our daily information
defies all expectation

reporting in unnerving detail
how trains derail, tour buses fail
   to stay on roads without a rail
how terrorists attacked again
    when nobody expected them
what nonsense politicians spew
    unfortunately quite a few
how the economy keeps getting worse
    yet billionaires still fill their purse
pollution levels have ‘improved’
El Nino has the jet streams moved
millions of refugees are loose
    around the globe, few clothes, no shoes
armies and gangsters flex their muscles
cannot resist the deadly hustle

and for the icing on the cake
thousands of lives are now at stake
we learn  without too strong emotions
that a new virus was discovered
the waters of our rising oceans
     have by now covered
     a third of several island nation's land
no more idyllic beaches with white sand
    
all this mixed in
with those exciting human interest stories
about the latest dog show winners
some brilliant wunderkind beginners
major and minor worries
from  distant neighborhoods
commercials for the latest fads
and all the current healthy foods
self-advertising TV channel ads
who’s s great in sports
    and who of sorts

in short  
24/7 of much useless blather
that neither alters our lives
nor can we change its mostly dreary facts

yet we risk drowning  under this debris
    of cacophonic sound and image bites
unless we learn to
    set our marks
    clear our sights
    turn into info sharks
devouring just those bits
of almost hidden information
we can make sense of and digest
the clues to what is really going on
below the surface of our media-created ocean

it’s the commotions in the depths
    that teach us best
    give us a glimpse behind the curtains of stale words
    make us aware there’s little time for rest

She does not need a controversy in order to be relevant. Relevance stands on its own; it is a level onto itself.

The words of a relevant woman are never unkind nor twisted. They speak life. Most of all, they speak truth--the whole truth and nothing but. The marks of a relevant woman are faith and obedience--to be the person God called her to be, and to fulfill whatever her life's purpose may be.

For relevance does not beg for attention. It is not clothed in selfishness or vanity. Rather, it is clothed in God and His glory is where she draws her confidence.

That is why her relevance goes beyond her--it's out of this world. And also why the world will look and take notice of her.

Sitting cross legged on earth, in the wilderness alone quiet,
I meditate,on the single sprawling tree, in her poetic best,
verdant and robust, I wouldn't fail to see how ceaselessly
she did strive, in  reinventing herself moment after moment.

A bird, dedicating her song to the evening's evanescence,sings on,
like nothing else ever matters to her, even after it's end,
as she has known her inner-self better, by making her songs
more relevant, each time  than before,and than the songs of others,
without any reason particular, more by a compulsion mysterious.

While delving in to the depth of that compulsion, Marianne Moore,
I feel present in my mind, she is the tree fighting the creative battle,
not to  dislike her own creation,the bird with persistent compulsion.

If you brush off what we say,
We will rip your ears off with our words-
Because our opinions matter.
We can be just as intelligent,
If not more so
Than you are.

But in your mind,
Because we have vaginas,
And you have a *****,
The people whom with you share
The same kind of genitals are oh so
Much more creative than us.

But we will nail it into your stubborn
Skull, the fact that women matter.
We can be intellectuals.
We can be in galleries.
We can do your ******* job-
If we even want to in the first place.
Our opinions are valid and relevant.
We do not deserve to be brushed off
As if we do not have minds of our own.

We refuse to go through torture
To ‘earn’ your respect.
Respect that we do not even need
To be able to succeed.

There was a sound, cracks on a door and an apple tree, no relevance whatsoever.
Apples were red, Tree was old, branches were everywhere.
A child giggled vivaciously, a witch gobbled little apples ferociously.
Tree was standing tall and there was no relevance at all.

Sound is loud and sky is bright, school bus coming, child is sad.
Tree was wooden and red was an apple, a door opened.
It was raining and there were fishes, chips were hot.
Witch sipped a beverage, Tree grew old and clouds were dark.

Chips were cold, an apple on the ground, sound is LOUD.
Child stood up, bus stopped and there was blood.
Fishes swim, eagles fly, violets are red, roses are purple.
Witch cast a spell and there was no relevance at all.

Nothing is full, everything has things and there was an apple.
Blue roses wither, fishes die, eagles fall and sound is silent.
Witch has smiled, child has cried and sky was cold.
Door was not, people sad, relevance cannot be found.

Once upon a time, a man once said aloud for all to hear:
"There is no need for poetry."
Once upon a time, he was right.
When the darkest nights fall upon us
like a barrage of arrows
we would rather just survive.
We strive to one day have a future
where there is no doubt, but
until that last creative ember in our souls is
snuffed out, we will have a need for poetry.

Because what are these words if not
just scrap paper floating on the breeze?
What is this idea if not
just one seed among a million trees?
What is this level of depth
when measured to the deepest seas?
We live in a society where wit is defined
by how well you can put someone down...
A society where smiles/frowns,
whichever it is, they are just masks.
Hiding who we truly are.
Each one of us is a star,
some brighter than others,
but each of us beautiful and powerful in our own right
and in spite of our differences.

On many a night
I would have extinguished my own flame
just to be able to name myself a martyr.
A martyr who died fighting his demons
and whether or not I will ever win,
I'll always be aware of it's futility.
But, you see, it's never like I ever had false visions
of putting this to rest.
It never was a battle between 'good' and 'bad'...
only shades of better or worse.

And yet we would stuff our one hope
against this darkness into a funeral hearse
and wave it on it's way.
With not even a hint of dismay,
I ask you all,
is there any need for poetry?

Up here, I feel like I can open up my soul to you.
Show you who I really am.
Through each word and pause
I have encurred the awes of people
I never thought could appreciate me.
So let us let this tragedy unfold.
Who knows what the future could hold...
or what it could let go.

I'm not afraid of being called egotistical

For having convictions, for feeling like I matter

But not in that "it matters inside"

Like I'm some hipster flavor of the month

Because if Kim Kardashian is relevant I'm ******* relevant

Tell me what sandwich Kanye ate after he wiped his *** today

Tell me how One Direction smoked ***, and wrote a good song finally

Tell me how Arcade Fire thinks electronic music is lesser when they

Record their tracks using a DAW

Tell me how you think Jimmy Page was a sloppy guitarist and then show

me your discography, I probably don't like it as much

Tell me I'm wasting my time, and then go clock back in at work

I'll do the same

Because if Kim Kardashian is relevant I'm ******* relevant

Tell me writing is a subjective craft

Tell me my writing *****

Tell me I'm not touching on any real points

Tell me I'm being too specific

Tell me I don't express myself enough

Tell me to shut the **** up

Tell me I'm a voice for the people

Tell me I should calm down

Tell me to keep writing and working with no recognition

Because if Kim Kardashian is relevant I'm ******* relevant.

Tell me to ignore those facts and keep going anyway

Cause I'll do it, and I'll write this ******* poem about it