Flight of the Falcon

Derelict sky: a single bird flies.

The winged-scavenger glides,
encircles the center of my area.

Nothing else exists, just this:
deserted grayish-dimension
nothing on the wires, nor ground
no sound, just a bird . . . a man

A mist falls on his outstretched wings
on every feather spread on his mighty back

and as the rain thickened, he repelled it
shed it, like a broken-minded man sheds tears

Motionless flight suddenly shifts

The bird’s glassy, black vision
channels down
upon these emerald
shimmers, and a vacuum culls
his eye to mine, calls my substance to the sky

His panorama becomes my own

yet I still stand in this gray, cool drizzle
to watch him fly away, alone, forgotten

in search of the crystalline . . . azure . . . that left him behind

© James Eric Watkins


~~~~



This an old one.

It's also a part of one of my poetry
manuscriptsthat that I've never sent
anywhere. Regardless, it's one of my
favorites of mine. As I hope you too will enjoy.

Being Sucked In

microscopic
gleam sprout
from this water-vapor white-layered darkness

to the outer edge
of an aura
banding refraction together like wisdom

around a lost tribe
of light, inhaling
the night, growing larger . . . stronger

enveloping
each hovering particle

until I pass
through its nucleus
and the car passes by

as I return
to the black road

and the fine mist
being sucked in-
to the headlights




© James Eric Watkins

Heart Walk: CHD Prevention Fund Raiser

The walk is today.

From all that I am,
I extend to every particle
in the statosphere . . . and beyond.

There are no days left,
yet the alpha seems to be upon us.

Hey You

Hey you! out there in the cold
getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me

Hey you! Standing in the aisles
with itchy feet and fading smiles, can you feel me

Hey you! don't help them bury the light
Don't give in without a fight.

Hey you! out there on your own
Sitting naked by the phone, would you touch me

Hey you! with your ear against the wall
Waiting for someone to call out, would you touch me

Hey you! would you help me to carry the stone
Open your heart, I'm coming home
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But it was only fanstasy
The Wall was too high, as you can see
No matter how he tried he could not break free
And the worms ate into his brain
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Hey you! out there on the road
Always doing what you're told, can you help me
Hey you! out there beyond the wall
Breaking bottles in the hall, can you help me
Hey you! don't tell me there's no hope at all
Together we stand, divided we fall



Written by Roger Waters. Performed by Pink Floyd on The Wall.

As far I can tell, this is the most accurate set of lyrics to this song,
in accordance to the actual music on the albulm. I gathered them
souly from listening. There are a lot of lyrics out there, but they
are incomplete, mostly there, but still incomplete. Even the "hand-
written" lyrics that accompanied the album and later the CD aren't
all there. The differences are subtle, but nonetheless differences.

On Religion: Just a Little Taste

I don’t feel the need to identify myself with a religion. I take nothing away from those that do though. For the most part, those who aspire to be religious have good intentions, they just need guidance, and religion can supply that guidance to them.

Often I tell those who enquire that I am not a religious man, but I am most likely the most spiritual man that they’ll ever meet. Say that to someone with conviction, depending on their capability to 1. comprehend what was just said, and 2. be objective, you might get an is-this-guy-crazy look. And the answer to that is Fuck yeah. One of the craziest you’ll meet. Also, one of the kindest.

I could never deny my Cherokee heritage that runs through my body like the water of the stream runs over jagged rocks, smoothing out time like a speckled stone, soothing my sadness, kissing my soul, ever constantly reminding me of a warrior who will never rest, a medicine man who sees spirits in a wisp of smoke and heals the mind with calmness, and a wise man who knows that humanity is our purpose, and that peace can always be found within the sound of the wind.

To be the best man I can be, to hold compassion as the key to life, this is my guide, not because religion says I should or I fear eternal damnation, but because it is human to do so.



© James Eric Watkins

Tanka: Black Sand

mourning’s door opens
slow-motion minutes tick by
sun flashes shadows:
crosses and tribal dances
swirling symbols of black sand

Gibbous Tanka

mercury vapor
light moon burns a hole in this
gray/black/blue night sky
growing colder, clouds: closer
around her elusive glow