Josh's Poetry
Josh very rarely showed me his poems, or even told me he'd written any, so I had no idea how good he was. It is a poignant delight to read these genuinely superb verses. He had revised many to a final state and typed them on an old manual typewriter we had up at the yurt in Colestine Valley. Josh told me how he'd been getting into banging away on the manual keyboard, but I didn't really see what he produced until Tara dug these jewels out of the salad of paintings, prints, sketches, and old music event flyers that filled his boxes and notebooks.
Ancient Victory
Old as I may be, old dreams die hard.
I had always wished to sell splendid paintings.
Maybe I will, some time.
Perhaps, a Sunday painter I will always be.
This is reality, my paintings are all locked up in my dreams, you see?
I seldom believe anything I read.
Though I believe all writers value honesty, above all things.
Save for fiction, possibly.
I doubt most people's motivations, mainly.
Emotions reveal themselves quite plainly, when distorted through the looking glass of speech.
To each is entitled their own opinions, I think.
I cringe, literally, my dear.
I shudder at the thought of your departure, so near.
The weight of this world is so enormous, that no one can bare it for very long.
Please hurry on your ride.
I have nightly seen the crimson tide as the moon hangs still.
Our lives dangle from a strand.
Death is very near to us.
To preserve your own life, you must sometimes fight and kill.
In killing your opponent, display kindness, show him the proper way.
Do not attempt to instill fear into your victim.
The battle is a noble one.
You fight for our honor.
The righteous man has already won.
Here hangs a shield.
Hundreds of years old.
Forged in the Golden Age of Peace.
A rose of victory is the emblem which is displayed on the battle scarred face of this shield.
Carry it with you.
Created by Josh at around age nine as a school art project. Josh never got props from public school arts teachers.
Ancient Victory
Old as I may be, old dreams die hard.
I had always wished to sell splendid paintings.
Maybe I will, some time.
Perhaps, a Sunday painter I will always be.
This is reality, my paintings are all locked up in my dreams, you see?
I seldom believe anything I read.
Though I believe all writers value honesty, above all things.
Save for fiction, possibly.
I doubt most people's motivations, mainly.
Emotions reveal themselves quite plainly, when distorted through the looking glass of speech.
To each is entitled their own opinions, I think.
I cringe, literally, my dear.
I shudder at the thought of your departure, so near.
The weight of this world is so enormous, that no one can bare it for very long.
Please hurry on your ride.
I have nightly seen the crimson tide as the moon hangs still.
Our lives dangle from a strand.
Death is very near to us.
To preserve your own life, you must sometimes fight and kill.
In killing your opponent, display kindness, show him the proper way.
Do not attempt to instill fear into your victim.
The battle is a noble one.
You fight for our honor.
The righteous man has already won.
Here hangs a shield.
Hundreds of years old.
Forged in the Golden Age of Peace.
A rose of victory is the emblem which is displayed on the battle scarred face of this shield.
Carry it with you.
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Aztec