I pride myself in being all about discovery. I love to discover new things. Especially poetry. My book shelf is lined with old and new poetry books. Some I understand, some I do not. I will not give up trying to discover the hidden meanings in these poets work.
To my surprise an actor, Michael Madsen writes poetry. I went on a journey to read as much of his work as I could the past few days. He has a blog and another website for his work, and his books are a bit pricey. Must be nice to have enough money to self publish all eight of your books, and get so much attention. The privilege of being a Hollywood A-lister I suppose. I know, I know, sounds like a rant. But, I did begin to find some of his work I felt was worthy of praise.
He writes about his life, which we all do, he writes about fellow actors who have influenced him, partied with him, or taken their lives, and he writes the word 'fuck' in a lot of poems. I visualize a rough and tough bad boy here. Matter of fact he and I might even get along in person. I saw his mom is a writer, so maybe that is the talent well from which poetry springs up. We all have something to say, right?
For years I dreamed of being published through a high end house, and even thought about self publishing...soon I realized there was a lot to learn about writing poetry, even just writing since I was years behind due to my daughters illness and my job as a mom and bread winner, but I am glad I found so many of you out there that help me in my own self discovery.
However Michael, if you are out there, maybe listening, or even give a poop...try submitting your work to journals and on-line publications like I do. Let your poet peers have a glimpse at some of that work you write and give their two cents. How about standing up behind a podium and read at an open mic with us. Do they have A-lister Open Mics? Maybe you should start one, and invite other poets to attend. I would pay for an airplane ticket to see you read in person.
I wrote this after watching a few of his youtube poetry vids...
If You Sit Still Long Enough You Begin To Think
One afternoon
I watched actor Michael Madsen
read poetry behind a podium
my feet would have preferred
to move closer to the outside
to the real world
he writes?
and it’s pretty good?
the voice of a rough and tough
Hollywood bad boy has my attention
I like watching him ride his chopper on youtube
his words
his poetry, make me reminisce
about past mistakes
in grade school, I wanted to act
before my parents moved the family
to a new neighborhood, and a new school
where red hair, freckles and four eyes stopped all progress
halted my dreams of a part in the Christmas pageant
in which I was chosen to play the lead angel
back in the old neighborhood, and school
where I left my desires
my best foot forward
a door opened, for a younger would be
my memory walks their hallways
my could’as remain tightly folded in anger
Michael’s words also made me realize
I always wanted to walk along the golden coast
ride motorcycles and sleep with my groupie bad boys
to count their tattoo’s
shoot guns off roof tops while drinking Jack-n-coke
snort coke in club bathrooms with other A-lister’s
see my name in big lights, and in gossip magazines
next to theirs
I did ride motorcycles in my youth
rode midnight freight trains across Texas
smoked weed in the caboose with conductors
got my first tattoo after my daughter passed away
I was forty three
there is still so much more to try
Mr. Madsen
the poet in him and I share some of the same scares
but we run in different circles
maybe we run from the same past
but my curtain goes up when I wake up every morning
words form lines written by my own hand
no rehearsals
no time for regrets
Today, what I have
and have not are all I ever will need.
(First draft, and will be taken down if I decide its publish worthy...E)
