Roger Guetta - Poetry

Written Word 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Does it play in Peoria as well as it does in Berlin?

 

Do our hearts and hands hold steady while the issues are being framed?

 

If I had my way I'd sell it all day.This show, this song, this rant.

 Individual solutions while doing nothin' at all.

 

Not at rest, not still, not idle,only here...over here..right here.

 Spin your head around Wrap your face around travel around try not to hide around...get your head around

 

 

it

 

 

Cover it with oneness and play it in the face of blue.

 Get a bloody nose,Play Achilles and point to the sky.

 Play it in Peoria then take Berlin.














 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 IN DANCE           
           
In dance, profound
before me
to mystery
I make my pledge
To search
to gesture
To dance as fluid as I can
 
In rhythms of primal surrender
before me.
To mystery
I give my thanks
For I am thankful
With you, I am,
Without you, I am not.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

OUT OF THE GROOVE  
 
Strike while the iron is hot
Move to the beat and hit the spot
Choose the road and mark your time
Tip off the oracle, share her wine.
 
Now is the time to mourn and grieve
For all who live the lie, and bank on the thief
Sacred cows and holy books
Gospels, Gita, and mother's look.
 
Faked it out for years on end,
And where did it get you, my hungry friend?
Heart-stricken, broody, and out of the groove
You lash, you hurry, you moanfully move.
 
What's up? , the dirge sounds
You had it and lost it in the first few rounds
Desolation, a tragic end, a wretched flash
Rich and powerful, still looking for the stash.
 
Making sense is too removed, its too stale now
So, you walk on shells to reach the "Now"
You ask, you fumble, you make your move
Only to burrow and rot in that familiar groove.
 
The answer my friend was once blowin' in the wind
The wind was a hurricane that held you still
As the answers soared and surged around your head
You reached by default, and admitted you were dead
 
You buried it that day in the eye of the storm
You surrendered, you confessed, you lost your form
So now, you think, even money is the worth of your life
You, criticize, you're unstrung, you tenure your strife.
 
Give up and lose the game
Or rise, mature, to seek your fame
Padlock the cramps, the twitch, the tingle and the prickle
Reclaim what's yours and ignore the elder with his sickle.


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I wrote this the day after 911
 
In a New York Minute
 
 
In a heartbeat, we entered the realm of the melancholy,
In a wink of an eye, we found ourselves at the edge of the abyss,
In a sneaking suspicion, we uttered true lies.
In a moment in time, we lost our balance,
In a glimmer of hope, we were swept away,
In a last gasp, we grew weary,
In a lasting desire, we lay naked,
In a sequence of events, we lost our rhythm,
In making due, we compromised our dignity,
In a New York minute, we faced unspeakable truths,
In a split second, we accommodated a solemn thought,
In a broken promise, we understood our fragility,
In a slim chance, we rolled snake eyes,
In a forced grin, we encountered our double,
In a double take, we fixated our eyes on the sublime,
In a round about way, we made peace with ourselves,
In a false step, we heard ourselves falter,
In dire straights, we rebounded to live another day,
In resisting temptation, we became God's savior,
In seizing the moment, we set the record straight,
In tempting fate, we lagged behind the running pack,
In tuning in, we arrested our development,
In twisting the truth, we fell prey to untold misery,
In breaking new ground, we lost our footing,
In flirting with disaster, we landed on our asses,
In a solemn oath, we deceived our own shadows,
In the eye of the storm, we captured our enigmatic spirits,
but lost them again during the calming,
In the depths of despair, we muscled our way to the front of the line,
In a stroke of luck, we lived the moment,
In a silent prayer, we forced a smile,
In a lingering thought, we assumed the position,
and didn't dare lift a finger
In calculating our every move, we faced our shortcomings,
In sensing danger, we reached in our pockets and made no sudden moves,
In embracing religion, we became zealots,
In rejecting religion, we became careful,
In acts of generosity, we let things slide,
 we let them slip,
 we let them sail,
 never asking anything in return,
In fine form, we insulted a humble soul.
 The humble soul remains us.

  

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Meditation.mp3