i am every unfinished poem that sits in piles of crumpled paper by your waste bin and every crowded thought in the cranial space above your neck. i am every word that begs to be free from the tip of your tongue but remains just out of your memory's reach. i am comprised of the colors of sunrise but am more the mood of a sunset. i am the familiar fingerprints on your favorite coffee mug. i am a wicker rocking chair on somebody's grandmother's porch. i am bite marks on your pencil and the crick in your neck. i am the vacant blurry buzz of an old television set. i am all of the places i have never been. i am lovers' names carved into summertime tree bark, promising "forever" - only to fall short of that promise by the time the leaves change. i am here. i am not where i belong.
you are the gravity that keeps my feet on earth. you are the atmosphere i breathe. you are the rain that feeds my soul & makes flowers grow. you are my revival and my revolution and the courage i kept hidden inside of closed fists for so long i formed crescent moons in my palms. you are an unstoppable fire that is burning me alive in the best way. you are the only rooftop i have ever visited that i haven't felt the urge to jump off of. you are the gentle hum and rumble of the washing machine i used to nap beside when i was a little girl. you are the creaky wooden swing in my backyard where i sat for countless hours and smoked and cried and pondered. you are all my favorite odds & ends bound together by my wildest dreams. you are sometimes so beyond my understanding, that i wonder when i'm going to wake up; and if i ever did find out that you were just a dream, i would bang on heaven's gates and plead with god to let me sleep. you are there. i am here, you are there.
one of us needs to move.
I like to touch
They have soft pages and silk rough raw right wrong revolution words
They cut kings and conquerors and ideas and eras like the axes that severed them from their bark-skinned lives
They chop at the skulls of wise coward sedentary spirit beings
They float like moths as they burn (and they have burned)
They, ink and glue and spine and leaf, live dead paper lives
Books don’t mind the feel of my raw nibbled hands
Chewed down to stubs
As they graze through their insides with scratchy fingers
My fingers feel light
Only those who are asleep
still believe in the American dream.
Nothing is as it seems.
Although we are still great,
our people full of the future,
our land has been overrun by righteous moochers.
They sit on their false thrones,
growing fat on our toil
while they poison our soil.
Our schools are a joke;
teachers teaching what to think instead of how.
We are all as captive as the sad meat cow.
There is still hope,
we can still be free
but first people have to see
that this world is in trouble,
our mother is in peril
for she's valued less than a stinking oil barrel.
If you have her heart and want to fight,
do be cautious,
the government has eyes that watch us.
Revolution won't be easy,
and I don't think we're ready
but unrest is sure growing steady.
Stand up for Lady Liberty,
cry out for freedom
because our soldiers need somebody to lead 'em.
Atop a golden canopy,
under a flaming sunset,
within a coverlet of fog,
my crazy ex-girlfriend sits
to protect a tree from turning to a log
or pressure-treated two by fours.
They lived in a commune
in the desert because it’s safe
from all societal dangers and risks
are far less frightening than conspiracies…
theoretical or otherwise.
Revolution is far off
and you might as well adjust
to humble self-righteousness
and all that they say you must
do to save the people
who don’t know they need help.
Indoctrination of the American nation
Relocation of native populations
Slaves labor, creating plastic toys
To distract the little girls and boys
With media propaganda saturation
To numb your brain from realization
That we're living a lie as children die
To fill your tank so you can drive
To Wal-Mart for some motherfuckin' Cheesy Poofs
That scoop the dip in which you shit
Lay waste to nature's beauty abundant
Political doublespeak redundantly redundant
Television's collision with consciousness
Has dimmed your awareness to idiocy
In an illusion of democracy
Where only the rich have control
As upon us all they take their toll
And we blindly follow, believing as we hear
Their scheming lies of security and fear
It's time the power structure fell
No more this shit to buy and sell
Reallocation of the hoarded wealth
And power for all people, not oneself
Mental stasis, awaken from this hypnosis
And avert the coming catastrophic crisis
Our leaders are masters who march us to disaster
As the clash of our cultures ignites so much faster
Than mere cognition, dimmed by television
Can comprehend the impending collision
Of conflicting interest in collective vision
It's time to rise with a battle cry
And tell the Feds we won't lay down and die
We'll evolve and resolve the situation
And bring new meaning to revolution
An end to the media's web of confusion
Confusing reality with an illusion
Conspiratorial governmental parallels
A trumpet's blast, as Babylon.... fell.
Read, watched, Listened for snippets
Wore the buttons,
Had my own personal
Jumped high…In place… with the best of them
Little balled up fists…
Chanted the chants
Sang the song
Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa
Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa
And I meant it!
Oh My God I meant it from my
young revolutionary soul
Cried adolescent girl cries
For our South African brothers and sisters
All of the martyrs
Known and unknown
Free Nelson Mandela!!
To this very day
I love me some Nelson Mandela
Love the man he is
Mourn the man he was
Big Fine Educated Pugilistic
On that serious mission
Who, though technically still breathing upon his release, in reality
Gave his life
To promote the cessation of
An idea more merciless even than the Rwandan genocide
In that Death
Seldom came quickly
A system more sadistic even than the African Slave Trade
In that it was not based economically
Therefore ALL the
Could be maimed or die
And it wouldn’t cost a thing…
A society wherein
Each Black death
Someone’s Job… or
Every atrocity’s purpose to serve only to
Douse fuel on the already
Brightly burning fire of
Hate and torture and hate
I love Nelson Mandela
For making like David
And having the Balls
To take on the Goliath
Satan is creative
His minions resourceful
We will never know the indignities;
Can only imagine the violations
My Nelson was forced to endure
Imprisoned for 27 years
For having the strength
To keep living
When so many others couldn’t
Still able to put
In front of
But still locomoting
Out of hell
On his own two feet…
That alone makes him a hero
In my heart he will always be
That the young revolutionary in me
This was written a few Septembers ago. Walking on the streets of a now deserted beach island, only the leaves, in various states, to keep me company.
walk with me,
under bridges of wedding tree canopies,
still green aplenty,
tho subtle marked for change,
making summer illusions,
stroll on pathways
of lesser, off the track, shaded lanes,
the sun blocker trees wear new necklaces,
brown and yellow diamonds,
a coming attraction of
The September trees are:
Ever so slightly stooped,
bent with weight of a surety,
knowing with high certainty,
their future, bleak,
bowed and drooped,
discouraged by the
cold travails soon to arrive.
Living in the recent past,
I am dressed inappropriately,
white tee and shorts,
still dressed in my
Gap issue summer uniform,
summer suspended animation.
Island streets are de-humanized,
gone home are the children,
newly fallen leaves have,
their place, taken.
The leaves are:
magically organized along
the sidelines of empty streets,
quiet stadiums of would be
kid's touch football fields.
browned, crisp and soulless,
first greet this solitary stroller,
like a cheering throng of ghosts,
celebrating a sighting -
man, as a seasonal fossil,
one that still is living
and worth reminding, yet
human too shall pass when
his fall arrives.
the leave's cheers make over
into jeers and mocking laughs:
Oh humans, they say,
your summer songs naive,
mais tres charmant.
On Crescent Beach,
the driftwood sadly forlorn,
looking more adrift than ever,
for no one passes to express
admiration at the past seasons
an objet d'art lonely,
for the beach gallery shuttered,
raising questions existential.
Is driftwood on the beach sans
art, truth or refuse?
I am looking backwards as the
Earth moves forward.
My own axis, my eyes,
refuse to be pressed
into service of the seasons.
to involuntary servitude,
to rotation and revolution.
trees and leaves write
their own poem,
of foolish men who:
Bow and droop,
discouraged by the
travails soon to arrive,
Delaying their own fall,
finally shed summer delusions
like leaves upon the ground,
summer poetry silenced,
summer suspended, no more.
I am a Summer-Man
Rulers are being double-crossed,
Faith in the system has been more than lost.
One class falls, another will rise,
Some of us will meet our demise.
We take the stage, we take a stand,
We have a revolution on our hands.
There once was a boy who was but a slender
Line in a portrait or a smudge on a fender
Nothing more than would be passed by your eye
Was the boy so young who did nothing but cry
The world was a cruel one, but he wasn't so tainted
His picture more perfect than of David's statue painted
But the world would soon tear this boy apart
It would end in the mind what began in the heart
You see, innocence thrives where ignorance rules
For blissfulness is the kindest of the ignorant's tools
But this boy would be taught to feel and to hurt
His tears turned to ash as they fall from lips to dirt
He was now cold and vulgar and swore
His opinions had changed when his brother died in the war
There was no point to heaven and less point to hell
When they called out your name, you either stood up or fell
Chipped bricks covered in posters past
Graffiti from people of phrases that last
Like one-liners, humourless, gaining a laugh
And the three-word with the sketch of a heart cut in half
The best philosophes of this past generation
Write thoughts on the wall from their closed imagination
And the boy with his eyes red grew darker
As he reached in his pocket and pulled out a marker
With a couple quick slashes a ballot was drawn
And he labeled the man in the voting booth "pawn"
Underneath it he wrote what might be a phrase
That just didn't catch on in those olden days:
It said, "A stone cast down as in defeat
Will hit thine foot before the street
For he who gives up his voting right
Will have no say in where we fight."
The boy capped the pen and he walked away
He had written down all that he wanted to say
His hands now were smudged from the marks on the wall
And he thought to himself, "In short time, it'll fall"
Right around the corner he was halted by the law
"You thought no one was watching, but guess what, kid? I saw.
The truth is, you're right, we vote for our wars
But the man up on top of the nation? He's yours."
The boy smiled slightly, for this cop was wrong
And he reached deep past the tears in himself to be strong
"That man isn't mine; he approved of this war
And congress has made my brother break the oath that he swore"
The cop looked at boy and the boy at the cop
They weren't talking graffiti, but the man up on top
Two strangers, two people, agreeing the fact
That the choice on the ballot was a serious act
"Most kids don't realize just what a vote can mean
They don't attribute the choice to the step in between
Old ideas corrupted or improved upon
All they know is their voice can make the other guy gone"
The boy nodded and looked the cop right in the eye
Saying, "This president let my brother ship out to die
If you try to make us think that his empathy wasn't fake
Contradiction in contrite diction will no conviction make
"You can't justify death because the harder you try
The more your arguments fade like the clouds in the sky
But before they dissolve and assimilate with the air
They leave behind pain to show that they were there"
The cop nodded, waved, and went back to the beat
More hoodlums and lost souls to help off the street
He passed a dark alley and his instincts erupted
His mind yelling to him, "Check for something corrupted!"
So he turned down in darkness to check out the spot
It looked like a place where blackmarket is hot
The fungus and mold that once grew peeled off
Leaving yellowish stains and the urge to cough
A voice near the brickwork called out saying, "Hey,"
"If it's not to much trouble, mister, couldja stay?
See honest to goodness, mister, I tried to stay clean
But when you take your own product, separation is mean"
"I don't know exactly who is to blame"
Said cop to the girl he could see but not name
"There's no one to blame," said the girl to the man
"There's things that will happen, and with time they all can
"For a creature that thrives on flesh alone
Will bite through the skin to steal the bone
And he must be careful, lest he find
That he's been feasting upon his own behind"
"Yes, sometimes it's true: Desire drives us too fast
Sometimes to places where sanity's long since passed
But sanity's fleeting and must be sought after
Come; let me find you some lodgings and laughter"
"No, mister! I'm a lost cause, my fate's without hope!
Permit me now to symbolize: I'm at the end of my rope!"
"Now miss don't you think like that, No one's soldered to their fate
Such thinking will confine you like a cage with bitter bait!"
This world's harsh and confusing and you've had the short stick
But don't let hopelessness be the only thing that's gonna make you tick
Like treading water in the ocean, panic makes you die
Find beauty out of terror, spread your arms and fly!"
The girl sat there blinking. She'd never heard such talk
She'd never been another thought on anybody's walk
"Now let me tell you, I'm not short on self doubt
But I've got to say: that's not what it's all about
See I met this boy earlier, who told me his story
About how the status of the world often makes him worry
This boy's actin' out, but he'll turn out just fine
But if you're giving up hope, then you're crossing the line
Because we've never needed Merry Men and Robin Hood
To stand up at bugle-call to turn the world good
We just need to remember: We're in it forever!
Fight the urge to look upward and shout angrily, 'Never!'
The world, good and bad, is mixed unto itself
And you can't take you your recipe book from the shelf
And add pinches of falsehoods like seasonings for a mask
You must fix it internally, for that is your task
See, though you've given up, that's something I just won't allow
You're gonna go out and fix it, let somebody show you how
Because there's more than one way to a proper conclusion
Some ways are hard and still others illusion
But become obsessed with the truth, with doin' things right
Become a shining green beacon to lead others at night
Promise me, here and now, in this alley proclaim!
That you will set forth and make good of your name."
The girl gently nodded and as time's hands were wound
She grew like a flower from that dank piece of ground
It's the tiny conversations that can so alter life
And cut the crust of complication like a peace-bringing knife
The boy with his brother who'd gone up in the fight
Was just like the cop said: he turned out alright
He put his mind to better things, gave up the childish art
And in the realm of history, his bio did its part
Because he realized how tangible the change he wanted was
He set aside resentments as the true reformer does
He spoke of love, acceptance. . . And then switched to compromise
Because when you're just a visionary, the vision always dies
He used the good and bad to weld a better, stronger, net
To catch the lost and lonely, his was the best support to get
He filled the heads of others with the change that he once viewed
And little inch by little inch corruption and violence met with feud
A verbal dispute filled with picketing people
Who shouted, "Change!" from their electronic steeple
And the media members had themselves a field day
As they caught on the camera what the boy had to say:
"Too often we forget, that apathy isn't peace
But we allow ourselves to be served it by the leaders filled with grease
And we skip along, ignoring things that should rightly upset us
Bombs abroad are wholly fine but not the one that's gonna get us
We've got to think of the whole picture, got to figure out the puzzle
Though you think the lion's fierce, it always has time to nuzzle
So let's switch the view and take on that trait
And put aside the thought that nuzzling can wait."
The cop saw the boy who was on T.V.
And said to himself, "that kid talked to me!
He smiled a bit, "his speech is pleasing as a wren
And in the case of my boasting, I'll say I knew him when!"
The girl wasn't taped, but she was out changing lives
By having conversations that we've likened to knives
And so it was when time was up on the impending revolution
Armed with words she voyaged forth to fufill her resolution
The boy and she stood side by side and led the people on
And using power words of choice, the old regime was gone
What started out as compromise, effloresced to peace and love
And the cop the two had talked to nodded at boy and girl above
A change in heart, a change in mind, can spark a worldly change
Though originality is difficult, ideas can rearrange
To fit the modern times, and indeed to mold it best
And the answer's sometimes difficult, but as we all know: life's a test
This boy and girl were lost, then found, and so was their whole world
And their string of conversations were around their finger curled
Reminding them that there was out there a better way to live
And revolution was the message that the cop had had to give
Seriously? Positive? You’ve got to be joking me.
Optimism at it’s finest could only be realism at it’s worst.
Mesmerized by this thought, enchanted by it’s cold hard consistency
Enthralled was I to mock “positive”, and keep my lips pursed.
Then it hit me. No, it literally hit me.
If I just pound this podium a few times
Maybe I’ll channel some of doc’s “positivity” pound podium
Ehh, guess that wasn’t a symptom; merely a sign
So what is this “battle plan”, and who really cares about mine?
I’ll tell you who, and it
Took until now for me to understand
Simply smiling is like positive quicksand
Little did I know, nor did I comprehend
Even the tiniest grin is a god-send
The mirror first, then a friend
Tomorrow is uncertain, so I recommend
Investing one in the nearest stranger
Never underestimate the smile, this game changer
Gets some through the day
Give the gift of smiles
Others need this Holiday.
Overall, there’s not even a word you need to say
For a smile is universal in every way.
This was the goal
Here was my contribution to this positive revolution:
Enlighten another soul.
The mirrors we look at every sunrise
Hair tangled, bags beneath the eyes
Internally determining how much this day is going to suck (sighs)
Now, hit rewind and you might be surprised
Getting off to a good start is simply devised:
Smile your warmest, stupidest, squintiest smile: regardless of its size
There is the secret ingredient in the positive pie
Having your hearty morning smile, with eggs on the sunny side
And this idea I vehemently used to deny
Thinking, “smile? In the morning? I’d rather die.”
Heath Ledger once said “Why. So. Serious?”
Ehh, he had a point!
Life can be a joke, especially when we’re delirious
Put the pout to the side, don’t be so furious
Unconditionally accept we all have ups and downs
Smile like an idiot, because aren’t the sounds
Involved with that deep, tear jerking laughter just
Ninety nine times better than a good morning grunt?
All I had to do was send a
Little smile in someone’s direction
Lift their spirits, make a connection
This is who cared about my “battle plan”
Hell, who knows? Maybe I even saved a man.
Ego aside, let’s do the best we can
With others, we can do our best to understand
Right from wrongs done, our own personal brand
Of happiness, that like flames needs to be fanned
Nothing is like that morning smile witnessed firsthand
Give that gift away, make it look easy and unplanned
Why? Because the unexpected gifts are the best
And to this I do attest
Yes, we have all been truly blessed:
Smile at each other and forget all the rest.
I smiled at those who passed, regardless of popular or outcast, and how I’ve seen a change. Doors have opened to relationships and thoughts I never conceived possible for a realist like me, I really was blind but now I see how powerful is this “positivity”. How much have we all grown? These seeds we’ve sown from you, to you, to you, to me, to that kid who sits by himself, to that girl who spilled her iced tea,: these are all the connections we’ve made, and there are more that would and could be if we only smile, say hello (or if we’re really brave) would you go out with me? The morning smile is the first step towards a “yes”, this is my guarantee. A smile is like a master key to all bliss (aaannnnddd maybe even a kiss ;)). Just like a great slam poet once said: “If you’ve got this (head), then you follow this (heart), and if someone ever tries to judge you, you give them this (smile)”.