Things I Want

Framed poster of David Bowie hanging above my desk.

If I stopped to really think about it, I could probably list many things I want. Perhaps an unending list. And perhaps, at the end of the day, I really don’t want them–I only think I do. The dream is lovely, awesome, great, but the reality may not measure up; it may be unappealing, dissatisfying, disappointing, even disgusting. Could be a person, place, thing, or action taken.

When my granddaughter was seven, we were dancing to music I played on the stereo. I put on a Rolling Stones CD. You Can’t Always Get What You Want came on. As we danced, and I sang along, she copied me.

You caint always git wat’chu wont.
But if you tra sometime,
you jus might fine,
you git wat’chu need

 I smiled wide with joy and delight to hear her singing, especially with the cadence she applied, and to see her sweet, little face lit with cheer as she danced around happily. Love lit my face. Suddenly she stops and looks at me with a serious expression. “Sometimes you can get what you want, but you can’t get what you need,” she says to me.

“Yes, sweetie, you’re right about that,” I said to her.

The other day I watched a recording on the DVR of Alabama Shakes performing on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon. I’d seen them on Late Night with David Letterman. On Letterman they did Hold On. I loved the song, the music, the gal’s voice (lead singer, Brittany Howard), the performance. Bluesy, with heart, and from the gut. They performed Be Mine on Fallon. “Oh, man,” I said, “That’s  great. They’re great. I want that CD. Gotta have it.”

You got your needs, your wants, and your gottas. Sometimes there’s something you want, you know you don’t need it, but goddamnit you gotta have it. Humans are psychological beings. Some needs are intangible. We need to reward ourselves for all the hard work we do, the demands on our time, compensate ourselves for the shit we suffer.

I’m listening to rock n roll on  I’ve heard The Great Gig in the Sky by Pink Floyd, Comin’ Back to Me by Jefferson Airplane, Voodoo Child by Jimi Hendrix, and at this moment Come as You Are by Nirvana. I plugged in The Doors, wanting to hear classic rock, the rock I heard in my teens. Nirvana is hardly in that group, but I love this song. I very much like Nirvana. I think it a great tragedy Cobain died so young. I’m no fan of Courtney Love, though I think Hole is an extraordinary band. I listen to different kinds of music, depending on my vibe of the moment: Rock n Roll, Blues, Native American, old-school soul, and classic Country. I love Johnny Cash. I’m also a big fan of his daughter, Roseanne. The music I listen to feeds the juices of my creativity. Much of my poetry is inspired by rock n roll.

Some things I want, dream of, wish for:

  • To have a ranch in New Mexico and raise alpacas. I was born in El Paso, Texas, and then we moved to Santa Rita, New Mexico, where my father was from. (But he was born in El Paso.) Santa Rita no longer exits. The copper mine “swallowed it”. My mom had a brother and sister living there. I would’ve grown up in New Mexico, but an unexpected circumstance relocated us to California. So, I grew up in California. I want to return to New Mexico. I’d love to own a ranch, raise alpacas. Maybe I’d sell their wool to spinners, and maybe I’d learn to spin too. Or maybe I’d have the wool spun into yarn, and I’d sell the yarn. Maybe I’d learn to weave. Maybe I could start a non-profit for indigenous weavers. I dream of this.
  • I want to be published. When I first started writing poetry, publishing wasn’t priority. Now, I want to be published.
  • I’d like to teach creative writing. I’d need to be published for this, or possess an MFA. I’m not published enough. A couple poems is all. I’ve mainly kept myself to the shadows. I haven’t even stepped up to an open mic for at least a year. I don’t have an MFA. I only have a BA. I didn’t have a tangible goal when I went to college. I was divorced, in my thirties, had three children to raise, and I was trying to catch up, having gotten married at sixteen and dropped out of high school. I went to an adult school, a continuation school, to complete my senior year. I was twenty-four when I got my high school diploma. When I finally went to college six years later, I only knew that I wanted to study literature, especially poetry, and learn to write. I had a long way to go. I was so far behind. I still am.
  • Have my poetry recorded to music. That would be awesome. I dream of this.
  • To sell my paintings. I have to paint more if I want to sell any paintings. I need to

    Royal Rude-E
    Acrylic painting of my cat.

    get back to painting. Been too damn long. I haven’t painted since I moved to San Francisco five years ago.  😦

  • Learn to play the harmonica. I wonder how hard or easy it is to learn? I wonder if I have the capacity to learn to play it? Damned if I know. It’d be fun if I could.

Life is a process. A life unfolds. One should always have a dream to pursue. Live and keep living. Learn new things, try new experiences. Love life. Love living.

There’s only so much I can do. I do what I can. I leave the rest to the Creator and the Sacred Spirits.

Here’s a poem I wrote nearly thirty years ago. It’s one of my first rock n roll inspired poems:

Making it in the Mainstream

This flower bed
invites me to sleep
among the funeral’s scent.

I’m bent
with desire
to sleep forever
with the Lizard King,
whose dormant bud
rises in winter.

Butterflies murmur their sorrow
and scream his name.
I follow him
in a dream.

My bottled father
has seen many bars.
have shocked him.

We both know Satan.
My father introduced me.
The three of us babble
while my mother buries bones.

Good is bad,
bad is good,
the Mainstream
doesn’t know
the difference.

I want to lie
in this bed,
let down my hair,

in the Mainstream.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥


About Poet Dressed In Black

Poet. Artist. Grammy of one, a granddaughter. Mom of three, son and two daughters, all grown. Individualist. Care-taker of Isabel, an agoraphobic, fear-aggressive, very nervous, delicate flower, Chihuahua mix.
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