These are the remaining poems (with one exception) that I wrote related to the passing of David Bowie nee David Robert Jones. As time passed I consciously stepped back. I read less and listened less to the songs and interviews, trying to overcome what had become a small obsession. I had wanted to drain all the juice out of this experience, know all that could be known. Put it in all into the bubbling stew pot of my creativity and see what came of it. What insights, what counsel on how to be an artist, how to live fearlessly, how to love whole-heartedly, how to die with grace. I wondered if what seemed to me to be essential questions might not be understood by anyone else. And then Nancy on LinkedIn responded with a comment that showed she got exactly what I was after in the first set of poems. Thank you!

I should say this is not a game to see if you can guess what I was going for. Any poem clearly has many interpretations. What I originally had in mind was one intention at one specific time. Later I may or may not even remember what I was thinking before. Sometimes when I read a poem after time has passed I am snapped back to exactly where I was when I wrote it, what I felt, all the details. And sometimes I read it fresh and see in the lines what I did not see when I was too close. I love hearing about other experiences of the poems. Part of the process seems to me to be co-creative, what you bring to the reading matters to the whole…right now.

Worldwide the death of David Bowie affected many people. Most of us did not know him, meet him, or even see him on a concert stage. Did he represent–through his songs and performances–a part of our lives when his music was the soundtrack to growing up? Did his reinventions open some door or make you feel less alone? Or perhaps some part of his story you did not know until now moved you or inspired you. Maybe he allowed you to see into the process of creation and urged you to make something of your own creative impulses. What will you make?

1/20/16

Bowie Transitions

To slump down
in mid-stride
last breath breathed
with family around

no torment or regret
a longing for more yet
opening the beckoning door
not a fight or fear

but gentle release into
whatever there is.
Smile intact and grace
returning to this paradise.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

 

1/20/16

David Bowie and More

Without a doubt
any telling of the story
selects and leaves out.
The final tale depends
on the point of view, the filter
of the one telling
telling it to whom.

Snippets taken out of context
what you see is what you get
unless time taken to expand
time stolen in reflection
dreaming with intention
intent on paying attention.

What is the meaning of any one life?
What was made of the moments
stacked up, always numbered
while seeming endless.
Not whether death was cheated but
whether life was served
whether radiant love expanded until
it overcame every earthly thing.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

1/21/16

Nature of the Artist

The artist is by nature
different
sees and feels what isn’t there
yet
compelled to create
by forces benign and malignant
without regard to balance
to personal cost
To survive then is to find
the narrow path
where the voices are fed
the body sustained
and the mind remains
an open container from which
the jumble is untangled
A feather brush is all it takes
to encourage new creation and
a feather brush is all it takes
to tip over into destruction

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

 

2/3/16

David Bowie Reflection in 3 Parts

1. After

People can say whatever they want
and some of it may be true
or true once when I knew you
true from a certain slant or
through a particular filter

From wherever I am
I will know everything then
and control nothing
nothing to forgive or regret
while bathed in that luminous ever-present

And if it is all quiet
no one speaking of me or
remembering even a little
or reading something I left
splashed all over the place

Well, I would hope I left enough
worthy of finding again
enough to turn up in
some future excavation
and I could speak or
sing from the heart again

Amen

2. Before

In the contract you signed
but do not remember
you agreed to the concept
of limitation and loss
with no understanding from experience
what that would mean, the inevitable pain
that would bring, at what cost.
The end of breath, of connection, of touch
not the end of love, of kindness
but how it feels is what you came for
expansion to learn from…to become.

3. Right Now

Dozing in my simple boat
securely tied to a sturdy dock
by a thick nautical rope

yet cut adrift by some hand
not rope undone, but severed by someone
and I am here now out of sight of land

never good at distance swimming
nor even floating with or against a current.
I have to find a way out of no way

starting here, with what I have
or can imagine, drawing what allies I can
opening…breathing…remembering kindness

to gentle anxiety over what I can’t see.
Against all evidence, the possibility
of a potentially friendly Universe.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

2/7/16

Usually…Sometimes…Later

Usually
not suddenly gone
first preparation
for leave-taking
then final breath
essence left

Sometimes
it is blink fast
from living breath
then last
Everything
led to this moment
this choice
this rippling out
of a life snuffed

Later
transparent clarity or
impenetrable mystery,
the mist resolves
or never lifts,
epiphany
or unending stasis,
a choice where
not choosing is
still choosing

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016