Because I can't trust God
to look after the world and my friends.
Worship sure, wandering forests of legend
braiding flowers from the Tree of Life in my hair
while God's beard storms overhead.
But not trust. People die. Everyone dies.
It may be God's will but it's my won't.
Sea turtles live a thousand years.
My words can't become flesh.
My words can't heal an open wound.
But I am a poet and I know we need more time
to make our own huge splendid mistakes,
mistakes we deserve, not just the small clinical mistakes
built into out bodies.
We could have many-colored rings spinning around our minds
like the rings of Saturn.
We could map constellations around a lover's face
and every child could be the Messiah
because the world always needs saving.
God, it is a very beautiful world,
but no thank you, it is not enough.
No thank you for the sunrise when our eyes go blind.
A blank page is a place to list the creation
we weren't given. A shopping list of eternity
where we're never too sick to swallow fresh blueberries
and where the dance never ends.
A blank page is a paper bird to fold up and fly.
I can't change anything but I am a poet
and if I can't trust God I must speak
for the world and my friends.
Want more. Want so much more.
Test each day and night for ripeness
like a melon at the market.
You're crucified on the hands of a clock,
pull out those nails.
I'm throwing you a rope of words.
Hold on.
Julia Vinograd was a revolutionary street poet who threw bubbles instead of bricks. Her poetry was profound and she had a keen eye on what was happening in the world. She felt the suffering of the human race deeply and beautifully captured it in her poetry.
A feature documentary is being made right now about this important street poet titled: ‘Julia Vinograd: Between Spirit and Stone'. Check out her incredible story and sign up for the newsletter. Any support to help complete the first cut of the film would be greatly appreciated.
To read a few interviews with the great filmmaker, Ken Paul Rosenthal, check these out— Reaching The Head Through The Heart in Between Spirit and Stone and A Closer Look: On Making Julia Vinograd: Between Spirit and Stone
Appreciate you all keeping OUTLAW POETRY alive and thriving!
Beautiful.
I lived off and on the street maybe 6 years. Poetry started erupting out of me in the early l990s, before I was homeless. A 4-year dark night of the soul came, and a great deal of luminous and other poetry with it. I knew God existed, whereas before, I had only believed. A black night came, and there was nothing brewing in me but plotting every day how to kill myself, for 16 months. I was resurrected from that dead zone by something clearly not of this world. The first stint at being homeless came and lasted a few years, as more poetry came, some of which I could not assign to my own creation. I was not homeless and more poverty came, I was homeless again, and very little poetry came. V/ery little poetry came since then. Since late 2017, I'm not homeless. I'm 80. I when I wrote poetry, it was because it just came out of me. I did not sit down to try to make a poem. The poem sat me down to show me something about me, about life, and about much more, I came to view all of life as poetry.
"Test each day and night for ripeness like a melon at the market"..."crucified on the hands of a clock"... I mean honestly, how many perfect images is one poet allowed to access per poem? <3