Spirits In Peace Blog

When it’s a prose poem, of course!

Not all poetry arrives in neat, tidy stanzas. Sometimes a poem arrives almost as prose, but is distinguished from that by still retaining poetic characteristics and language usage. Kahlil Gibran wrote prose poems, for example, as in the famed “The Prophet.”

Recently, as piece arrived in that format, basically requiring almost no editing other than the usual correcting of typos. When that happens, a poet knows the piece is in some way special - a gift from the universe, and the writing is often spiritual in theme or somehow related to spirituality.

Nature is always a great source of inspiration for me, and my muse is often most generous on a balmy day. After this summer’s incessant rains, the past couple of days have been sunny yet with a haze in the distance due to my proximity to rivers and the bay. Just the sort of weather when the Muse often visits quite spontaneously.

Here, then, is the prose poem that chose me as its author just yesterday.

The Hazy Day of Great Abundance

On certain summer days, when the southerly breezes off the bay brought a torrid heat accompanied by gentle mists in the distance, her imagination took flight as it rarely did in any other season. She hardly experienced epiphanies in winter, for example, her soul being too congested with the back-breaking labour of ice and snow for the whisperings of the universe to enter. But on this particularly hot day, with its incipient fog, she began to note stirrings along the lines of abundance and its relationship to addiction.

Let it be said that over the course of her three-score and some-odd years, she had come in touch with the usual assortment of addicts. When she was young, she encountered some who seemed unable to exist without a drug-induced high, and eventually the inevitable alcoholic or two made an appearance. Many of her female friends seemed obsessed with weight and food; some were overly concerned with relationships. And more recently, as face-to-face conversations were replaced with electronic chat rooms and dating sites, she came to the conclusion that many were hooked on these forums as well.

And thus, on this hot and hazy day, came to her a rather obvious realization: that which we feel we are lacking, we crave. The person lacking in human warmth and communication becomes addicted to chats; those lacking the high of euphoria become hooked on drugs, alcohol, and occasionally exercise. Persons who believe themselves unloved become love addicts, and those who perceive themselves as unseen and unheard crave attention. The second fiddle craves the praise normally awarded first violin. A dieter, believing herself to be lacking food, craves more of it, quite a self-defeating pattern, and one which she herself had often endured.

Realizing the perception of abundance to be the root of all contentment, as the mists rolled in off the surrounding rivers and bay, she said to herself in an unabashed manner, “I have enough.”

And this had been the gift brought in by the heat and humidity, of which there was most assuredly an abundance on this particular day…

Cover by Margrit Roussos

Poets may certainly be a breed apart. Often, we do not know where our work comes from; we do not necessarily sit down and think, “Today I am going to write a poem about trees” or whatever the case might be. Inspiration may at times be quite apparent, yet at times no direct motivating factor for our work is in evidence. It is as if we have an other-worldly, spiritual connection, and poems that are perhaps already written somewhere in the ether are simply channelled through us. Some of the finest poets in history no doubt have acted as scribes for such pieces. My friend and business partner Richard Doiron is a fine example. Many of his pieces definitely have that connection to the ether, making him a poet, novelist and biographer of the highest order, and I have seen his poems write themselves in a matter of minutes, with no editing or revision required.

The truly creative poet is often misunderstood by those who simply write poetry, often having to slave over a few lines in order to perfect them. They are sometimes shunned by the literati, who may be either envious of their abilities or possibly afraid of how their own meagre pennings will pale by comparison. The result is sometimes the alienation of the very best from the literary world. Many eventually sell out, often diminishing their abilities in order to be published and/or receive financial favour. But a stalwart few refuse to do so. Richard Doiron is a case in point.

This remarkable poet has many stories of such alienation, and long before he began to pen My Life As An Alien, I had already heard many of his stories over the course of the past few years, while in the process of developing this website ( www.spiritsinpeace.com). His colourful tales were and continue to be fascinating – a wonderful mixture of a life filled with outdoor adventure, actual sightings of alien spacecraft, and glimpses into the shenanigans of the literary world.

But to see, all in one place, the life story of a man who is undoubtedly the most prolific poet of all time and one of the highest calibre is to be awe-struck. The reader will no doubt laugh in some places, cry in others, and sometimes simply nod his or her head in understanding, for Mr. Doiron has a knack of drawing one into a life which has been, in many ways, extraordinary…

Writers, and in particular poets, are an oft-misunderstood species. Many do not conceive of us as having work days, preferring to see us as retired, unemployed, or non-productive. Yet poets are the most quoted of all authors, and the entire world claims to understand the concept of living one’s passion, as many talk shows have promoted over the last decade or so.

Richard Doiron has most assuredly done exactly that, knowing from the get-go that he was born to write. Over a literary career that now spans a good forty-five years, he has never once entertained the notion of selling out, of doing other than that to which he was born, or of lowering his standards to fit in with a pretentious and elitist circle, which is too often composed of and spear-headed by those who write poetry, as opposed to creative poets. Although he has achieved noteworthy success abroad, being published besides the likes of Nelson Mandela and the Dalai Lama, and awarded many prestigious prizes for his work, the recognition to which he is entitled in his home province has eluded him. Sadly, that is too often the case…

When one peruses the pages of this autobiographical work, one will gain a rapid and unmistakable understanding of the horrid strings that are often attached to climbing the wobbly ladder of the literary establishment and of the price one pays for not accepting terms which may mandate the selling of one’s soul.

Mr. Doiron has his soul very much intact, never having sold a single iota thereof. The scores of people from various parts of the world with whom this outstanding poet, biographer, and novelist corresponds on a daily basis can attest not only to his brilliance as a writer, but to his absolute integrity as a human being.

If you are interested in learning more about My Life As An Alien, go to the link: http://www.lulu.com:80/content/paperback-book/my-life-as-an-alien/6707272 There, you can take a look at the very intriguing cover and even preview several pages. And you will find yourself hooked.