Who Am I?

Who I am

Eric Anthony crew

It's me,

me that is unstoppable,

immovable and unbreakable.

It's me,

unbending in my will,

yet still so pliable,

mendable and changeable.

So who am I?

I am molecules and atoms and energy,

I am emotions and logic and reason.

Who I am cannot be explained within the limits of pen and paper,

Nor can I be expressed or learned or taught.

Yes It's me;

an original individual with a mission,

a man with a plan that parts me from the rest.

It's me because I choose it to be.

Though no choice of mind or matter can alter the fact that while I am me,

I am still you,

I am him and I am she.

I Stand Alone

I Stand Alone

Eric Anthony Crew

Into the green fields and luscious foliage I roam,

Embracing the sweet smell of roses and flowers as I tread,

Smiling, wider still, I inhale the particles of air and dander that beseech my lungs to a deeper taste.

Around myself, a great loneliness encompasses me,

And I realize that within that feeling I am comforted, for I am never truly alone.

The towering trees wash over me with their cold shadows,

Kissing my skin lightly as I wander further into the path that beckons me.

What great thoughts and images I endure that I will never remember?

What horrible things have I done that I will never forget?

A bittersweet complacency fills me as I realize nothing matters most than this moment interred.

And my eyes open wide once again to my reality,

My solemn expression brightens the cold city that surrounds me.

The symphony of the wind cuts into my ears as the temperature melts into my consciousness.

The busy lives of many men flow like a stream between the still and silent buildings around me.

My breath escapes from me and is torn away into the night.

As I search the crowd for another to notice as I do the inconsequential details of life.

I once again look up from the masses and watch as the empty sky swallows the rooftops.

And suddenly, I remember the roses blooming and the sun fleeting through the leaves in the trees.

I remember the smells of spring and the tides of a distant shore calling.

And again, amidst the crowd under the shrouding darkness of the city,

I remember that immense loneliness.

And as the next pass of wind washes over me a smile spreads,

For that is the most comforting feeling of all.

A Eulogy

And As The Storm Rages On...

The powerful thunder rolls over the sky like a dragon,

It's hypnotic song dances through the malevolent clouds,

The darkness that encroached the land is luminated suddenly,

Explosions of light strike down at the beaten Earth,

As if to remind the living of a stronger Force,

The sky is sullen and weary, ready for its renewal,

In the absence of color and light, there is still beauty,

That magnicient void can be seen without eyes,

And yet, under these blanketing clouds, I find redemption,

In the shifting rain, I find your comfort,

The pressure of each drip is like your hand guiding me forward,

In the howling wind, I hear your wisdom,

The sounds of your wispers are all around me and within,

And through the Darkness, I can feel your light,

Your soul,

Your presence,

And I know,

 I understand,

That in me your love will live forever.

A Eulogy By Eric Anthony Crew - June 13, 2007

A Really Old Poem From A Darker Time

Death Watch

Angels In Heaven watch down on me,
Even though I do not see,

Keeping Death away at bay,
No matter what I do or say,

He's come for me once before,
My soul was claimed and was no more,

My heart was silent, I took no breath,
Until my Angels took me from Death,

Rekindled was my breath and heart,
A second chance for life to start,

Perhaps that's why I cannot see,
These Angels that watch down on me,

Keeping Death away at bay,
No matter what I do or say.

Pathways...

In all the choices we make,
beneath our feet in the directions we choose to step,
the effects of our own mindset are all around us,
the energy we exhude collides with the spirals of light we cross,
the emotion we portray billows into the empathy of another,
the thoughts we believe are sacred will influence the stranger you just passed,
and the truth behind it all is within your eyes,
and to behold the truth one need only to look inside,
for we always knew and always will know,
that life is tangible, pliable and easily changed,
so then why do you ask of me,
How does any of this matter?

Ascending The Plane

ASCENDING THE PLANE

The time has come for me to rise,

Born from pain to make me wise,

The will to elevate before I die,

Cannot be answered when you ask why,

The lies and cries that you oblige,

Negate the love for which I complied,

Sordid thoughts sift through my mind,

Frozen within our place and time,

The time has come, this I know,

As sure as a cut and the blood let flow,

Yet, before I go and leave this world,

I'll fix what was curled and left unfurled,

There is much to mend, our broken days,

There is more to heal, our fallen ways,

The time has come and in this writing,

I send my wisdom to do the fighting.

Eric Anthony Crew - May 24, 2007

Using The Golden Ratio To Write A Poem

Using The Golden Ratio (Phi) To Write A Poem

One Point Six One Eight

The Aurea Mean

0

1    Why,

1    I

2    wonder,

3    do we not

5    learn the truth of things?

8    What would we gain to understand?

13    In a vein attempt to define our differences,

21    We lose sight of the similarities that originate within all living things.

34    I am reminded of Archimedes and the irony of his simplistic spiral, depicting the orderly creations of man.

55    Human creations tend to follow this design; from the coils of clay to the reed of a basket weave, even paper towel rolls expand exponentially, yet are confined by our limited static materials.

89    The unconstrained products of nature follow a more complex design, using living materials that increase gradually in mathematical precision, Nature's spiral is found in all life; it matches the curve of still forming fetuses, the curl of muscles over human hearts, the columns of a seashell, even the leaf placement as a plant grows.

144    Since life on Earth follows this code, it's safe to assume the Universe does the same. As difficult as it may be to comprehend, one needs only to open their eyes to your surroundings and the answer becomes clear. Bend over to pick up a flower and your seemingly unconnected movement is proportionate to the motion of the bending of your arm and even the curl of your hand as you pluck the pretty petals from its' own beautiful spiral. Knowing this, who then could argue that we are not all connected, if we are all indeed the same thing. A perfect equation.

For this piece I used the Fibonacci Sequence meaning I used the gradual increase of the number plus the one before it - or another way is to multiply the number by 1.618 - I continued instead of retreating back to zero and the numbers are in the syllables of each word and section. Just an attempt at something different and I would have to say the most difficult peice of writing I have conjured up as of yet. Took me over a day... Anyway, I hope this introduced some people to this incredible 'truth' and to others in the know, I hope maybe this inspired you as well...
cheers...

Eric Anthony Crew

A Runner's Song

A Runner's Song

Inhale.
Before I go there is always a feeling of calm that grips me.

A satisfying rush above all others before I begin.

Exhale.

Forward.

Constantly moving forward.

I would look back if I were brave, but the inertia keeps me in check.

Inhale.

My steps;

Elongated from my stride, crash along the pavement below me.

That abrasive sound pushes me even further.

Exhale.

Nothing.

Nothingness moves me.

The moment the ground is pushed away from my foot it becomes just that,

Nothing.

Inhale.

I seek the difficult paths or dangerous trails to travel.

The city provides me with living obstacles to confront, unlike the wild woods.

Exhale.

Forward.

I should stop now that I see the road isn't clear ahead.

Yet, somehow I know when I get to that point the way will be opened, so I press on.

Forward.

Inhale.

So, I continue, no concept of anything other than what I am doing.

No ideas or beliefs to stop me now, I just am.

Nothing.

Eric Anthony Crew

Soul Slave

Soul Slave

It always begins the same,
I feel it as the guile moon tricks the trusting sun into retreating upon the horizon,
Its weight belays my soul as it sails slowly along the shimmering twilight above.

No amount of strength can stop its claiming of my consciousness,
And nothing hinders its spidery fingers from the dreadful grip interred,
My spine tightens and muscles contract as a wave of knowing washes over me.

Why must such thoughts always consume me at night?
Like a nocturnal beast awaiting its timely advantage,
And always after the days toll has been taken an my emotions used up.

It is in these moments alone that I question our love,
My mind shaded like the grays and blacks before me,
As dismal reveries ignite the darkness I stare blindly into.

Eternal enigmas boil within my entrails like rotted red meat,
Stewing with questions and poisons and lies,
Painfully gestating inside before birthing realities both ignorant and wise.

Yes, it always starts the same and it ends the same as well,
The moon escapes the sun's revenge and disappears into the stars,
And I again allow my eyes to see the figure lying beside me.

For I know that through all the turmoil it is in love that I am completed,
A powerful rhapsody returns riding along the rolling sounds of dawn.
And I smile inwardly as I hold him closer than before,
Ready for the onslaught of another night to come.



Eric Anthony Crew

My First Sonnet

Beholden

Delicately perched and displaced from their gazes,

She postures herself so as not to forget,

The curse that courses through all of her graces,

From her disengaged grin to her dress' own slit,

If else had noticed, it was not on their faces,

As her insides recede to a cavernous pit,

But hers is a curse in demand by these places,

And by those who seem to have only a bit.

Though what if this hexing was truly a blessing?

Cold emerald eyes like a dead president's print,

No pestering questions too ponderous or pressing,

A toast with her glass of swirled liquor and mint,

She's immaculate and lavish yet is patently known,

That her table is empty as she dines all alone.

Eric Anthony Crew

A Self Portrait

A Self Portrait

It's me;
I am the order strewn about my floor in sporadic chaos.
Each paper blooming out from the other like a fire,
Twisting in fragments of neglected thoughts and ink,
Forgotten like a kaleidoscope of partial dreams.

Scrutinize the pallets and I am there;
I tread slowly along the solemn blues in my sobriety.
My desire for affection is splayed in the spotty smears of desperate reds.
And my envy has its roots deep beneath the incorrigible greens,
Begrudging what I desire as it grows slyly across the page.

I am that surge of anticipation before starting;
That fleeting moment of clarity as a masterpiece rears its head from the future,
The lingering fetor of paint reeks of my own stubborn miasma.
Its resolve mirrors my own like the shifting consistency of clay,
Easily changed yet through fire and force I am hardened.

I am that dreadful resentment upon completion;
The ache of a medium as it fades from potential to actual.
I am the question that follows and thus always remain the answer.
I realize then that I am not an artisan, for it is art that dictates me.
I am a contingent of art and its own existence and otherwise just wouldn't be.

The Highest Low I Know

The Highest Low I Know

Stare at me again, to fill that empty space,

A hole that tears down deeper than the creases in my face,

As my brow begins to fall like heavy stones of thought,

These walls can scream so loudly, all this silence that you brought,

Your actions pressed upon me just more than I can take,

And from the words retorted, a feeling that doesn't break,

Your soul escapes my presence though I know your burning bright,

My life a silhouette now because you left me to the night,

A pen can place these words to pretend as though I've made,

My kingdom upon this darkness, the foundations in the shade,

I press my hands against the wall seeking comfort with the feel,

Imagining your heat now, instead the coldness of the steel,

I ponder our existence and how to battle fate,

I wonder where's my armor and has the fight come far too late,

They say that lightning never strikes and rain could never fall,

Without precipitation, a certain buildup to it all,

You speak of retribution and action for your deeds,

But love cannot be told to wait, a reaction to you needs,

So stare at me again, for there's much too empty space,

The highest low I know of, is in dreaming of your face.

Eric Anthony Crew

January 13, 2010