CarryAway Seeds

By Scott Vanya

For a while, I had been writing (by hand) in large journals, by that I mean inches (height-by-width). And I noticed, my lines would stretch on, and my ideas would bend and shape and curve around the page, my audience, and my mind.

So taking it as a challenge/experiment, I set myself to working in a small journal, to see what the result might be, objectively like a scientist (much of my education is in physics).

The result are the CarryAway Seeds. These were to be small ideas, encapsulated, crystalline, transparent, the kind you put in your pocket and "CarryAway" with you and you with them. Then days later, perhaps when it were raining or sad, look at them, remember, feel them, like a worry stone in your hand, and know that there are people who care, whether we see them or not.

The CarryAway Seeds, were and do grow in ones heart. Like gems, or geods (as he mentions) and they are comforting and calming- tea ceremony on a rain day, embrace by someone we have not seen in a long time.

Take them to your lips, sip gently, be refreshed. And know, KNOW like you KNOW you exist, there is some kind person some where, just inside the door way of our lips, who loves us.

Peace.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Vanya
• Release date: May 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311498410

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

Book preview

Feast

after smashing my clock

with my 10 oz hammer

he wore as hair ornaments

nothing but gears, springs

and hands.

in fact if you looked closely

his entire head was a shattered clock

plastic, stem, and glass.

Only functional in that when he spoke

his tongue ticked out the time

upon his teeth.

From a different angle, that is behind

his head,

You could see he was rolling out paper

at a furious rate

both news and artwork, publishing.

the view should be one of peace

embodied or abstracted

we imagine the same race - neverworn.

How can the house become a Home

when the first things

I see

are the doorstep

---

Previous:Next

Between Chrysalis and Cocoon

Light has no last name

Verbosity sunshines afterthought

Today's brunch served between toast

rambling down the cheeks and throat

memories, soliloquy, salutations

the language from the other side

of the world

she is awakening to syrup's sound

As I cry

so too does the dandelion

offer its gift

---

Previous:Next

a haiku

tails and head sideways

rolling upon the sidewalk

caught in the minstrel's cup

...cup.

---

Previous:Next

for Rebecca B.

a white sphere

of chrysanthemum

inside a glowing ruby geod.

---

Previous:Next

The Sound of Water

Dry Bed unyet Moists

Cascade of Memory

The Shore's Relief

Impressions of a shell

Empty, Eaten, Cast Aside

Unforgotten by Someone

Whom goes unseen

even to the fully naked eye.

I see you standing

Limbs for hair

roots for toes

Squirming in the soil

She is a Chinese betty

I forgive myself the fantasy.

---

Previous:Next

Offshore her ship waits

ending fascinated by my yawn

shucks its husk

and cackles at my stretchings

blood dripping from my tongue

I have opened my own ambylical chord.

restitution calls me mad

for my freedom

so too does inspiration pardon

my rhythm

tomorrow's remembering beginning

the lines of the page kiss my inky

scribllings.

the hole in my ear has reclosed

and I