i wanted to write
a poem
that rhymes
but revolution doesn't lend
itself to be-bopping

then my neighbor
who thinks i hate
asked – do you ever write
tree poems – i like trees
so i thought
i'll write a beautiful green tree poem
peeked from my window
to check the image
noticed that the school yard was covered
with asphalt
no green – no trees grow
in manhattan


then, well, i thought the sky
i'll do a big blue sky poem
but all the clouds have winged
low since no-Dick was elected


so i thought again
and it occurred to me
maybe i shouldn't write
at all
but clean my gun
and check my kerosene supply


perhaps these are not poetic
times
at all

Somedays, I think, how crazy it is,
that life, from lightning, as a spark, came to be,
on a once cold and dead planet,
that bloomed unbiddingly,
and explosions of green lit the land
and water filled the rocks' hungry mouths,
and beasts began to crawl,
and move, and breed.

But then, as I think of Earth,
and the many creatures that send their photons out
into the cold dry cosmos,
I dare to think, how is this strange?
It is those massive orbs adrift I doubt,
a lonely expanse of rock and air and weather,
but no death, there is no life to sever.
I cannot help but think that I
could walk upon Mars' crust,
immortal as the energy inside,
dispersed and realigned again,
the iron colored dirt, motionless, tireless -
and there I fear, loneliness would consume me.

But then, they say, stars die too,
they take their planets in their wake,
that frozen ice, and terrestrial land,
in a flash, extinct? I thought Death had no place,
where there seemed to be no life.

Perhaps like the teeming pools of bacteria
in a puddle warmed and evaporated up to the sun,
Death is the name of transition, and life,
is but a name for all that was,
and will, in some corner of the cosmos,
be again.

Mars is not so lonely then,
his cracked soil, and temperate revolution,
seeming to me, that distant relative,
a bit strange, a bit far-fetched,
and loved and wondered at,
all the same.

determined as i was
to avoid joining
the zombie revolution
my dad went and bought me
a new phone
looks like i was drafted in
to the "smart" generation
hopefully i won't end up as stupid.

I can hear you heckling me
to play those sketchy little games
and I always convince myself that
I’ve got a shot at winning.

and of course I’m one
to be fearless, and eager,
and unbreakable
to take that wild ride with you.

but on every revolution
and each wicked twist and turn,
I get a little dizzy–
sick and confused–
and I wish you’d just stop this ride,
and let me off
to let me live–
live to enjoy the lights of the night
with you.

not to get caught or crushed, that is the revolution.

not to get slowed or dissolved, that is the revolution.

not to get beautiful, that is the revolution.

not to accumulate a community of pride, that is the revolution.

to get what you say to be as fresh as the first for those second or last

the burning has stopped, the healing not started,

to fold inward on the observer, to disappear from the follower

survive the moment in a continuum of no lasting narrative,

it has everything you want, if you want it, some stranger wants you not to have that. and your fucking screaming that to yourself.

that is the revolution, the paranioa, and it makes energy for no reason.

it is refusal dropped into an infinite echoing well that few know how wretchedly it stinks

its a life inside that poisons the life around and proves we are a growth not growing

the revolution dogs with no name nor master nip for respect until shot

women abusing themselves in their own minds with acted voices , clawing the skin from how somebody loved them

we all cry at the same time, that is the revolution.

She moves through the fair of her life
with an awareness and introspection that belies her years

She still feels the effects of the darkness that plagued her past
but, as she goes forth, reaches with her soul towards a new and enlightened age

She will not forget her suffering, but uses it to transform her spirit
as an alchemist uses the philosopher's stone to produce precious from base

She is a rebel at heart, but hers is a cultural revolution, an awakening to the beauty
of a spiritual life filled with music, art, poetry, language, philosophy, and the science of nature

Transformation isn't instantaneous and her emotions will still go medieval at times
suddenly rising like a Gothic spire from the landscape

However, with each contrasting experience she is reborn and better equipped
to fashion a belle époque of her own design

She may tend to shun the glamour of convention and develop a unique style
She just wants you to know who she is

The universe is immersed in revolution. Not the type of revolution spoken of in history books, although that also might be true. No, the universe is immersed in revolving objects of all forms. Objects with orbits revolving around other objects in orbit. Infinite orbitals.

Our sun is at the pinnacle of the solar system where we exist. All of the planets, including our own, revolve around this celestial star. This star, our sun, also revolves around something greater. On a more local scale, our mother planet, Earth, also has an orbit whereas the moon finds itself in eternal rotation. On a microscopic level, even the atoms that compose us and all things, have orbits their own. Objects with orbits revolving around other objects in orbit... infinite orbitals.

It is not surprising then to realize that we humans are also objects of orbit, with orbits of our own. Each of us have orbitals. We have orbits revolving around us where we store the pieces of ourselves we choose to ignore. We have orbits revolving around us where we store the pieces of ourselves we cannot yet embrace.

When you put something into one of your orbits, your must understand that it does not leave you; it's still there revolving around you like clockwork. If you put that part of you out there, if you ignore it, it does not go away. It's still a part of you, revolving around until you chose to make peace with it.

It's okay to have orbits, we all do. Just realize that when you have too many pieces of yourself orbiting around, things get a little hazy. Your vision is obscured by a cloud of things you refuse to accept. A cloud of things your refuse to embrace. How can you see clearly through the smog of all the things about yourself you chose to reject?

When you live in a shroud of orbits, you experience life in a darker hue.

If you're living inside a dark cloud, understand that it doesn't have to be that way.
You are the commander that decides which parts of yourself get launched into orbit.
You are also the one that decides which parts of yourself you're ready to reclaim.

That's the beauty of it. That's the silver lining.

You're in control of the revolutions around you.
You're in control of your own revolution.

So, what are you waiting for?

Carpe Diem

--Christian J. Clark

Time is a vortex
turning into its pinnacle
the moment of now,
not linear,
but cyclical

I live for the now,
the present
for my experiences
that i pre-sent

The blue eternity of my soul
turning in on itself
no longer striving for money
just supplying a common wealth

I'm lost
but may be resurrected
If I can find it
in me to admit
i'm beyond
Infected

and your Hold
on me, ya, I'll lift it
as long as this rebel yell
keeps the embers lit