Science is for those who learn; poetry, for those who know. — Joseph Roux, Meditations of a Parish Priest
To be a poet is a condition, not a profession. — Robert Frost
Everything one invents is true, you may be perfectly sure of that. Poetry is as precise as geometry. — Gustave Flaubert

Friday, July 17, 2009

~ For Michael ~

©Bobbie Sandlin

My world off kilter, off key
My world so out of tune
A still and deafening silence
By the light of the midnight moon

The artist suddenly left us
His legacy in song
My piece of heart is missing
Surreal and yet so wrong

He was but the Master's brush
His dance so smooth and flowing
His canvas was the stage and hearts
Innovation, all his knowing

He sang out just to Thrill us
To unite the common man
Come Together, Heal the World
It is the Divine's plan

But alas, he is now silenced
Entombed and gold and roses
Speculation, crazy making
The world is all but frozen

Hearts cry out, "What do we do?"
We're numb in pain and tears
Teach our children, love one and all
Shed hate and conquer fears

He left a call to action
We'll get up march on
Humanity, unite in peace
It's love that keeps us strong

One day we'll hear a melody
All nations, races and creeds
Forever changed, our hearts and minds
He's planted angelic seeds

It's up to us to reap them
To hum sweet harmonies
Orchestrated, composed by God
This was sweet Michael's dream

June 25th, I was saddened to learn Michael Jackson passed away. It was weird. My life passed before my eyes, only in music. My husband was even struck in shock. "You Are Not Alone" was playing in the background of our honeymoon...I still can't listen to it lol. I can remember as a kid, closing the door to my room, putting my Thriller cassette into my tape player and dancing my heart out. I'll never forget the first time I saw the Thriller video. The music teacher rolled in the TV and VHS, popped the tape in and the entire class was just wowed. I can still remember that Billy Lucas had the red jacket with the zippers lol.
Michael's later years of course were marred with controversy. I was always a fan, never believed the allegations, and so I did a lot of searching. is a good place to start. I was shocked and angered at the way the press twisted his life. I was even more angered when I learned how huge a humanitarian he was, you know...the great stuff that the press never reported on. Finding a little boy named Farko a liver. The fact that he spent a lot of time on tours visiting orphanages and hospitals handing out toys and reading to kids.
Then I was reading and watching videos where he described his creative process...and I was floored, especially when he described writing. How basically he just moved out of the way and let God work. When he danced, it wasn't method, it was feeling. It dawned on me the only time I felt THAT connected was when I was writing, right after my seizure. In the beginning, a flow would hit, I'd scribble it on paper, and then just die at what I wrote and cry...I couldn't believe it. It's not about how good the poetry's the connection to the Divine. I just have this insane drive to write now. Where it leads me? I have no idea. But this poem For Michael was just wrapping my head around it all, shutting out the press, and contemplating on his life...and appreciating the Good.


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