Brain, brain go away
Don't want to listen one more day
Already lonely and afraid
Feel insecure and full of shame

Brain, brain don't act this way
You're always angry; Filled with hate
You know we're joined; Can't separate
Yourself your punching in the face

Brain, brain what can I say
To make it so you see things straight
Don't know how much more I can take
Of constant warring and debate

Brain, brain it's getting late
This journey's not some endless race
Life's flying by and at this pace
Forget a win; Not gonna place

Brain, brain let's medicate
I'll feed you drugs and we'll sedate
The only way to mitigate
Discrepancies we generate

Brain, brain we sadly waste
This outcome feels like it was fate
But never was there a sealed date
Fulfilling what we self-create

Brain, brain so much we faced
Success so close could almost taste
Instead our tail we always chased
We'll die alone sad and disgraced

What's it take
These days

To write a poem

That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest

Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?

Is it perhaps...
     the "creativity"
               of      varied      spacing
  or...    could it be..... the lack
                              of capitalization
               the loathsome little letters
               screaming out
                         hey, look at us!
         ... or maybe it's
               the punctuation marks,
     littered, haphazardly
          through the text
                    (whether used correctly)
               or, theyre not?!
     despite worrds mispeled
          and a grammar might is broken
   can these gimmicks increase interest
        though miswritten or misspoken?

Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
     unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
   (or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
                  Praise for which we
                  Privately, desperately
                  Pray

Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism

Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes

Well, maybe not...
     those gems are often ignored
     cast-aside, unread, even abhorred

Why?

Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
   of "the right way"
   to write
   to speak
   to act
   to live
   to (fill in the blank)

No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!

And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way

Line
After line
Of synonyms
          over
               and
                    over
                         and
                              over
                                   again

-----

What's it take
These days

To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?

But more importantly:
What's it take

To make my poem go viral?

have you ever danced in the sunset?
twirling in drenched gold evenings,
trailing rays of light like the skirts of a southern lehenga
bright gold, twirling kissed fingers allowing the sun
to smear your face, muddle your features.

have you ever drowned in the sunset?
did you hear me? turned it up?
/did you hear me/
spun under the sun rays,
kicked the beaten stereo until it played music-
such sun songs, bright and bold
singing under palm trees and crumbling homes?

have you ever played in the sunset?
like piano keys and fingers gently folded
by rays dancing through a windowsill
fading into rich floor, turning it worn
alone in the breeze, windows open
with friends, hearts closed
sun mottling pages?

have you ever loved in the sunset?
it all seems possible,
when your faces blur in the sky and then
darken, inevitably
it all seems natural
when you’re under the fires of heaven
who’ve dappled your body,
are waiting to flow through your veins.

the dreams fall from the sky,
into the children’s hands
a small child reaches her open and filthy palms to the sky,
a girl sets aside her books,
cradles a spider web of rain droplets
tucking in her heart,
the deepest corners of her brain, they’re one in the same.

love is so good when love is young
she knows this herself,
a sweet taste so different to the fires she knew
snatched away from her by her own hands
her own hands -broken as a scholar’s, as a child’s,
but never as the youth
never broken as a youth.

she breathes life into her spiderweb,
wrapped around her back
lacing itself around her
up her neck and behind her eyes
with each stroke of her pencil
each late night
each missed night
she sets her web free and begins to climb it as it grows inside her.

all her laughs,
shared with her spiders,
are we spiders or are we girls?
making our own webs, climbing them
-we look like girls
we look like girls as we wield our weapons,
watch our love die.
we are red widows,
hands dripping with blood.

the count starts now (tired of tired)


I read your outcry at 3:00am
posted on Facebook

you are
tired of tired
sick of sick
the only question, will it ever end...

rise this day,  start another way...

count your blessing
count against all odds
for there are more than merely one

use both hands
both hands chested to feel the heart thrusting,
for living is a wondrous blessing unique
an unbelievable to believe than so many beats,
born and borne,
by you, a strength unequaled,
you a richness possessed

count that one first.
count my hands holding your shoulders.
count that as two, one for me, one for you.

more? more.  

mirror.  find the tiny light in each eye against a yellow backdrop.

add two more. for they are a sparking confidence of confirming.

you felt the heart thrumming
go back, feel the breathing warmth breaching forth.
add another. for now known you can never ever be cold.

wash the face, wash away the caution that sleep leaves,
the coverlet of fear that fears you not to dare,
amazing that tap water plain is sacred when it
miracle breaks you out and anoints thy forehead with pure oil like the kings of yore, be a kingly human being.

go out. do not return
until one act of kind is performed and
count that as a thousand blessed, a sum recurring recounted

walk humble and the path will always appear.
walk contented for you can be both king and servant,
there is no difference - you must be both to be the other
one.

and if you still cannot raise the head,
call me.
that would be a blessing for me
and I will hear your blessings sounds mine merge,
dear friend and no more stranger,
that is the simplest definition of our learning to count to
infinity

Fist in pocket
Rot from within
Rage immortal
Unknown for a cause
Alone in fear
Alone in satisfaction
Perish for peace
Sacrifice


© 2019 MJL