keep trying or just give up? I don’t like giving up and I always think that success is just around the corner. I have never knowingly gambled but my obsession with books begins to look like it has gamble all over it.
So against all of that, I actually have a new book of poetry about to come out and I am working slowly – very slowly – on another novel.
Am I insane?
It appears so.
Tagged: Failure and success
May 9, 2014
Politic
The building shakes you awake
Caricatures of unimportant people
Small minded ignorance
In the cold light of day
Torture and twist the minds of the people
With the ancient mode of your elders
Shatter the innocence of youth
Punish the sick under your roof
Material possessions not allowed
And share and share alike
Rich people made poor, poor made rich
Xenophobia gone mad to the end of time
Sickness of the communal mind
Togetherness in folly
Well – you keep your ideology
We’ll put it in an ivory tower
And laugh from afar
You can keep your systems
Freshly painted, in a jar
Invent your weapons of destruction
We’ll have the last laugh
At the power of your deduction
Gone wrong
Politic from Weird Tales: Otherworld Poetry by Dr. G. Michael Vasey published 2006.
Tagged: Poetry, Weird Tales
May 8, 2014
Moon Whispers – Another Collection Coming Soon….
In the last few days I have pulled together a bunch of recent poems to be published as Moon Whispers – A New Collection. I am working on the MS, working my way through the BookSurge process and have asked a few other writers to review for back cover-type reviews (In this I have asked some of my Roundfire Books authors to help out and some have kindly agreed. The volume will contain over 30 new poems including Moon Whispers and will be available in paperback and Kindle format in a few weeks. The prior three poetry collections are as follows;
Weird Tales: Otherworld Poetry (Createspace, 2006) – a collection of 31 poems some of which were written 40-years ago!
Poems for the Little Room (Lulu, 2012 and Booksurge, 2014)- a collection of 15 poems combined with photos originally published via LuLu in 2012 but now repackaged and republished on Booksurge in 2014 to get the cost down.
Astral Messages: The Poems and Thoughts of a Troubled Mind (Booksurge, 2013) – A collection of 16 poems combined with short articles that supplement the poems.
All three prior collections are available on Amazon sites in paperback and Kindle formats.
Tagged: Astral Messages, Books, Moon whispers, Poems for the little room, Weird Tales
May 7, 2014
A New way To Pray?
Something else written before I moved the blog to WordPress….
Originally posted on The Wacky World of Dr. Vasey:
In between work items yesterday, I found myself watching a video on Youtube that claimed to be a new way to pray. a more effective way to pray. It wasn’t a long video and it featured someone being interviewed about this radical new discovery. The key to prayer is not asking for something because when you ask for something you simply confirm that it doesn’t exist in your reality. No, what you do is IMAGINE it already is.
This wasn’t an occultist or magician talking but it might as well have been. I recently wrote about imagination on my other blog. Imagination is the engine room of magic. Its the engine room of reality. It is the engine room of our very existence. It is imagination without any frontier that creates. It creates not just in terms of inventions and ideas but it creates in the plastic substrate on which…
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Mistaken Priorities
People I just cannot get
Would rather save an ant
Than one of their own
Rather protect a plant
Than help the homeless
Worrying about the issues
They know nothing about
And not seeing the little things
That would really count
Happily labeling themselves
Left, right, or by nation
Or yet, worse still,
By their religion
Man made rules to kill
For a man made God
Hustling, bustling, striving
To outdo one another, while
Following their dubious heroes
Emulating their style
What a fucking joke
Conspiracy and doom
Echoes of their self-created hell
Selling their sordid stories
Even when there’s nothing to tell
They feed off each other
Born again idiots spouting hate
Confidently assessing their own salvation
If that’s your ‘heaven’
I hope you go there as one nation
But without me
There is only one thing to guide you
And that is something called love
Measure yourself against that
Know it doesn’t come from above
But from within you
In love there is no jealous God
There is no nation above another
No person better than the other
Nothing more important than your brother
In love, no one need ever suffer
Tagged: Poetry, Rants
May 6, 2014
Thinking of Poetry
Just recently, I have been popping a lot of rhyme. Poems have been and continue to spill out of me and you know, thats just fine and dandy. I enjoy poetry. I enjoy playing with words and sounds. Somehow, poetry gives us the flexibility to play and joke with words and structures without having to worry too much about whether the result is correct or not. There surely in no correct in poetry – no right and no wrong. Poetry just is and it either works for you or it doesn’t. It doesn’t even have to rhyme!
When I write a poem I usually start with just a feeling. Not an idea. There is no plot, no characters to develop, no story line. Just a feeling. Poetry is, or should be in my opinion, about feelings. Words become the tools of feeling and the words chosen somehow resonate those feelings like an orchestra of string instruments. Hopefully, the reader is then also able to feel the poem too.
Strangely enough, the feelings I use are often those of long distant memories from childhood. I have written about these feelings and memories but normally structured writing can’t get there. It can’t somehow transcribe the feeling nor color it the way that it should be colored. Poems can do that. They bring color and depth and wavelength to feelings.
To me, poetry is like art. It is visual and should speak to your heart. You either like it or you don’t. Quite honestly, I feel like an artist throwing paint around and having a super messy time with words on my canvas when writing a poem. And don’t ask me to edit it. I basically write it. Spurt out those feelings in lines of words on to the canvas and when its done, its done. Whether good, bad or indifferent, it is done. It exists and it is somehow complete if not perfect. In fact, feelings are strange amorphous things that can never be quiet grasped or communicated nor reproduced even by words and phrases. The poem is never a perfect representation of the feelings but more of an approximation of the color, hue and heat of that emotion.
Funnily enough, almost all of the poems I have written recently have hit the paper while listening to Blackfield. Somehow, their music reaches inside of me and plucks out those feelings, emotions and vague memories or other existences and realities. This track in particular, has been very productive for me.
So, I hope you enjoy the poems. I hope they play your strings too and you find an entire orchestra of feeling within your soul.
Tagged: Poetry
The Sound of Dying
Sirocco breathe
Stalking me
Skeletal death
A crossroads
Decisions to be made
Deeply disturbing
Wrongly played
I stare at eyes
That pierce back at me
A shadow falls
Thinking radically
Passing muster
A heartfelt prayer
No one’s listening
Do it for a dare?
Synchronous monsters
Slithering home
Silence is golden
Especially when alone
Deepening despair
As eyes start to cry
Is this it?
Did I simply die?
Fading sounds
Darkening
Grounding
Rounding
A corner
Gone.
Image: The Dying Fall – JG Ballard
Tagged: Consciousness
May 5, 2014
Biology of Poetry
This is a really great article about poetry that I think is spot on in every respect and this man is a superb poet to boot…..
Originally posted on Poesy plus Polemics:
I write this with no claims to education or mastery of the art form. Rather, as an autodidact poet-in-training, I am ever humbled by my own efforts at poetry. It is an exquisite obsession whose practice, over lengthy time, has revealed some of its truths to me. I offer them here for consideration or reflection.
If poetry will ever find wider appeal, garner deeper affection, two things appear necessary. One is perhaps obvious, the other less so. Poetry needs to be read by people other than poets. In order for more of that to happen, poetry needs to be better understood by poets themselves.
Poetry is an eccentric literary species, with each poem an organic entity possessed of its idiosyncratic metaphysical biology. It is as different from prose as are mice from men. The taxonomy of poetry, I believe, has more affinity with drama, and even more affinity with musical…
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Texas Summer Sun
A summer rain falls
Wet but warm
Steam rises from the heated pavement
The Texas sun is strong
An endless scourge of baking heat
It’s only fit for ants and reptiles
And Mexican gardeners mowing lawns
Dabbing perspiration from my brow
Sipping on an ice cold yet tasteless beer
Can I make it to the cooling pool?
Or to an immense air-conditioned mall?
Hoping for relief from a passing thunderstorm
I’m dreaming now of winter
European snow – a good icy blow
Escape from this rabid summer heat
Slowly frying in my own juices
Dying from the scolding and abuses
Of the blazing midday Sun
