{"id":313,"date":"2014-07-14T18:04:42","date_gmt":"2014-07-14T21:04:42","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.aerendel.ca\/wp05\/?page_id=313"},"modified":"2016-03-07T15:46:37","modified_gmt":"2016-03-07T19:46:37","slug":"aerendel-magazine","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.aerendel.ca\/wp05\/aerendel-magazine\/","title":{"rendered":"Aerendel Magazine"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

{{{{{ Archives & maybe even new stuff? }}}}}<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tom Rush<\/a><\/p>\n

\n

(A Tribute To Tom Rush And Crazier, more Hope Filled Days \/ Daze)<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

=====<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

( This Is To Tom Rush \/
\nBut That\u2019s Not A Title )<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve seen you reaching
\nto understand the feelings
\nof everyone around you,
\nlike you thoughts yours didn\u2019t matter,
\nyou remind me
\nof the things I like best in people<\/p>\n

People; we\u2019ve known our share
\n(pass the wine friend)
\nwe know that our heaviest burden
\nis that we care
\ntoo much for things
\nthat never give us a second thought,
\nwe\u2019re soldiers in a war
\nto bring love to our friends
\nwho fear it the most<\/p>\n

have to admit it though,
\nwe sure know how to live,
\nif livin is losin,
\nif livin is losin your soul
\ntwenty times a day
\n(tied off with a crumpled bow
\nand tossed) at the feet of the living
\nwhose dreams are bound to die
\nbefore their time<\/p>\n

they\u2019ll be back, Tom, the people
\nwhen their losing
\nbrings them to the questions
\nwe gave them answers for
\nwhen they were too young to ask,
\nwhen their breasts were new
\nand full of energy,
\nfull of idealism
\nthat told them
\nthe world was theirs<\/p>\n

they\u2019ll drag their heals
\nand feel their tears
\nand wonder about dying,
\nthe way we did,
\nbefore we saw them ready to fall
\nbefore we were ready
\nto fight all manner of gods
\nfor their happiness,
\nto strain every muscle
\nin our hearts
\nto keep them from crying<\/p>\n

pass the wine, Tom,
\nthe waiting is on us,
\nempty as a corpse.<\/p>\n

Jim Wellington (1971)<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

=====<\/p>\n

(( I came home from work one morning, to an empty house. All my \u201chippy friends\u201d and house mates had gotten up early to zoom off to New Haven to the farmers\u2019 market.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d had a rough couple days, with a new friend named Richie, whose parents had kicked him out of their house- he\u2019d scored some really bad acid and spent a couple hours puking his brains out in our reassuring bathroom.<\/p>\n

-And a fifteen year old girl had wondered into the house, wide eyed and helpless, looking like somebody\u2019s perfect daughter, flawless skin, beautiful eyes, thin young body wearing bell bottoms and soft suede shoes, a tight tee shirt of brown textured material with a wide cut between her hinted at breasts- the tee shirt held closed by criss crossed shoe laced leather. Long straight dark hair, innocent brown eyes. She was just barely hanging on to her sanity after some idiot had given her a first taste of Lysergic Acid Diethalimide .25 and she was calmly trying not to explode into millions of fragments that might never come back together right. I managed to let he know we believed she mattered, she was a wonderful human being with better than infinite potential. She wanted to hold my hands and look into my eyes and absorb that truth and feel really good about herself and the universe that was coming together to save her from her parents\u2019 particular form of insanity. But that inrush of truth and beauty and hope and love threatened to explode her again. I think, somehow, I said something that had her laughing with joy and launched her bad trip into a much better field of exploration.<\/p>\n

And I had to go to work in the midst of all this, leave Annie surrounded by friends I trusted to stand back and stand guard to make sure she was safe and happy and learning as much positive information as possible without exploding all over the place\u2026 (a poster of Jimi Hendrix turned and looked at her and said, \u201cWhat are you doing? \u2026 What did I do?\u2026\u201d ) And Richie from Long Island finished puking his brains out and sat around for a while staring at a very frightening panorama of monstrous faces forming the air around him and later asked for a ride to the emergency room, and he survived- ((( a couple days later he was playing his guitar and teaching me licks from Pink Floyd and Jefferson Airplane\u2026 )))<\/p>\n

-But I was freakin drained, dealing with long haul truck drivers who told me my beard looked like their girl friend\u2019s private parts, and the clerk work at the trucking company office kept coming and never gave me a chance to sit down and catch my breath.<\/p>\n

-So I came home to our hippy beach house and put on my newish copy of Tom Rush- the album that starts with Driving Wheel. And I cranked it a little louder than I would if anybody was sleeping upstairs or on the couch or passed out half hugging the washing machine\u2026 life was that kind of an adventure\u2026.<\/p>\n

And I fried myself a couple brown eggs and got the toaster to work and found enough coffee left in the pot to bring it all together into one of the better breakfasts I\u2019d tried to cook myself\u2026<\/p>\n

And I sat down in the living room (in the mix-matched furniture that only looked right in a rented beach house)<\/p>\n

And the music filled the universe with magic- every note relaxed and soothed another part of me that I hadn\u2019t realized was on fire. And Tom\u2019s voice was the soul of compassion and I could see the old man with white hair sitting on a park bench, looking through fading eyes at a world worth loving, and I wanted to get up and dance to stuff my momma would have warned me I better not dance to, all night long. and I wanted to drop my guard and feel the pain of crazy people who had a lot more to offer than I\u2019d ever realized.<\/p>\n

Star Children from the other side of the universe were coming to earth and infiltrating our wild and crazy hippy get togethers and donating secret bits of love and wisdom and compassion and hope. And they were using unassuming genius folk singers to help them spread their message.<\/p>\n

I had to sit down and write the above poem, straining to feel and find the words that fit together just right<\/p>\n

I typed up two copies and gave one to Annie (the fifteen year old hope of my lost tribe\u2019s wildest uncontrollable generation)\u00a0 She kept a crumpled up copy with her and read it read many times after being used and abused by flower children and people who hated flower children. She went to a Tom Rush concert because of that poem and loved every second of it.<\/p>\n

And I thought I lost my last copy of that typewritten poem but found it yesterday in a stinkin mildew and mold ridden mess in a storage unit a family member had filled with stuff that my brother in law had not burned when he set his house and fire and blew his brains out, never getting over the loss of my sister to cancer\u2026.<\/p>\n

And the original is inside a plastic page protector and this copy will be saved on five or six hard drives and on the web in at least three sites.<\/p>\n

Yeah, life is still worth living. Even if the only wine I want is the spiritual kind that warms you to the core of our universal soul and spirit.<\/p>\n

\u2014\u2013Jim, July 12, 2014 (Full moon tonight) ))<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

===========<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019ve Seen A Lot Of Green<\/a><\/h1>\n

Posted by Jim – July 14th, 2014<\/p>\n

\n

I\u2019ve seen a lot of green things lately
\ngrowing, trimmed to fit a grasping
\nneed to feel our power over life
\nand cars still speed past my window
\nin a hurry to get to somewhere
\nthey\u2019ll probably wish they weren\u2019t
\nyet their noises sometimes call me
\nto follow as far as your door.<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t ask me how I feel
\nI\u2019ll tell you, whenever something touches me
\nor reaches for my eyes or mind
\nsome complicated network
\nmade of things like telephone lines
\nsomehow pulls impressions
\nto a place where they\u2019re measured and
\nset in line with things that have
\nhappened
\nbefore.<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t ask what turns me on
\nthe music that once filled me
\nechoes of small ideas and wasted energy
\nthough I\u2019m sick of reacting to things
\nI can\u2019t control
\nI\u2019m lazy and lagging
\nI want to start something
\nthat makes sense
\nbeyond all this
\nbut I\u2019m tired.<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t ask me what I want
\nI\u2019m afraid to tell you
\nsomeone with soft hair
\nwhose eyes I wouldn\u2019t push
\naway from my mind, leaves
\nan image that won\u2019t let me think
\nto the time I\u2019ll stop my dreaming.<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t ask me what I\u2019ve found
\nI\u2019ll skip over the rulers of darkness
\nand light
\nand mathematical formulas
\nthat can teach you why
\nthe Earth moves and grass grows
\nand forty thousand people a year
\nhave to die in cars;<\/p>\n

And I\u2019d tell you
\nI\u2019ve learned that I need her
\nHer!
\nand daily look for reasons
\nto make her laugh
\nwhich set aside
\nfears that keep my hand
\nfrom reaching for hers.<\/p>\n

Jim Wellington (4th try, August 24, 1971)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

==============<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Road Kill<\/em><\/h2>\n

 <\/p>\n

A Poem Entitled \u201cRoad Kill\u201d<\/a><\/h1>\n

Posted by Jim – March 7th, 2016<\/p>\n

\n

Road Kill<\/em><\/h2>\n

 <\/p>\n

argh)<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

(cows wag their tails<\/em><\/p>\n

in time with Peter Gabriels\u2019s<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cGames Without Frontiers\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

And I begin to wonder<\/em><\/p>\n

if I\u2019m feeling really good<\/em><\/p>\n

or lost touch with something<\/em><\/p>\n

like \u2018consensus reality\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n

whatever that is\u2026)<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

(I drive for a living<\/em><\/p>\n

deliver newspapers<\/em><\/p>\n

on a two hundred and fifty mile loop<\/em><\/p>\n

through rural finger lakes new york<\/em><\/p>\n

and the stereo keeps me grounded<\/em><\/p>\n

reminds me I haven\u2019t really<\/em><\/p>\n

left the Earth of my childhood<\/em><\/p>\n

behind)<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There\u2019s a woodchuck<\/em><\/p>\n

he\u2019s been sitting every day<\/em><\/p>\n

for the past week<\/em><\/p>\n

beside the body<\/em><\/p>\n

of his friend<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (or lustling?)<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2018Smack dab in the middle of the road\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2018Possums die so ugly<\/em><\/p>\n

every one of them<\/em><\/p>\n

looks like it\u2019d been dragged for miles<\/em><\/p>\n

then tortured hideously for hours<\/em><\/p>\n

but woodchucks look so peaceful<\/em><\/p>\n

<like they\u2019re sure they\u2019ll be<\/em><\/p>\n

re-united<\/em><\/p>\n

with their splattered friends<\/em><\/p>\n

and lovers>\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

sometimes<\/em><\/p>\n

I guess I\u2019d rather <\/em><\/p>\n

be a woodchuck<\/em><\/p>\n

sitting in the road<\/em><\/p>\n

hoping an eighteen-wheeler<\/em><\/p>\n

does it right the first time<\/em><\/p>\n

[ instantaneously ]<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

(I think there just might be a conspiracy<\/em><\/p>\n

to cover all of new york state\u2019s roads<\/em><\/p>\n

in fur-<\/em><\/p>\n

but, like most bureaucracies<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2018they\u2019 can\u2019t agree on a time table<\/em><\/p>\n

so by the time they add a third pelt<\/em><\/p>\n

the first and second have blown away <\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Jim Wellington<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 June 21, 1989<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Posted in Aerendel Magazine<\/a>, Creative Imagination<\/a>, Creative Writing \/ Poetry<\/a>, Indigo<\/a>, Uncategorized<\/a> – Edit<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

{{{{{ Archives & maybe even new stuff? }}}}}   Tom Rush (A Tribute To Tom Rush And Crazier, more Hope Filled Days \/ Daze)   =====   ( This Is To Tom Rush \/ But That\u2019s Not A Title ) I\u2019ve seen you reaching to understand the feelings of everyone…<\/p>\n

Continue reading<\/i><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"spay_email":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-313","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/P6xoJi-53","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.aerendel.ca\/wp05\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/313","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.aerendel.ca\/wp05\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.aerendel.ca\/wp05\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.aerendel.ca\/wp05\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.aerendel.ca\/wp05\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=313"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.aerendel.ca\/wp05\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/313\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":743,"href":"https:\/\/www.aerendel.ca\/wp05\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/313\/revisions\/743"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.aerendel.ca\/wp05\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=313"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}