Larry Brody’s Poetry: ‘Everyone’s a Hero’

 by Larry Brody

NOTE FROM LB

I used to think that I’ve had to learn way too many lessons the hard way. Then I realized: So has everyone else:


Everyone’s A Hero

I wanted to be a hero, and searched from cause to cause.

Every moment was a battle, a contest between right and wrong.

Anger ruled like the most powerful dictator,

Shaking my limbs, and contorting my belly.

All those I met were my enemies, forever in the hero’s path,

Small, stooped windmills fighting dragons of their own.

They too warred for humanity, for their children,

And their children’s children, for honor and renown.

To them I was the monster, smack in their Quixotic way.

Our faces twisted. Our voices bore a blade’s edge.

How we thundered!

How we roared!

Our might was awesome. Our clashes were the stuff

Of which legends were made.

Archetypes flailed!

Egos toppled like heads!

Ah, what a world! What a fine, bloody field! What a life!

One day, I tired of the conflict. My arms grew too heavy to lift.

My armor was dented, and there were holes

In it where my self showed through.

When I looked around, I saw that the others

Were in the same shape as I.

Ah, I thought, what a world! What a fine, bloody field!

What a life!

My weapons clattered to the ground,

And I dragged my carcass away.

Everyone’s a hero,

Just for getting through the day.


Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.

Larry Brody’s Poetry: ‘Many Years Ago I Was Given A Gift’

 by Larry Brody

NOTE FROM LB

Performance art?


Many Years Ago I Was Given A Gift

Many years ago I was given a gift,

Although I didn’t know it at the time.

Oh, I was aware of my talent, and my

Responsibility, and my Big Chance,

But a gift? A gift was something

That just came to you, and I had to work at

My talent. I had to sweat and moan and

Force it all the time.

Now I have accepted what I was given,

And no force is required. My moaning

And sweating have stopped.

The responsibility, however, remains,

And in that is the true Big Chance.

I understand the meaning of the gift now,

And find joy not only in its use but

Its end, feeling thankful every time the

Right word or phrase or thought rolls out.

I have even learned to say what I feel:

Thank you, universe, for the poetry.


Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.

Larry Brody’s Poetry: ‘Guys With Ties’

Found on the interwebs although I saw my tie fighters on the interstate

 by Larry Brody

NOTE FROM LB

No showbiz in this one. No Navajo Dog either. Just, well, you’ll see soon enough. (Alternate titles: LA Life, Life in the Slow Lane, Real Suits…)


Guys With Ties

Years ago, when I was another me—

Striding giant-like over the withering

Turf of L.A.—I saw a fight on the

Side of the freeway. Two businessmen had pulled over

—For what reason I can’t say—and were whaling

At each other, ties flapping in the wind. Guys with

Ties fighting! Not just yelling, or swearing, or pushing

But using their fists just like they had seen on TV.

Traffic was at a standstill, so I watched for a time,

And I realized I was seeing something so important

That it had actually made me feel. Never would

I be able to understand, or communicate with, the

Tie-tacked gladiators, but I could sense their

Frustration and their outrage, their dissatisfaction, and

Their need to draw blood. My pulse quickened,

And my temperature soared. My chest

Tightened and squeezed. I was wearing

Levi’s, and an Armani T-shirt, one of a dozen

I had bought at a hundred dollars a pop, but

At home I too had ties. Hand-painted, silk,

Gorgeous works suitable for framing. Never

Had any of my ties been worn.

When the freeway finally started moving again,

I drove straight to the house, and went to my tie drawer,

Put on a ‘Forties antique. Just wrapped it

Around my Armani, and looked at myself

In the mirror.

Sure enough, I was dangerous. Dangerous

As could be. Ready to tackle the whithering

Dithering road.

But then I put away the tie. I was a wealthy

Man then, and didn’t need such a sign.

Business was for fighters, and while I was a

Warrior of words, they were wasted ones,

Filled with knowledge alone. Without the

Fighters to watch, I felt nothing. A few days

Later, I gave away all the ties. They had become

Nothing but symbols of need.


Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.

Larry Brody’s Poetry: ‘I Tried To Write Another Lie’

Mmm, sugar coating. Good for whose soul?

 by Larry Brody

NOTE FROM LB

Time now for a writing tip you don’t usually get in Screenwriting 101. Oh, wait. It’s not a tip at all. It’s a confession. Hmm….


I Tried To Write Another Lie

I tried to write another lie.

I’d written them all my life.

“I’ll just give them what they want,”

I said. “Write about the veneer.

Take out the heart.

Forget the soul.”

But my new muse said, “No. You can’t

Do that to yourself.”

“It isn’t to myself,” I protested. “It’s for

Them. The readers. They’ll

Like everything better this way.

Always have,” I said. “Always will.”

“Let me get this straight,” my muse said.

“You’re going to write a lie because

Your readers want lies. Not because just maybe

You’re the one afraid of the truth?”

I saw myself as a child, head down

Before God, resenting His waving finger

Only because I already knew right from

Wrong. I shook my head.

“No,” I admitted. “I want to lie

Because it hurts too much to

Be true.” I tore up my pages,

And went back to work, starting over

As I already was starting over in life.

My love smiled the smile that

Has earned her my heart.

“Welcome back to the world, kid,” Gwen said.


Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.

Larry Brody’s Poetry: ‘My Emptiness States Its Purpose’

It’s 3 a.m. Do you know where your mind is wandering?

 by Larry Brody

NOTE FROM LB

From time to time – well, okay, constantly – I engage in what I believe is a kind of self-analysis common to writers. In my case, it invariably goes like this:


My Emptiness States Its Purpose

So what’s this search all about?

What’s the point?

Do I seek truth? Beauty? Love? Life?

Is it a hunt for reality? For self?

And where do I look? Where do I go to find

What I need?

Am I in control? Or driven by demons? Compulsions?

Desires?

Is it the end that’s important, the solution, the

Attainment of the goal? Or is it the search

That everything is about? Am I blessed to

Hunt forever, or damned?

I tire, I know that. I tire of the restlessness,

The constant prodding, the emptiness within my

Soul. If I long for anything, it’s for an end,

For a chance to accept whatever is,

A chance to be.

A search for the end of searching?

Too simple.

Too paradoxical.

Ironic in the extreme.

Another word game between my spirit

And my heart.

An end to this sport!

If victory is out of the question,

Attainment an impossibility,

Then all that’s left is relief.

Feel it, see what happens. Say it:

“I want relief,

An easing of this restlessness,

The loss of this urge.

I want to stop dreaming.”

I lie.

 

 


Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.

Larry Brody’s Poetry: ‘I Met My Friend The Wild Indian At Dawn’

The Last Picture of the Navajo Dog

 by Larry Brody

NOTE FROM LB

D’neh, the Navajo Dog, is back in this remembrance of days far more glorious than any I’ve experienced that are part of showbiz. Who knew real life could be so shiny and bright?


I Met My Friend The Wild Indian At Dawn

I met my friend the wild Indian at dawn,

On a walk with the Navajo dog. She saw

Him first, moving toward us in the vanishing dark,

And for an instant she stood still and stiff,

Then ran ahead. The Navajo dog is a herder, though,

Not a warrior, and her way of defending me

Is to lead any possible enemies away. She has

Missed a few here and there, but on this morning

She was in fine form. She growled at the

Intruder, then started running obliquely,

Across a field, hoping to lure him after her,

Then cut back to me. The stranger stood his ground,

Spoke quietly. “Well, well, what’s your name?”

The Navajo dog was brought up short.

“You first,” she finally said,

And the two of them laughed as I reached them,

Each familiar with the other’s game.

The wild Indian held out his hand to me.

“Your dog,” he said, “is not your dog,

But you indeed are her man.”

I looked to the dog, but she said nothing

As he sat down on the still cold ground.

Told me the story of my own life, he did.

Missed not a thing. All of me was right there

In his tale. I was used to miracles by now,

Living with magic as I was, so I never thought of

“How—?” Or “What—?” Or “Huh—?”

I just nodded, and accepted, and looked again

To the Navajo dog. “It’s okay,” she said.

“I’ve always liked the Sioux. Tough people.

Killed Custer, you know.” I sat down beside

My new friend the wild Indian, and we watched

The night finish its fade. “Tomorrow we find some

Red willow,” he said, and when he spoke

I heard the jangling of bells. “After

We’ve gathered enough we start building

The sweat lodge.” The jangling grew louder,

Bringing with it the rhythm of the dance,

And every word he said seemed a prayer.

“You need to sweat,” said my new friend. “You need to

Meet your God face to face, and hold Him to account,

Even as He holds you. The lodge will take time, and

Care, and when it’s done, the fire will be hot, at first

More than you can bear. But in the end, He will speak.

He will show Himself, and you’ll know

What of your life has been your doing,

And what was simply God’s will. Maybe you’ll be off

The hook for some big stuff. More likely, not.”

Before I could speak, the Navajo dog shook her

Head. “Call Him the Great Spirit,” she said,

“And I’ll agree. Oh, and no flesh offerings. The Kid

Isn’t ready for that.” She nosed the wild Indian’s

Shoulder, which was covered with small scars.

Each one, I learned later, had been made with a

Quick scrape of the knife during a sweat. His God

Wanted meat more than tobacco for the pipe.

The negotiation continued, two Indians negotiating

How best to save my soul,

And because it was a new day,

In a new world,

I ran dirt through my fingers, and felt a hope

That has filled me with strength

And purpose I never will lose,

A hope that I really could become a

New man.

 

 


Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.

Larry Brody’s Poetry: ‘I Wish I Had Loved As I Was Loved’

The man in the velcro shirt!

 by Larry Brody

NOTE FROM LB

Short and bittersweet, or so many people may say. But if “art” means being totally honest in one’s work, then this is my acme of artistry. (Or maybe just my bad imitation of wisdom gained by reaching an unexpectedly old age?)


I Wish I Had Loved As I Was Loved

I wish I had loved as I was loved.
I wish I had returned all the fire.
But I was desperate for ten thousand wrong things,
And they were all that could feed my desire.


Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.