curlie-fries-mcgee - Hello Poetry

there would be blank canvasses empty words silently echoing the pages of poems not written of narrative never revealed from muses overwhelming spirits overflowing onto sugar coated melodies woven into lyrics that pester and harass and permeate the sacred space of minds there would be blank canvasses empty words of delicate curves or hips, wide like sandy beaches immortalized by brush strokes or camera shutters empty panels of superhero legends forgotten there would be blank canvasses, empty words of no church praises hollered over holy rollin piano riffs but most definitely, most importantly, there would be blank canvasses, empty words and hands that never itched to craft golden scrolls onto the haggard loose leaves residing in sharpie stained notebooks and great wisdoms never told which ****** great minds moves great minds with melodious lyricism which haunts souls taunts souls with the burning questions of shoes and ships and ceiling wax there would be pens never emptied dry cultivating piles of paper ***** with half *** rhymes, rhythms, and washed up metaphors muses would never possess individuals sleeplessly seeking to fill up forests worth of leaves after suffering from the doldrums of writers block blank canvasses, empty words in a world without art

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Apr 22, 2013

Apr 22, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC

Blank Canvasses, Empty Words

there would be blank canvasses empty words silently echoing the pages of poems not written of narrative never revealed from muses overwhelming spirits overflowing onto sugar coated melodies woven into lyrics that pester and harass and permeate the sacred space of minds there would be blank canvasses empty words of delicate curves or hips, wide like sandy beaches immortalized by brush strokes or camera shutters empty panels of superhero legends forgotten there would be blank canvasses, empty words of no church praises hollered over holy rollin piano riffs but most definitely, most importantly, there would be blank canvasses, empty words and hands that never itched to craft golden scrolls onto the haggard loose leaves residing in sharpie stained notebooks and great wisdoms never told which ****** great minds moves great minds with melodious lyricism which haunts souls taunts souls with the burning questions of shoes and ships and ceiling wax there would be pens never emptied dry cultivating piles of paper ***** with half *** rhymes, rhythms, and washed up metaphors muses would never possess individuals sleeplessly seeking to fill up forests worth of leaves after suffering from the doldrums of writers block blank canvasses, empty words in a world without art

35

Mr Montoya I want to know Did you discover the great design of your art in the puffs of clouds hanging lazily in the sky In the eyes of stars did you push back the deafening city lights to hear the chords in your latest song? How is it that you find trinkets of brilliance like clovers in a field? I need to know where you felt the lines of your latest poem? Did you harvest them like peaches from the purple orange sunset? Can you lead me to where hearts have unfolded minds are open spirits are free like oceans after a storm I want to meet the muses that live between the pages of your notebooks wrap my mind in your leaves like fresh towels from the dryer did you chase them towards horizons unfounded did you hear your music in bellowing rainstorms The chords in the wind and thunder shaking your spinal chord What divine being hand delivered your brilliance from cloud nine? Sincerely, Madame Nanacakes

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Dec 30, 2012

Dec 30, 2012 at 10:34 AM UTC

Open Letter to Mr. Montoya

Mr Montoya I want to know Did you discover the great design of your art in the puffs of clouds hanging lazily in the sky In the eyes of stars did you push back the deafening city lights to hear the chords in your latest song? How is it that you find trinkets of brilliance like clovers in a field? I need to know where you felt the lines of your latest poem? Did you harvest them like peaches from the purple orange sunset? Can you lead me to where hearts have unfolded minds are open spirits are free like oceans after a storm I want to meet the muses that live between the pages of your notebooks wrap my mind in your leaves like fresh towels from the dryer did you chase them towards horizons unfounded did you hear your music in bellowing rainstorms The chords in the wind and thunder shaking your spinal chord What divine being hand delivered your brilliance from cloud nine? Sincerely, Madame Nanacakes

23

Tell me, Gentlemen: while you soared higher than your fears and dreams could ever reach, into the blue crystal infinity, did you hear the voices of angels echoing off the wings of geese migrating south for the winter? how did it feel, fighting for a nation that measured your worth in disheveled water fountains, mop buckets, dust rags, and potato peelings, defending stars and stripes stained with the same molten white abhorrence smeared on ******** bombers? did it hit you like a G force? when you climbed into that cockpit, audaciously red, the blood rushing to your head, was it bitter hand fulls of cherries sweet? when you returned home through back doors and alleyways to face an Uncle Sam with burning crosses in his eyes, when you stood curbside at your own homecoming parade feeling confetti and streamers tickle the bridges of your noses, tell me how it felt, Gentlemen. will my brothers and sisters who fight only for tennis shoe wealth, understand the worth of those medals on your scarlet blazers? if I listen hard enough to those jets breaking the sound barrier will I hear your story? tell me, Gentlemen, what was it like to fly? infinite respects, Curlie Fries Mcgee

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Dec 15, 2012

Dec 15, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC

Open Letter to the Tuskegee Airmen

Tell me, Gentlemen: while you soared higher than your fears and dreams could ever reach, into the blue crystal infinity, did you hear the voices of angels echoing off the wings of geese migrating south for the winter? how did it feel, fighting for a nation that measured your worth in disheveled water fountains, mop buckets, dust rags, and potato peelings, defending stars and stripes stained with the same molten white abhorrence smeared on ******** bombers? did it hit you like a G force? when you climbed into that cockpit, audaciously red, the blood rushing to your head, was it bitter hand fulls of cherries sweet? when you returned home through back doors and alleyways to face an Uncle Sam with burning crosses in his eyes, when you stood curbside at your own homecoming parade feeling confetti and streamers tickle the bridges of your noses, tell me how it felt, Gentlemen. will my brothers and sisters who fight only for tennis shoe wealth, understand the worth of those medals on your scarlet blazers? if I listen hard enough to those jets breaking the sound barrier will I hear your story? tell me, Gentlemen, what was it like to fly? infinite respects, Curlie Fries Mcgee

17

won't you please... tango to waltz with me. jay walk jay dance jay skip down the street with me. eat dessert before dinner with me. color outside the lines with me. eat with your elbows on the table with me. speed through the yellow light with me. divide infinity by zero with me. end your sentence with a preposition with me. abandon convention with me. just free yourself with me.

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Dec 6, 2012

Dec 6, 2012 at 8:24 AM UTC

To James

won't you please... tango to waltz with me. jay walk jay dance jay skip down the street with me. eat dessert before dinner with me. color outside the lines with me. eat with your elbows on the table with me. speed through the yellow light with me. divide infinity by zero with me. end your sentence with a preposition with me. abandon convention with me. just free yourself with me.

12

I quite like the virginity of a fresh notebook the way my wrists and palms drag across its leaves breathing life between lines in pink magic marker or the severity of red ballpoint I like the prickly practical meticulousness of a shopping list: a dozen eggs one pineapple one bag of fresh spinach one bag of English muffins one bottle of dish soap I like the tender impressions of curlie cues and firty cursive communicating endearments placed on counters such as: TAKE OUT THE RECYCLING YOU LAZY OAF ******* <3 XOXOXO <3 I enjoy the audacity of a wandering doodle meandering cartwheeling hopskotching between and under and over indices and spaces between shopping lists and death threats i enjoy the lingering ghost of prose shaped caverns carved onto seemingly empty sheets that carry on for pages until they fade like whispers into an evanescence I crave the obnoxiousness absurdity of a to do list daring me to take a day off from procrastination until tomorrow call Gramma rent due on the first of the muuuuuuuunth take the GRE update resume be awesome. like a boss. most of all I love the pain and joy of a poem the way it slowly leaks from heart to mind to hand to paper staining spaces urgently faster than muses whispers barely escaping onto lines prolific terrific poetry sporadic spacious atrocious poetry I croon over the denial of the last page of a beat up notebook the way the paper hangs onto spirals haggard littered with stringy remnants of lists and reminders and death threats and poems and goodbyes

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Dec 5, 2012

Dec 5, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC

Notebooks

I quite like the virginity of a fresh notebook the way my wrists and palms drag across its leaves breathing life between lines in pink magic marker or the severity of red ballpoint I like the prickly practical meticulousness of a shopping list: a dozen eggs one pineapple one bag of fresh spinach one bag of English muffins one bottle of dish soap I like the tender impressions of curlie cues and firty cursive communicating endearments placed on counters such as: TAKE OUT THE RECYCLING YOU LAZY OAF ******* <3 XOXOXO <3 I enjoy the audacity of a wandering doodle meandering cartwheeling hopskotching between and under and over indices and spaces between shopping lists and death threats i enjoy the lingering ghost of prose shaped caverns carved onto seemingly empty sheets that carry on for pages until they fade like whispers into an evanescence I crave the obnoxiousness absurdity of a to do list daring me to take a day off from procrastination until tomorrow call Gramma rent due on the first of the muuuuuuuunth take the GRE update resume be awesome. like a boss. most of all I love the pain and joy of a poem the way it slowly leaks from heart to mind to hand to paper staining spaces urgently faster than muses whispers barely escaping onto lines prolific terrific poetry sporadic spacious atrocious poetry I croon over the denial of the last page of a beat up notebook the way the paper hangs onto spirals haggard littered with stringy remnants of lists and reminders and death threats and poems and goodbyes

45

relaxing? relaxing would be a sin against myself. see God spun and wove golden bits of wisdom in these curls that are mine. see these curls spring loud with songs of my Nubian mothers and war cries of my Rasta fathers. see these curls bounce proud to the rhythm of tribal drums and the foot prints of my sisters from Manila reside there as they roll lumpia between the coils and springs. see these curls have moved sandstone bricks cross deserts, building divine architecture so perfectly aligned with cosmos and planets until Moses told Pharaoh to Let My People Go. these curls have traveled cross oceans and triangles packed like sardines squalid below the decks of ships. see these curls have been ***** by the nasty ***** in the big house and suffered sun strokes in cotton fields. see these curls sing loud and strong. See these curls were branded and forced at gunpoint behind ******** barbed wire fences gassed to death in the name of so called purification. see these curls bleed the pain of fire hoses and dog bites and whites only signs. see these curls wont back down gainst no burnin crosses gainst no swastikas gainst no elephant ******** talkin all that jazz on fox and cnn. see these curls dance wildly off beat to straight rhythms that drone on in 4/4 time c major sixty bpm. see these curls are Mas and my Grammas. see my curls are too proud to sit back and chill and won’t take no **** or heat or hot air. see these curls cannot be contained in braids or scarves or jars of creamy crack. see these curls dare you to force them to coerce them to straighten up their act. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls will not ******* relax.

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Nov 30, 2012

Nov 30, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC

soft and beautiful just for me

relaxing? relaxing would be a sin against myself. see God spun and wove golden bits of wisdom in these curls that are mine. see these curls spring loud with songs of my Nubian mothers and war cries of my Rasta fathers. see these curls bounce proud to the rhythm of tribal drums and the foot prints of my sisters from Manila reside there as they roll lumpia between the coils and springs. see these curls have moved sandstone bricks cross deserts, building divine architecture so perfectly aligned with cosmos and planets until Moses told Pharaoh to Let My People Go. these curls have traveled cross oceans and triangles packed like sardines squalid below the decks of ships. see these curls have been ***** by the nasty ***** in the big house and suffered sun strokes in cotton fields. see these curls sing loud and strong. See these curls were branded and forced at gunpoint behind ******** barbed wire fences gassed to death in the name of so called purification. see these curls bleed the pain of fire hoses and dog bites and whites only signs. see these curls wont back down gainst no burnin crosses gainst no swastikas gainst no elephant ******** talkin all that jazz on fox and cnn. see these curls dance wildly off beat to straight rhythms that drone on in 4/4 time c major sixty bpm. see these curls are Mas and my Grammas. see my curls are too proud to sit back and chill and won’t take no **** or heat or hot air. see these curls cannot be contained in braids or scarves or jars of creamy crack. see these curls dare you to force them to coerce them to straighten up their act. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls. my curls will not ******* relax.

27

this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons for the Hopeless Stargazer who immortalized his Subject with one hundred and eight sets of fourteen lines in iambic pentameter for ***** tight clad teenage boys who envied frisky fleas, struggling to make holy ungodly passions with cheap arguments and metaphysical pick up lines for Disillusioned City Dwellers, who, wandering lonely as clouds, stopped to quietly reflect upon wind-beaten moss-covered crags, and heard God’s whisper thunder from petals and blades of grass this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons for Bespectacled Slave Drivers who submersed idle minds in anthologies, forcing them to **** neon yellow on dreams deferred and rivers; slicing and dicing Grecian urns with red ball point pens; bruising and battering, in blue ball point, roads not taken; scalding supermarkets in California with pyroclastic flows of graphite for those pushing to tear apart lines and letters, reconstructing ,deconstructing, agonizing, imaginizing, bullshitting, and brooding on to crisp white sheets in times new roman twelve point font for the Monsters and Lollipops that exist in the millimeters between a skull and a brain this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons slumbering beneath Restless Leaves Under the Moon

0

Nov 29, 2012

Nov 29, 2012 at 10:39 AM UTC

Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons

this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons for the Hopeless Stargazer who immortalized his Subject with one hundred and eight sets of fourteen lines in iambic pentameter for ***** tight clad teenage boys who envied frisky fleas, struggling to make holy ungodly passions with cheap arguments and metaphysical pick up lines for Disillusioned City Dwellers, who, wandering lonely as clouds, stopped to quietly reflect upon wind-beaten moss-covered crags, and heard God’s whisper thunder from petals and blades of grass this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons for Bespectacled Slave Drivers who submersed idle minds in anthologies, forcing them to **** neon yellow on dreams deferred and rivers; slicing and dicing Grecian urns with red ball point pens; bruising and battering, in blue ball point, roads not taken; scalding supermarkets in California with pyroclastic flows of graphite for those pushing to tear apart lines and letters, reconstructing ,deconstructing, agonizing, imaginizing, bullshitting, and brooding on to crisp white sheets in times new roman twelve point font for the Monsters and Lollipops that exist in the millimeters between a skull and a brain this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons slumbering beneath Restless Leaves Under the Moon

9

Dearest Little Snot While you are a dinosaur princess reigning supreme over the sandbox with your iron fist perfectly chipped glittery pink fingernails I want to tell you a few things before you saunter off into adulthood… the day you were born there was the most beautiful messy thunderstorm the world cried tears of joy upon your arrival that’s how I know God does exist dangling in the innocent sparkles of a child’s glance speaking to you with each beat of your pumping heart FYI when life’s pain makes you want to retreat into the arm of the sofa with a lifetime movie and processed frozen sugar throw that ***** arrows instead of tantrums and never forget that you can indeed stop celestial bodies from obscuring your view of the sun never forget that his world ultimately revolves around your shapely hips don’t forget to taste the world with your heart open and chew with your mouth shut and taste everything and I mean everything and if it tastes bad try it again later keep your dreams close to your heart in an ammunition belt strapped across your chest and be a warrior for your sunshine but don’t worry about it when the sun don’t shine because your sunshine will illuminate your dreams and its okay if high school sweethearts don’t stay together forever or get back together after forever to rekindle romances conceived in cafeterias or gym school dances when even a chaperone or Daddy can’t tear them apart and sometimes the spiral notebook dreams of forever lovers and eternal BFFs never quite unfold from the tight origami wide ruled universes they were conceived at Believe that and fancy this you little snot I’m always going to be bigger than you and smarter than you and win at punchbuggynopunchback But you are greater than the power that created you so don’t forget that.

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Nov 27, 2012

Nov 27, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC

little sister's

Dearest Little Snot While you are a dinosaur princess reigning supreme over the sandbox with your iron fist perfectly chipped glittery pink fingernails I want to tell you a few things before you saunter off into adulthood… the day you were born there was the most beautiful messy thunderstorm the world cried tears of joy upon your arrival that’s how I know God does exist dangling in the innocent sparkles of a child’s glance speaking to you with each beat of your pumping heart FYI when life’s pain makes you want to retreat into the arm of the sofa with a lifetime movie and processed frozen sugar throw that ***** arrows instead of tantrums and never forget that you can indeed stop celestial bodies from obscuring your view of the sun never forget that his world ultimately revolves around your shapely hips don’t forget to taste the world with your heart open and chew with your mouth shut and taste everything and I mean everything and if it tastes bad try it again later keep your dreams close to your heart in an ammunition belt strapped across your chest and be a warrior for your sunshine but don’t worry about it when the sun don’t shine because your sunshine will illuminate your dreams and its okay if high school sweethearts don’t stay together forever or get back together after forever to rekindle romances conceived in cafeterias or gym school dances when even a chaperone or Daddy can’t tear them apart and sometimes the spiral notebook dreams of forever lovers and eternal BFFs never quite unfold from the tight origami wide ruled universes they were conceived at Believe that and fancy this you little snot I’m always going to be bigger than you and smarter than you and win at punchbuggynopunchback But you are greater than the power that created you so don’t forget that.

36