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    Cuz Somewhere Along The Line I Forgot My Self
    Cuz Somewhere Along The Line I Forgot My Self
    Cuz Somewhere Along The Line I Forgot My Self
    Ebook113 pages35 minutes

    Cuz Somewhere Along The Line I Forgot My Self

    By Scott Vanya

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    About this ebook

    In the last three of four years, I have come to realize the metal of a man is not in so much what he earns, nor how his daily bread is spent, but rather in how much he stands up for his ideals and how well he abides by them. This book as the other two books released simultaneously, Might As Well Fly Away and Too Much/Not Enough, all speak to this point in one way or another. And whether it is standing up for the clinically depressed or speak out for the eternal spirit of the poet, each poem is written with it and only it as the focus of attention. And thus Nothing is left out of any of them. As a whole they speak to the vision, I have of a world not fettered by personal possessions, nor private notions of My This Your That.

    Perhaps, they will speak to you, and ring a bell larger or small inside you that says: This Spirit I have inside me (that is yours not mine) is as noble and grand as any mountain and as pure as any spring. And it is my not only right but obligation to set it free!"

    If this happens then the work and love that were "put into" the three books will not have been in vain.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherScott Vanya
    Release dateJan 23, 2015
    ISBN9781310602955
    Cuz Somewhere Along The Line I Forgot My Self
    Author

    Scott Vanya

    I've been writing for a very long time, what seems like my whole life, taking it seriously from the time I was about 11. Now, at 46, I think I may be starting to get the hang of it: Say what you feel, as passionately as you can, but always with an ear turned to those who are listening.Most of my more serious work is done at live performances, which i do totally extemporaneously, channeling the mood of the room as my fingers play on the guitar. You can see some of that if you go to "my" website. (Open Mics Austin is a platform I created to showcase the Spoken Word scene here in Austin, TX. Only a small role in which i play.)As far as I can tell what makes good writing is LOVE. Love ,plainly simply, and with no strings attached.I put these words/books before you, not so much because I want something back from it, because I think and feel like I feel my bones and my soul, if you were to see the world, experience it like it do, for even a brief moment, you would walk away from that happier, more alive, compassionate and in tune with all those around you.Peace, good will, and harmony. Let those be your guiding light.Agape forever,Scott VanyaPublication Credits:Stepping Stones Magazine, The Main Street Rag, www.carcinogenicpoetry.com, Texas Art Initiative, Phoenix New Life Poetry, Walt’s Corner, Manna, Perigee, Chicago Literary Review, Mobius, Cosmic Trend, Pitchfork, Romantics Quarterly, Artisan, Pegasus, The Neovictorian, Red Owl, The Story Teller, The Blind Man's Rainbow, Atlantic Pacific Press

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      Book preview

      Cuz Somewhere Along The Line I Forgot My Self - Scott Vanya

      If anyone knew what to do

      They sure haven't told us.

      Just bits and pieces,

        here grace

        there patience

        or tenderness

      Kindnesses and jests.

      If anyone knew!

      And that's the last gas

        everyone of us

        has a part of it

        yet no one

        all of it.

      So we sizzle

        like crayons

        left out on the concrete

        after a child/

        ALL children

      have painted their masterpieces

        on the sidewalk!

      And the only thing

        I can think to say

      Is All Right Then!

      Hallelujah!

      Hal-le-Freakin'-lujah!

      Hal-le-Freakin'-lujah!

      We each only know but our One Bit of The Truth!

      Previous:Next

      Billy, Ol' Boy,

      Let's curl up

        together here

      around this pad

        pen

      other acutraments

        and waning Sun

      and laugh together.

      Along not against

        all

      the Insides-Coming-Out.

      "We have

        guffawed for so long"

      sometimes I think to my self.

      About the hidden recesses

        of our mind

      like

        "Old Tortoise

          digging with

          its hind legs

      a deep depression in

        the sand bank

      where it drops

        its

        eggs."

      If you see any

        likeness unto you

        in it

      it is not by mistake.

      As someday

        a she

          will see

        a likeness of herself

          unto me

        in it

      as she writes.

      And all of our eyes

        open up

        for a

        split second

      to peer into the darkness

        attempting

          to make out

        some lightness in it.

      -Love -

        Yes, that truly is

          The-Ticket-

          The-Old-Man-Gives-Us-All

        for-Speeding-to

      Quickly-Thru-This-Life.

      Just to teach us to slow down,

        and not hurry:

          as a hand on a face

          or a cheek to a cheek

          enforces while simultaneously

          negates the Law of Causality.

      I wish you could

        have seen

      the way out of which

        I too (like you) discovered

      my eternal

        elvish self.

      Yes, truly your admirer and heart-bound friend,

        Scott

      P.S. if we did not meet then, then we meet now.

      Previous:Next

      If I were to

      If I were to

        count my breaths

        they would lose

      their efficacy.

      For breath is not

        sung to a 1-2 beat,

      but a flow

        like the flower

        does it.

      When I see

        on cold days

        how mine

      crosses paths

        with the wind

      I know my body

        is just

      as such:

      A cloud in a breeze.

      By blown I mean feel.

      By sit I mean

        completely rest

        unmoving

        all the world

        spinning around me.

      She tethers

        me to you

      This gentle

        thorough-fair

      of air.

      Out chests do not

        miss a beat

      It is just

        the air

        flowing through us.

      And Wind?

      She is dappling

        sand across

        the desert

      in steep

        arcing dunes.

      She is leaves falling

        and shuttling away

        down the street.

      She is eyes

        sprung wide

        and closing

      again as she

        butterfly-

      kisses me on the cheek.

      And all the while

        we all

        breathe.

      This:

        Where there is

        no in nor out.

      That is The Way of it.

      Previous:Next

      The Quiet That Defies Men's Souls

      So what if I borrowed the rhythm,

        the time,

        the quiet.

      Like after a good film,

        when the music plays

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