I wish I could convert those who
think poetry is silly, or annoying.
I wish I could take them by the hand and lead them
through the words
preach, exhort and say look, listen
watch the pictures the words paint
and hear the music, the endless melodies
I wish I could baptize
those who scorn the beauty
and turn the non-believers into the devout
Maybe I'll be a teacher
(I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it.)
I swallow it
and the words you deserved to be served I
choked them down like
Maybe they will make me better.
But the better part of me was mixed bitter in so many sermons I so easily spit at others.
I’ll save you from my presumption.
Prescription: hold your peace.
His words crash around us, his miserable dark dampening everyone’s light. Your blue eyes roll high, then low, letting his hanger catch on your shoulders. I protest, claim love and want hope, but he’s well prepared; bible, violence, and stereotype in hand.
At first, he locked his anger up tight, disguised the resentment, fought the archaic nature of his values, the great expanse of his hatred, hidden. He kept it in, fought it, failed to understand it. Finally, internal battle lost, he started leaking. Any hope for happiness killed by a diet of frozen pizza, polish sausage, and spaghetti westerns. He respects men who don’t respect women, loathes anyone who dares to think or feel more than necessary.
His eyes shift, and a creeping moustache has begun above his upper lip, framing a mouth spewing misunderstanding. You say: He makes everyone miserable. He says: Its all the cigarettes and alchohol they’ve been using. You shake your head, knowing an argument only spreads the contagion and inflames the rash.
I forget, ask him how he knows so much about things he’s never done. “You don’t have to try it to know,” He replies, the creeping moustache more and more evident. I roll my eyes, lay back and listen as he preaches theories about women he’s never known, never had. How many times can he fail to realize he’s no better than anyone else. He preaches God and Christianity, but hates more than anyone, has no hope, or faith, or love, and lacks any shadow of compassion. He’s filled with violence and anger, yet claims to follow a God of love.
He’s not tough, or hardened, or experienced, he’s afraid. Afraid to love, to lose, to understand, to hope, to accept, because it means a change. It means growing up, throwing out comic books, drawing mor than Batman, finding friends who are real, feeling the pain, understanding the gravity, and embracing it all.
peace, peace they
cry but there is, no peace
please from our lips and
signs, protests and petitions
not enough to say it
tattoo it on your wrists, songs
crooning what we wish
words never are enough will
we practice what
turn, the other cheek
for peace comes
only when love and
justice are enough
We are here to preach the dream,
to share the good word
of passionate fantasy
and the desire for happiness.
We are messengers,
of the things that help us
reach the moon and back.
We are slaves to art,
and the emotions that inspire it.
We live to create
and destroy that
which hinders us.
We are here to preach the dream.
The dream to be
who we want to be;
the lust for satisfaction
We breathe to make others
We are the apostles of innovation,
rising from dust
where light once shown
to shine light forth
into obsidian hearts and ashen souls.
We are bandages for the bleeding,
braille for the blind,
and cotton blankets
for the faint of heart.
We are for those who need us,
and for those who don't know
what they need.
We are poets,
And with our pencils and pens,
brushes and hands,
guitars and hearts,
we will overthrow the monarchy
of the close-minded naive,
who hold our art in their hands
like uncultured pigs
hold mud in their mouths.
We are a romantic tragedy,
an exuberant atrophy.
We are anonymously outspoken.
to be understood
loved and held
taught and included
I sit in misconception
misinterpretation of misinformation
brings the light of truth
that no one believes or sees
consciously creating reality
with universal power
we share unity with eternity
when we allow ourselves
shafted and rafting giraffes
stretch injured necks
seeking only a glimpse at what we live
manifesting by thought and action
there is only what we choose next inhibiting us from
doing the next thing
Take a moment and close your eyes
reflect on your blessings
remember the good
extenuate the positive
be here in your present life
as an accounted for
do those things you thought impossible
I know you can
as a part of the oneness
the universal force that connects us all
an intricate and indispensable piece
I know you thought twice…
Reading these isn’t such a good vice
This may not bring such a thrill to you
But you don’t even have a clue!
Like an exam you’d never take
A decision you wouldn’t make
You see more that is quite essential
To you, this is nothing special
Still, He listens to your quietness
Heals your brokenness
Sees you shining and rising
Though you’re weak and failing
You haven’t even uttered a word
But trust me, you are already favoured
Can’t believe a love this grand?
Yes, ‘cause His love is something no one could understand
Haven’t seen a thing this beautiful
‘Cause he is altogether lovely, worthy and wonderful
And nothing is different on how He sees you
You’re just as magnificent as the sky, only multiply it by two
He waits for you everyday and this is no myth
So though it’s not the twenty fifth
Just try looking up to the sky
Do your lips some little smile and testify
A relationship you won’t choose to break
Trust and faith is all it take
His story is true
And it’s time for you to be one, too
I could give you an emotional catharsis cavorting a chorus between pleasure in my prose
and upheld distortions in the pain of the throws of each moment I've held up to my nose
to tell if I can still recall it fresh, the scent of the locker room ribbings and hometown chiding's
"This is who you must be"
Make you come to grips with the absurdity of having to compete for attention to voice in a craft that
is by all intents and purposes subjective
much as all success is subjective
much as all states of mind are subjective
much as I tried to deflect this disconnect, correlation not implying causation
Work not determining happiness
Pain not conducive to Catharsis.
Instead, let's make em all laugh
Because it's already stacked into a sick joke
Speaking truth to power self congratulators talk about field workers like a damn case study
A case study my grandparents walking with Cesar Chavez wrote pages for with their backs
I don't want to hear more trustafarian folks tell me about the struggles of my people
I want poor folks to tell me how full of shit I am
I want to shout out truth bombs to a crowd that doesn't want to hear it
I want be a contrarian to remind people that they're alive
I want to rap battle with the parishioner as he lays another childhood friend into the coffin
Car Crash, Car Crash, Leukemia, Car Crash, always take my golden ones, have another road rash
You gave me thoughts of god distraught I locked myself atop the lofts compelled to pressure, mom and pops have got the answer down on lock, I'll hail thee mary full of grace til I can't feel another trace, the news that I was read today was sad so I can pray the shame away, get horny, take the blame away, get horny, touch myself again to make me feel like I'm a man, but I don't know what that should mean; if I'm a man am I unclean? Dirty Mexican poor boy, embrace that shit, and crack a smile. Depression is a myth you see, and god is real so follow me. You have a healthy fear in you, and this is good for this is true, the fear of god, the fear of love, the fear of judgment from above, and fear to let yourself be heard, you couldn't say a single word, the fear of if she'd ever know, the fear to let your demons go, the fear of hope, the fear of help, I think you even fear yourself.
"Parce domine Parce Populo tuo, ne in aeternum irascaris no bis"
Oh lord please let me be misunderstood, please let my illumination and voice go beyond the choir
I don't need a bunch of yes men in my life
I don't need people who've never tasted death, tasted pills uncounted and unmarked
Never woken up groggy to the feeling of "thank you what forces may be, I am still alive"
I don't need to preach to the choir.
Dig that fucking razor DEEPER into your wrists.
Practice what you preach, and show us you're not afraid.
Don't just scratch with a pin and claim to slash them.
Practice what you preach. Practice what you preach.