Sunday evening at an angle

Cranking up the iTunes, selecting a playlist that opens with ABC's brilliant peaen to Motown master Smokey Robinson, "When Smokey Sings". Trying to get the scent back. I've been too distracted these last several days.

Sliding into "The Hook" by Blues Traveller. I slapped together the list to create a wall of sound. Living in the family room and being surrounded by two hyperactive teenagers addicted to video games, as well as a puppy in the midst of housebreaking, it is tough to find time to do much of anything but react to my environment.

And people wonder why my creative output has achieved what I perceive as a nadir. I don't resent the situation, I am like some four-dimensional storage battery; if I go without outlet for a time, I just explode later, hotter and brighter than before. It is my nature. All my major suppressive phases have been followed by blooms of unprecedented colour and fire and flavour.

But I miss the voice, the light, the sense that I can close my eyes and like Isaac the painter on "Heroes", just surrender to the power, my eyes glazing over as I attune myself to my preconscious rhythms.

"Tangled Up in Blue" is echoing in my ears. Bob Dylan has to be the archetype of the modern poet-turned-musician. His works are poetic, in the classic sense, and having started really as a club poet...he retained the truth of his voice. When I was young I didn't "get" him. As I matured, I recognized what was there: Authenticity.

Hold it, poetry leak:

all the angels

damn you and your beauty
for the curving of my space
I wonder if you could ever see
the mirror's envy of your face

caught in angles argent
and showing fairest trace
of what births passions regent
in those who seek your grace

all the angels speak of you
in whispers bright and clear
all the angels speak of you
as every moment draws me near


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Sometimes this week I need to author a new graduation poem. It is about that time.

Just finished Matthew Sweet: "Girlfriend". Now Neil Young and "Rockin in the Free World".

Why not now?

Graduation Poem

brace yourself for our embrace
tomorrows yet to come
we're on our way to find our fates
we are not where we are from.
but we take with us an essence,
a scent of where we've laid,
to carry as a reminder
as your futures we invade


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Hey, here's a picture of Morgantown High School, where I attended. You know, I have never been invited to speak there. I have spoken in dozens of schools, coast to coast: High schools, colleges, middle schools, even elementary schools...but never at my alma mater. Sad and strange but...life is made up of all flavours of sweet and sour, salty and bitter.

Pink just serenaded me with "Just Like a Pill"...

finishing up this escape with Prince's "The Pope".