#baldwin
***~for my poet friends who will understand exactly
the nature of our ailment/adventure~***
it begins when once poem titled,
which, a first clue, nothing more, a mumbled prophesy,
an arrow to duration & direction home but unknown,
a one-way stop sign neatly lettered in the
smallest sized letters with the disclaimer above
you sojourn to an uncultivated land, not sown.
you travel to places “finding out what you
don’t want to know, what you don’t want to find out,”
no guide, no well trodden path, no cultural prescribed woke diktats,
you are,
taken unwilling more than you lead, where endings
surprising, unforeseen, return tickets never offered for sale
pick words, more likely,
they pick you,
the only constant your rapid metabolism,
a winter snow blow, swirling churning, even midst
the most languid, sultry southern summer day
mind the mind.
mind the ground frozen until a tiny tickle trickle verse
becomes a full-on ground melt, wet and soggy,
******* you into a
rice-rock-hard pellet-poem thriving,
you observe your own drowning in a
6 inch deep wet paddy
the bottom line,
the net net, summary judgment
you commenced with urgent hesitancy for the
risks are great now, pen dagger chest pointed,
you, ****** in crosshairs, your own graven idol image
having found out what you
don’t want to know,
having found out what you
don’t want to find out
find myself weeping,
fists holding my head,
communing with floorboards oak hardened,
groaning acknowledging,
this, this, THIS***
*this discovering, uncovering,
this is
why I write,
this is
why I dare not write anymore!*
12/13/2019
~~~~~
postscript Friday the 13th, 3/26
~~~~~~~
or why I cannot stop…
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 10:42 AM UTC
Our future was built on revolution.
A mythos of courageously vanquishing the empire.
Such is the birthright of our citizens.
Our history created us in its image.
Villains seeking conciliation
must bear the title and charge
of treason.
Wielders of swords and rifles
stand immortalized in every town square.
Liberty or Death proclaims the stone and bronze
in which they are cast.
What will be the names of these great black men,
who crush the oppression of the old revolution?
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
*When your lover limps away
Into the dark of that good night
Which makes you question your memory of the light
There is only one thing to do or say
To try and minimize that loss
Which is to say nothing at all
But to move away to another town
Where just around every waking corner
There isn’t a different memory to be found
Of her, of Maggie
That's why on the plane ticket now
I can see from the boarding pass
That for Seattle we're bound
To begin again without the blackbird
To a place far away
Where hopefully we won't have to say
Bye bye to someone like her again
At least in that specific way*
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 4:46 PM UTC
DONALD TRUMP IS FURIOUS AND MAD
ABOUT THE ATTORNEY GENERALS REMARKS
DONALD TRUMP IS FURIOUS AND MAD
ABOUT ALEX BALDWINS COMIC SPARK
MUELLER NOW HAS ENOUGH EVIDENCE
TO CHARGE TRUMP WITH OBSTRUCTION
THE ECONOMY THE STOCK MARKET
TRUMP WILL ONLY LEAD TO DESTRUCTION
RE-ELECT TRUMP FOR 2020 THE
ELECTION CAMPAIGN NOW STARTS
ALL TRUMP FRIENDS ARE SELLING THEIR STOCKS
BECAUSE PROFIT TUGS AT THEIR HEARTS
CLINTON WAS IMPEACHED FOR A
LITTLE BIT OF PLAYING UNDER THE TABLE
WILL TRUMP NOW BE IMPEACHED
FOR MAKING AMERICA UNSTABLE
TRUMP CHRONICLES THE ONLY BOOK ON THE
RISE OF PRESIDENT TRUMP
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 12:20 AM UTC
“The summer ended. Day by day, and taking its time, the summer ended. The noises in the street began to change, diminish, voices became fewer, the music sparse. Daily, blocks and blocks of children were spirited away. Grownups retreated from the streets, into the houses. Adolescents moved from the sidewalk to the stoop to the hallway to the stairs, and rooftops were abandoned. Such trees as there were allowed their leaves to fall - they fell unnoticed - seeming to promise, not without bitterness, to endure another year. At night, from a distance, the parks and playgrounds seemed inhabited by fireflies, and the night came sooner, inched in closer, fell with a greater weight. The sound of the alarm clock conquered the sound of the tambourine, the houses put on their winter faces. The houses stared down a bitter landscape, seeming, not without bitterness, to have resolved to endure another year.”
― James Baldwin, Just Above My Head
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 11:04 AM UTC