Download PDF Here Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume Two Sept-October 2022.
Look up, it’s still there, poems by Ray Whitaker
Look up, it’s still there
It is the authoritarians that inhibit the expression
of art, music, poetry and comedy. – Jon Stewart
There was a generator,
maybe its a capacitor pushing a impetus of development
a source of the growth
moving along the steps, one foot in front of the other
even tho you may have never
felt so alone
so strapped for friendship, and comfort
in your distant bungalow
still there is the driver
the place where the self comes
out of the blues
into a light.
The lyrics you are listening to would have you believe
that you are somehow a shining star
floating in among the galaxies
viewed from the Webb Space telescope.
All it takes is a good look around
looking far and wide
to see the injustice, inhumanity
insolence, the in-between, the inaccessibility
those inanimate insensibilities that conflict
with the sense of the way things are
opposed to the way things ought to be.
You see this without trying.
Multiple rounds fly from rifled explosions
into the people gathered,
for their reasons to be in public spaces
drilling down into the disambiguation
of the way the world works, or how it works not
those mass shooters [aka mass-murderers]
must feel that there isn’t a way to handle it
without killing, without violence.
We are armed to our incisors
ammo at the ready,
members of the public unwittingly walking by
strolling as if there was no concern
buying concert tickets has a different cost now
going to hear beautiful music from enlightened artists
comes with wondering
if it’ll be safe to attend.
Into your blues without having to think
like it is there as a natural part of the movies in your head
so alone, your hotel is burning in the night,
seen for miles away.
those of us that had parents that loved us
cherished our young diapered butts
saw to it that we grew without undue pain, and
don’t understand the why of terrorists, narcissists.
Empirically we know we know things
the result causing us shake our heads in disbelief
a New York woman walks without looking right or left
to the subway
are the terrorists,
-the truly talented sociopaths-
Or is it tomorrow that their insomnia will catch up with them?
War and pestilence flow
class five hurricanes and F-four tornados
whirl the sensibilities around
fires consuming landscapes threatening thousand year old trees abound
can’t let the depression take hold
one must be bold
to leave the city of night
and move into the light.
Yet we can still be a human [being?]
be creative and spiritually seeing
the end of your blues
there remains good news.
Can’t dwell on the loss of someone dear
knowing, feeling that they’re no longer near
gotta keep on going up to the stars
and stay outta bars.
The existential pain
is a part of what makes us, it is no Bain
to be human,
to Love even so, yes we can.
The two of them can’t help it
She reaches out
He stands too far away
the two of them just can’t help it
she stands in the moonlight
wonders about him, what is he doing tonight
the two of them can’t seem to help it
he walks in the creative sunshine
thinks of her as the sun warms his face.
Oh, yes, the two of them are living alone
they are walking the walk of their separate ways
it needn’t be, blue eyes could be looking into brown ones
oh, yes, the two live their lives alone
reckon it’s not the best for either, not the easiest,
their dogs are not the dogs of war, they are the best companions
oh, yes, living alone is the choice they’ve made
even so he wishes for her in the starlight
desires her closeness in the dark.
They could have different
she wishes that there was not the withhold
desires his warmth when it’s cold at night
they could have much different
he has placed his independence above
his wanting her softness and her quick wit near
they could be together
she has to be free
to walk with him by her choice.
One peak of the nearby mountains is higher than the others.
The lithic path is blind to what is in reach.
There is nothing that stands between Love and you.
© Ray Whitaker
Ray has been writing both prose and poetry since he was seventeen. What Ray is writing now is very different from what he wrote those so many years ago. All writers and poets are writing out of “the Self” however there are directions that the self speaks into, that change. Now Ray’s writing is to put foremost in his work, just who he is writing for. He intends on writing for the everyday man and woman. He firmly believes that poems need to reach into the everyday person’s pictures in their minds and engage with those. This is where he aims to make a difference in his creative writing. He’s fulfilled when he sees that his work is provoking thought in his readers.