Seeker Magazine

Jason Kieronski

A physical education student at a mid-western university, Jason writes the following:
As I began to write poetry two years ago, the mud in my water glass was beginning to settle. I had pent-up love, anger, joy, contempt, confusion and a myriad of other thoughts of the world that had to be let out. Poetry liberated, contemplated, and extricated those emotions from underground and allowed me to be open with myself without inhibitions.
Hence, my poetry is boundless.
I believe that poetry is akin to philosophy, which is in turn akin to meditation. These three form the triangle foundation of my writing. Poetry touches my heart, philosophy touches my mind, and meditation touches my soul and the entwining produces my words. Hence, my poetry is correlation.
Also, I try to account for each voice within my head in my work. Of course, the voices never stop, but when the noise is silenced and one is heard clearly, that is when my writing begins. Hence, my poetry is silence.
In my experience of writing, I have never been able to write when I desired or forced myself to write, but only when the moment allowed me. Hence, my poetry is patience.
There is also an impulse that has developed inside of me, which has become essential to my writing. It tells me to stop, look, listen, taste, go, write. Hence, my poetry is spontaneous.
Like the underground man in Dostoevsky's book Notes from Underground, I write for myself, but with the accidental intent of being read by many and heard by all. When I mention heard by all, I mean that poetry is not only a written genre, but a spoken one, too. Though, some poetry is better left on paper, most is best received when spoken. Hence, my poetry is performance.
Lastly, in the course of my writing, I realized that poetry was exactly like any sport or activity. The more you practice, the better you get. It is not, in my opinion, an art that a select few can do well, but only done by few and possible for all. If only one would take the time to examine thyself and their surroundings, then they shall find no prohibitions. Hence, poetry is universal.
I write to perform. I write to have a voice. I write to change minds. I write to be identified. I write because I have the right.

Stand
bring in the noise
bring in the thunder
release the beast thats been hidden down under
from under the masks
from under the lies
from under the wool that is pulled over our eyes
untame the lion thats been silent for years
complacent from fears
and suppressed by the pressure of peers

act your rage
to escape from this cage
act your rage
and start writing the first page
in the next chapter of history

it shall be known as The New Revolution
and the first line will read Minds are changing.
for the only way to change is this and this alone
no new programs
no new gimmicks
no more hoopla
to avert our attention
and so like the quiet before the storm
the new revolution shall be upon us

therefore, pay heed to those
who passed wisdom on before us
and mold it into your own
but have fair warning
be ready to stand alone
for Socrates stood alone for Truth
Jesus Christ stood alone for Love
Gautame Buddha stood alone with no ego
Martin Luther King, Jr. stood alone for Justice
and I,
I shall stand alone for you and you and you and you and you.........
No matter who YOU are!

One Man Show
When I listen to music in my automobile,
it is a holy ceremony.
My Sunday Mass, everyday.
On the way to work, coming back from a friends house,
or wherever it is I am going.
It is of secondary concern.
My music and I as one.

When I listen to music in my automobile,
I am conducting Beethovens 9th Symphony
I am singing Peace Frog, not Jim Morrison
I am playing the guitar, not Tom Morello
I am sliding the harmonica between my lips, not Bob Dylan

When I listen to music in my automobile,
my mind melts into the rhythm.
I become a puppet, in which the sounds
are the strings leading my body every which way.
My window to the world closes
and opens to the Stage of Imagination.
I pluck the strings of my mental guitar,
the steering wheel and dashboard become my drumset,
and the air around me is my microphone.
I begin to perform for what created me and gave me life.
My voice projects to the heavens above and by showing
True passion, True energy, and True feeling, I give thanks.

When I listen to music in my automobile,
passing motorists laugh and yell snide remarks.
F*$% THEM.
I am alone with no ego.

As I write this poem,
I have visions of people smiling and nodding.
Agreeing with what they hear
Knowing that these words are identifiable

Tao Thought
When problems arise, the third-person is held responsible.
When achievements occur, the first-person is acknowledged.
Reverse the roles.
Accept your failures.
Detach from success.

A Stranger
i stand in front of you
hopeless and half-naked
face in my hands
weeping
what do i do?
what do i say?

i raise my head from my shield and
look into your eyes
i know why you have lied
you wanted to belong
you needed something to believe in
image became everything
truth became nothing
you sacrificed your Self

hatred thunders forward
my teeth and fist clenched
eyes ablazing fire
i yell, WHO.....ARE......YOU?....
WHAT HAVE YOU BECOME?........
my truest companion has become a stranger

frustrated and betrayed
i thrust back my fist and punch your face
i fall to my knees
grasping my bleeding hand
and scream at the broken glass
I FORGIVE YOU!

NOT
I am not a number in a database,
350 horsepower or a paycheck.
Nor am I a name, age, class,
nationality or race.
I am not the clothes that I wear,
the town that I live in,
the school that I attend,
nor the style of my hair.
I am not what I eat,
the music I buy,
the first impression I give,
nor the shoes upon my feet.
I am not a grade on a test,
the team in which I root,
the length of my penis,
nor the size of my chest.
I am not what I was,
I am not what I will be,
I am not what I am not,
thus I am what I am.
Whatever that is?

Alone

By thought alone, there is god By thought alone, there is change By thought alone, there is real By thought alone, there is time By thought alone, there is me... ...standing alone

Untitled
through the halls of opinion
upon the floor of lies
surrounded by the air of illusion
i approach the door of truth
i knock
each day i am knocking
never an answer
but today
o today
i see a silhouette come to the door
and open it to me
no flesh
no eyes
no ears
no tongue
no nose
i demand, Give me the Truth!
but it gives no reply
only implication to lead my eyes
to read the sign next to the door
that i did not see before
and it reads
no solicitors allowed

Nowhere
standing in the middle of two extremes
forced to a decision or so it seems
what to do?
what to say?
like a turtle under attack
I want to hide away
away from the noise
away from these people
the people who alway seem right
when all I am is wrong
so sick of hearing that same old song
that same
same
same damn song

yet, everything keeps going round and round and round again
go to college
get a job
marry
have kids
send your kids to college
they get a job
they marry
they have kids
on
and on
and on
down the line
while I stand like a stone at the center
watching the movement
looking for a space to fill
desperately seeking to find out
how a square fits into this circular world

I mean,
I'm 21 and I go to a bar not to drink
but to think
to think whatever there is to be thunk
whatever it is that is on my mind
I do not desire to be part of the real world
because it sucks
I do not want to do the bare minimum
I want to move the unmovable
touch the untouchable
reach the unreachable
never dealing with it
never settling for nothing
so, where do I belong?

I need to find where Nature is not an employee
where Jesus Christ is not merely an expression of
anger
disgust
or discontent
where there is not a McDonalds on every corner
in every town
in every state
in every country
where patience is considered a virtue, not a vice
where giving is not only for christmas and birthdays
where money and praise are not the measure of all things
and where justice is served by an infallible hand

O how I long to transcend
how I long to see the light at the end
the light that blinds external eyes
and is lost by unsatisfied sighs

Take me away from here
Take me away to nowhere

where is nowhere?
DONT KNOW

(Copyright by Jason Kieronski, 1999 - No reproduction without express permission from the author)

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Letter to the Author:
Jason Kieronski at Powap12@aol.com