Month: December 2020

My thoughts come from deep

Where the synapses meet and

Energy is exposed as slander

And truth is not so neat

No one will read the words

Thinking it’s all absurd but

They know it’s truer than

Them walking away from it all

Oh and I can show them

That walking is not novel

Trial too much to bear

Have led to that route

Who makes all these rules?

An excited group of controlling ghouls

My thoughts now appear real

Suddenly have appeal

But truth works that way

Rules modified or goodbye

Where is the money then?

To support their mansions

Reality my friend sets in

The commission is drenched in sin

But know they have to modify

Top keep the populace satisfied

Adjustments will have appeal

No more license to steal

Ease on all regulations

Makes for a happy population

Steve Haarman aka Stanski

December 31, 2020 ^

I know the feeling of being loved

Forty-six years was not too much

But now that I am alone again

I sometimes feel out of touch

I know that I am kneeling

At the edge of my years

But I am young in spirit

Which endures beyond all fears

I do not need more challenges

Having faced more than my share

I want to dwell on what we call goodness

There is no reason that wouldn’t be fair

I have been abandoned in a snow storm

Left to struggle on my own, but

Know there is much more life to embrace

I am older but I am not worn

So I look for what is lost

Reject most of what is found

Am rejected by what I thought

Were possibilities and in the end

I was left scorned, but

I have hope and trust and

Know the real secret of love

I could draw on linen, a blue print

It would include what is lost and found

If I am left in isolation because

I was the obstacle to my success

I will remember that feeling of being loved

And will savor the feeling of the ultimate caress

Steve Haarman aka Stanski

December 30, 2020 ^

AFTER I HAVE KNEELED

I write to you my friends as one who has been around

I have seen many scenes and have heard many sounds

I have had my share of mentors; some didn’t know

They were, but their actions spoke loud;

Much louder than words

I have encountered many beings

As well as unbearable situations

The strong ones have a way of survival

The weak and helpless are the ones in need

I have seen mercy; my heart rejoices

Have witnessed cruelty; jumped away

Not for lack of courage, but wisdom

Reared its head and said just leave

I want to play music; put my words to song

It will have to wait for I know no chords

But there are minstrels I listen to

They sing the songs of joy, which come

From deliverance from a life without words

I know the pitch of freedom and

I can sing along with the rest

Do not have to be outstanding

I’m satisfied doing my best

There is a code of frozen love; I try to break that code,

But in the meantime there is much trash to unload

I do not want to travel to mars; am not a candidate

If I could I would go and

Collect rare minerals

But since I’ll stay I’ll focus

On a chemical called love

I’ll try to break the code

Find out what the password is in

The little town of Bethlehem

Where a baby savior is born

He grows to be a man and

Unlocks the secret of love

You just give your life for others

Not until it hurts, but

Until the very act feels good

I do not think that I am clever

And have everything figured out

But I know that goodness is supreme

And will be forever and forever

Steve Haarman aka Stanski

December 29, 2020 ^

Pretty busy beings

This time of year

Reaction taking over

Any modicum of planning

Order slips away

Hours tick by

Anxiety increases

Frustration replaces peace

You wonder why

Giving and taking

Wrapping and baking

Sales and returns

Traffic and lights

Tempers flair

It isn’t fair

Why is this always

Happening to you

Poor little you

Busy little beings

Often forgetting

What this is all about

Do not get set

On so many things

Of little consequence

Dismiss your anxieties

All so meaningless

Remember your brothers

Those at your side

Who provide joy

Give them your gratitude

Then you will feel

The incomprehensible peace

That safeguards your heart

And lifts your mind

Diluting and washing away

Sorrow and self pity

By Steve Haarman aka Stanski

December 28, 2020 ^

WILLIE JAMES JONES (deceased)

I met Willie James Jones at the Heartside Ministries on Division Avenue in the center of Grand Rapids Michigan.  The Ministry had room for artists who worked daily on their art.  They rarely missed a day.  Willie, like the others was unique.  He had his own style.  Some said it was like a grade school level, but it was his.  I don’t know where he lived or if he was a street person, but in his mind the gallery may have been home. 

I loved going to Heartside.  At first the artists were on guard, not knowing if I could be trusted.  I looked them in the eye and talked to them in a way that was not threatening.  As time passed, when I came into the gallery they all greeted me.  I was a friend and might buy some of their art.  They were always sincere and understood that I couldn’t buy every time I was there.  I was drawn to many of the artists, especially Willie.  He didn’t talk much—just answered your questions with one or two words.  He knew I liked his work but never pushed any of it on me. 

Sarah Scott was in charge of the Gallery.  She kept the order and all the artists worked together to keep things under control as many of them were on drugs and had mental problems.  She was gracious and remarkable.  Someone from the “Museum of Everything” in London, England contacted her.  They were interested in “Outsider Art” and had heard that she was a viable source.  She sent representative work of five of her artists, among them Willie, who was chosen and another artist who was deceased.  She raised over six thousand dollars and took Willie, herself and the sister of the deceased artist to London for the opening of the exhibition.  It was held at the Selfridge Department Store.  It stayed on exhibit for a month and then traveled a circuit in London.  Willie’s work is in the permanent collection as is the deceased artist, Mark Douglas Wilson.  Selfridge is the home of the Museum of Everything.

The three were there for the opening.  I was very happy for Willie and asked him if he enjoyed the trip—yep—and the honor—unhuh—are you happy—yes—are you going to retire—no.  Willie died a few years later at age sixty-six.  He always wore a fedora, a suit jacket and slacks.  He was always quiet, respectful, confident and sweet.  He is one of many featured in An Irregular Heartbeat:  The Artists of Heartside Gallery and studio.

Living in the U.P., I could not get to the Gallery as often as I would have liked.  When I did I was always received well.  I was not a threat, but a friend.  I cried when I heard of Willie’s death and said a prayer for him.  He was an inspiration to me.  He endured his struggle to the end; always showed up and did his work; and was respected by his peers.  He was another unique child of God, whose path was different than most.  I am left in awe.  There are many Willies among us, some recognized, some not, but all facing their own struggle.  It is wise to reach out to them in a sincere way and help them in the way that Jesus instructed us.  What could be a greater gift to Willie?  He was real, approachable and in the common denominator was one of us. 

I am a better person for having met him and know there are many Willies who need our love and support.  A commitment to goodness is much needed.  We can all take care of the things needing attention that are right in front of us.  We all have a role and Willie fulfilled his.  Be at peace, Willie.

By Steve Haarman, aka Stanski

September 28, 2020 ^

My friends, I’ll play my chords

But, you don’t understand me

I have gone the gamut for those I love

Some make my every move go askew

I know what I’m about, please listen

Fools try to trump me and then wave flags

They eventually fall down in disgust

I say this, my friends, not just to brag

Listen to the music I strum

What do the vibes do for your soul?

I pick and play my piece for you

A peaceful presentation to achieve your goal

I am here and listen to your cries

Wonder what you expect from me

As I sit here most willingly to

Help you wipe the tears from your eyes

Everything does not appear easy, friends

But not to try would be a sin

I listen to the play on the field

And know our effort will finally win

So, I’ll keep playing my songs for you

And you keep taking the steps

You never win with a single ambush

It takes many, countless reps

You know the chords, you’ve heard them

The message sent is mighty clear

You act for yourself, no one else can do it

After success it will all be so clear

Stanski

December 27, 2020 ^

Because you were talked down

Or out-shouted by the bold

You may feel defeated, but

It is the wild card that you hold

Otherwise known as the truth

Doesn’t the cream always rise?

Truly a sacred ally

For those who are the underdogs

The power of truth is deafening

Impostors should step aside

It must be used as a power club

You do not want a negative slide

Good ideas are shouted down

Opportunities are swept aside

Just because the majority listened

To the one who criticized

Learning is hard work

But we have had enough lessons

It is time to stand up and be heard

Enough of the B.S. sessions

Stanski

December 26, 2020 ^

Christmas, 2020

My friends, I kneel here with one knee on

the ground trying to disavow myself

from all that has gone wrong.

I am not a noble man but advocate no misery. 

Listen closely to the music;

a language we all understand. 

Did Bob Marley have it right or

were his murmurings all wrong? 

Listen carefully to his words;

his soul speaks loudly in his songs: 

Listen to his dog bark out the word “Courage”.

Do you have any?  Let’s see. 

Where are we going to from here, now? 

Not to pasture, friends, like an over-milked cow. 

I’m scrambling now, mister. 

Let’s slow the music down a little. 

Have to give ease to my ticker. 

We must never feel we are at a loss. 

Look at the Man-Child; we could call Him boss. 

Let’s help Him carry that heavy cross. 

We are foolish people, friends. 

I hate to say that loud. 

Our methods defy all logic. 

Don’t we hate to be wrong? 

There are secret paths to glory.

You must commit to sacrifice. 

No one ever wins it all by a lucky roll of the dice. 

Everyone doesn’t gamble, friends.

There is no easy way and even

when you play the proper chord,

people may listen and are often floored,

but if they are clandestine and easily bored,

you’re not making much of a headway.

My friends, I look up at you. 

I’ll play my music and sing, giving instruction

through the use of heavenly notes. 

Tell me, what does it really mean? 

We take from those defenseless.

Conquer the weak and deprived.

Pay attention to our own needs.

Can’t hear what others cry

The angels watching us must

bow their heads and wonder why. 

We are not crippled, my friends,

and if you don’t mind I’ll sit down. 

My knees are weary and so is my soul. 

I think of streets paved with gold.

Then look at myself as a clown. 

Did I do or am I doing my best? 

How do we bring this chorus to rest? 

What is the number of those who will die,

before we open our pathetic eyes? 

How do we feel? 

Is this real or just an interlude in time? 

I’m strumming my music while thinking up words,

hoping we’ll be fine. 

The parade is over; the tents come down. 

It will all be over before they leave town. 

Then the chaff and the grain will be

separated in the thrashing machine. 

Grain will be stored while the chaff burns. 

We tried our best, but never learned is

the cry we’ll hear from the losers. 

I hope to stand before the Lord

and sing out His praise:  Hallelujah!  

Back to the present where I’m playing chords,

my friends, I’m thinking of many of you. 

We are all pretty far along in life

and may see the end, soon. 

No one knows when they are going to be called

and when they are it seems to be unexpectedly. 

We feel real bad that we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye

and share a story or two. 

We didn’t take the time or didn’t have the time

and may have regrets. 

Every one of you should understand.  

I am sure you will hold no malice. 

But just to be sure, for me, although

I am not expecting to be gone soon,

I want to say that I have been happy to know you

and been a part of your life in some meaningful way. 

I strum my chords and sing out with joy: 

Hallelujah, Hallelujah! 

I wish you all the joy of the season. 

I have hope that you will be able to endure

any difficulties that come your way. 

The next year will give us all many opportunities

to help others and be filled up with joy. 

I wish it to be a happy one for you. 

Be at peace.  Love to you from Gulliver       

Steve Haarman aka Stanski

Poetry Blog:  stevehaarman.com

The holy night is near

Children filled with anxiousness

For the birth of Christ and

All the wonderful presents

Year after year

The music plays the same

So often we miss the point

As though this is some sort of game

There is no one

To hold account

We all have free will

Eventually we rethink

This is a special time of year

Don’t want to bring gloom

Somehow we have rewritten it

Tried to change the mood

Christ came to give salvation

We turned it into games

He was born because we’re sinners

To save us from the flames

It is time for us to access

Turn our lives around

Be willing to carry His cross

Build our life on solid ground

It is the time of year for children

We’re all children in a way

We have selfish tendencies

Have to change our ways

He was born to be a King

To teach us how to pray

We rejected and nailed Him

A burden we have to carry

So this is a new beginning

A chance to get things right

Use every chance to serve Him

Keep His sacred path in sight

Stanski

December 24, 2020 ^

I am alone

I am who I am

I have my dreams

My notions of life

Birds flying overhead

Cannot strip me of my oneness

Trees with no leaves

Darker in rain

Whiter in snow

Can have no influence on me

My cares and resolve

Belong only to me

I tend to the things I tend

Succeeding and often sharing

Raw and cold days

Walking past people

Lost in their maze

The question of truth pops up, doesn’t faze

Aloneness is evident

Awareness of condition, too

Willingness to change not found

A close look at those who would receive

A look at ethic and attitude

All the excuses not making their case

Truth has no home here

Why would I care or

Desire to share even

A minute, a second of my time

I hear the geese whine and squeal

Gathering for journey to where

Suitable quarters await

I do not hesitate to wish them well

I am not a judge

I look at the lake

Wet and cold

Gibbous moon glimmering

I do not ask, “What would Jesus do?”

He threw moneychangers out

That was His notion

He suffered the cross

What am I to do?

Stanski

December 24, 2020 ^