03: A Fundamental Concern

We are kings within mountains.
Captains of its crevices and canals,
Tribunal of its tributaries.

From slow paced mannerism and lamentations: we wear down.
So close, side by side: a white cap ocean,
Becomes a rolling valley.

Our struggle to motivate one another,
Yet still unmoved: What now
Does it accomplish when we are weathered?

Us kings of mountains.
Our words: gabbled echo in the distance.
Our concepts: faint withered haze in still air.

With wisdoms and meanings and motivations still not followed,
Can us kings ever meet hand in hand
Upon summits so far apart?

02: It was the College that Killed Him

It was the college that killed him.
Looked him in the eye,
and told him no.

It was the college that betrayed him.
Told him to be quiet,
and forced him to go.

It was the college that lied to him.
Told him he could learn,
yet kept him at bay.

It was the college that scolded him.
For jumping ahead,
they got in his way.

For every book and lesson he struggled to gather,
A rule and a price is what they threw at the matter.

It was the college that maimed him.
Destroyed his desire,
And tore him to shreds.

It was the college that killed him.
Gave him diplomas,
And left him for dead.

01: Glorious Stones of Troy and Avalon

(In light of "Shine, Perishing Republic" by Robinson Jeffers)

As this globe of icy mass continues its journey - through and
   down a snow laden path of highly paved frost - it is a
   consuming entity of individuals from which I wonder where
   and who the first few flakes were that made this pact.

All in well counted and exacting time it will reach its bottom
   river bed, gloriously silencing itself in melting by the hand of
   its own primordial constituents.

Weep and fear not, unnamed kings, for the table of nobles leaves
   always room for a next, fast minded visionary to see through
   the means and endless end.

Need only a drop of water; the sands of institution be shaped
   once more, oh glorious stones of Troy and Avalon.

And when the glee of the young dawns once again I will leave my
   reservations on the porch as an old rifle of protection.

For the beach castles are already en route to cities. They are
   still just . . . child's toys in my eyes; temperaments of
   adolescence.

There will be little need for reeducation as the trade from
   tyrant to nun would all the same be oppressive, lest I presume
   the definition of a better life for all.

Rather . . . let's play together in the structure we've so proudly
   assembled and enjoy fruits for the sake of fruits' sake.

My musing observations are content enough, for now, that
   miserable understanding is always a more colorful portrait
   than blind bliss.

In Memoriam

This is a collection of short writings by Jared A.D. Radtke, originally published on his blog.  He was one of my closest and oldest friends.  This collection is named "Lone Artist" for the film company he had dreamed of creating.  

Jared took his life on May 1st, 2012.  I am republishing his works here in memoriam lest it be deleted elsewhere.

You may read my tribute on my other blog here.

Jared A.D. Radtke

September 19, 1987 to May 1, 2012

13: Solace

I sometimes become tired of current life;

I often grow weary of daily strife.

No longer can I maintain what many expect of me,

nor can I withstand the pressures of society.

There are those who wish to see me fail

and others who insist I must prevail.

I can't take it . . . escape! But where to go?

Alas! There's only one safe place I know.

A secret realm no other can find

deep in the recesses of my mind.

There are no expectations - simple tranquility!

There are no limits - ecstatic liberty!

I see a crystalline sea with a warm beach

and the verdant woods just beyond reach.

The sun sits right above the lurid sea,

frozen in a sunset surpassing all beauty.

I hear the ethereal serenade of the sky

and the gentle tones of a wind passing by.

The water mimics the cello in its undulating motion,

adding a harmony to melodies beyond emotion.

My stay is temporary but it feels like eternity,

burdens fly away as stress is washed from me.

My mind is refreshed, my soul is renewed;

I return to current life with a better mood.

12: Break

Too long I've dwelt in my own silence,

listening to the thoughts of those around.

Too long I've kept my opinions to myself,

never quite letting my voice to sound.

But all that is now going to change,

as I'm on the very edge of breaking . . .

I've heard the views of the world,

but it does not seem quite right.

It resonates stupidity, going in circles;

fragments missing, hidden from sight.

Are you blind to the truths I see?

Or am I the one who's blind to all?

I implore you to please listen to me,

before it's too late - before we all break.

It has already begun deep inside,

a crack venting words at every chance.

Soon my thoughts I cannot hide,

but perhaps some wisdom I may share:

Everything is now going to change,

As I'm on the very edge of breaking . . .

11: Lament

Everyday old memories cease and fade,
their creators slow to forget and pass away.
Generations of wisdom are daily unmade
as I lament for our dying elders.

It's sad how a spirit dulls with age,
a life's flame cooling to solemn dignity.
Time and experiences produce a sage,
yet in the end the reward is death.

Many secrets are taken to the grave,
our ancestors' knowledge buried in oblivion.
Too little can we preserve and save,
too much lore never to be remembered.

Dim lights are snuffed out by darkness,
their true sparks forever lost to history.
Whispers echo not in a silent abyss,
past thoughts are now but dreams.

Yet hope remains in futures still to be,
they shall listen and learn from their seniors.
Whispers become voices resounding in eternity,
past thoughts become dreams made real.

Everyday old memories cease and fade,
their creators slow to forget and pass away.
Generations of wisdom are daily unmade
as I lament for our dying elders.