Too Much, Not Enough

By Scott Vanya

The trilogy of books, Too Much/Not Enough, Might As Well Fly Away, and Cuz Somewhere Along The Line I Forgot My Self, are all drawn from a very sincere and heart-felt place, as has been all my work. Yet, and I think I am not alone in this, these 3 books, might be said to be my most "mature". This is because the language, themes, and perspectives, gathered from divorce, job-loss, etc., are the most far-reaching. Because as my vision and sense of "place" in the universe has grown, so has the portent of my poetry.

I seek for things, which can not Truly be written about, yet do so just the same. I am a "compelled" writer. And in order for me to "see" what i am thinking, I must write it. This book, as are the other two, are manifestations of how I "see" the world. And my place in it. Yet,...They are not limited to that. They gather up all I have seen and loved and hold them in my hand as I once did a broken-winged woodpecker in the streets of San Antonio, TX.

May they offer you and yours hope, grace, and joy. If so, pass it on. Love is not meant to be held, but let go of...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Vanya
• Release date: Jan 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311972835

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

Will you answer, when Calliope calls?

And she has

  only one question

  to ask;

  the answer to which

  she is not attached:

  How are you?

And it will

  sometimes be

  hard to hear

  and others

  it will roar

  like wind and ocean.

And pretend

  you can:

  saying things

  that are

  distant

  from your heart.

She expects that,

  as even the best

  instrumentalist

  must have time

  to warm up.

But I pray

  you DO start

  say something, anything

  a scratch,

  a scrawl,

  even

  only

  a single word.

For once

  it starts

  flowing

  there is no

  stopping it

  or should be not.

And if you

  are as I

  once the writing begins

  in words or speech

  the poem

  soon follows

  in deeds and acts.

If Calliope calls

  for yourself

  for all of us,

  please,

  answer,

Pen a few lines,

  and (but

  of course)

  they need

  not rhyme

  just from the Heart

  be issued.

Shame it is,

  that all

  pens

  are not

  red!

For then

  we all

  would see

  The Words

  are blood

  and out

  from the soul

  do flow.

And of the ending

  She thinks not,

  only that

  your time

  is spun well

  with her.

For her ears

  are as open

  as any heres

  can be.

And she will not hang up

  until you say

  "Well, that's about it.

   Thanks, for calling."

Yet,

  all

  that

  you will hear

  (when the poem is done)

  is

"Thank you, for sharing with me.

  I love you

  now get out there

  and have some fun."

.

ditto

answer when calliope calls.

---

Previous:Next

Too old to drink milk

Too old to drink milk

I think on that,

  what

  a near-one,

  dear-one said.

And I laugh inside

  and open wide

To the feeling that

  I am not old enough for anything

  and have just been born

In this momentous occassion

  called a song

  being born.

And it's half-light I've

  casketed away in the eyes

  of others

  I wanted to set free

  The turn of the lips

  the belly laugh

  so open wide

  extremes

  have no meaning any more.

And I am just a porpoise

  not a worm

  a song bird

  not a flea

a poem being born

  standing on the near side of

  Destiny.

Too old to drink milk!

Too old to drink milk!

Too old to drink milk!

It was never, ever, was never

  wine I saught

  nor blood,

  nor candles, moon, langu(id)age

  fading.

Just a moment to sit

  while away the time

and